Monster Anthology [MxM]

The Light on the Moor

A moment of silence, another, and Ciarán opened his mouth to speak.

"Very well," Fionn muttered. "I'll get my armor."

Ciarán beamed, straightening. "Wonderful! Thank you, Fionn—"

Fionn shook his head as he set aside his bow and stood. "Do not thank me. I am doing this for Milo." Without looking back, Fionn disappeared through the doorway.

Swallowing, Ciarán rubbed at his neck, his amber eyes dropping to the dirt path. Did I... do something?

Ciarán ran through all of his interactions with the archer but came up empty. He couldn't place if he'd done something to upset the elf or not. Ciarán fidgeted with the well-worn staff as he waited, running his fingers over each burned rune. The winding lines, swirls, and arcane letters wove through the wood, ingrained in its very soul. Ciarán lost himself in the runes, marveling that such a powerful, ancient artifact belonged to him—

"Well? Lead the way," Fionn interrupted his thoughts, thunking down onto the path from his family's raised porch.

Clearing his throat, Ciarán quickly turned from Fionn towards the east gate. "East gate," he said, tugging his robe tighter around him. "Milo said he'd meet us there."

A snort and Fionn strode past the mage, his long stride outstripping Ciarán easily. The mage flushed and followed, picking up the pace so he didn't fall behind.

At the east gate, Milo stood atop the barricade speaking with his father. Hide armor protected his muscular form, and two swords sat on both hips. From Ciarán's viewpoint, the two elves were identical: short brown hair, intelligent dark eyes, golden skin, tall, muscular. Milo even had a similar scar to their father; the pink line stood out against his dark gold shoulder.

Fionn called out a greeting to Milo, raising his hand. "Milo. Ready to go?"

"Fionn! Glad my brother could convince you to help out," Milo called. He smiled at his father, who sighed, shook his head, and waved Milo off. The elf warrior hopped down off the barricade and strode quickly up to Ciarán and Fionn.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" Milo asked, turning towards the gate as it creaked open.

"Faerin mushrooms," Ciarán said, keeping his voice low, "and lior ferns."

"Where do we find them?" Milo drew a sword from his hip, keeping his eyes alert as he scanned the immediate area.

"The mushrooms will be in the tall weed grass by the edge of the moor pools, and the ferns will be in the middle of the weeds," Ciarán explained, hefting his staff as the wood began to give off a faint blue-green glow.

"So we're basically going into the depths of drowner territory," Fionn muttered. "Great." The archer drew three arrows from the quiver on his hip, knocking one but not drawing the bow.

"Don't forget the sahuagin," Milo quipped, grinning over his shoulder. "Hey, Ciarán, if we take any down, do you need anything from them?"

Swallowing down roiling nausea at the very thought, Ciarán shook his head. "Definitely not. Let's avoid all manner of beasts that we can. I don't use anything from moor beasts."

Milo shrugged, leading the way out of the village. Their small party fell silent as they made their way through the moors, carefully keeping to the dryer paths. Fionn watched their backs as Milo led the way and Ciarán kept pace in the middle. All three men stayed alert, knowing anything could come out of the mists—or the pools just centimeters from their feet.

A baby's cry reached their ears, making the three men stop. Ciarán immediately ducked down beneath the tall weed grass, knowing he'd be in the way otherwise. The baby's cries rose and fell, shrieking and wailing into the air. Milo motioned for Fionn to get down, crouching as he did. Fionn obeyed, keeping his eyes and bow ready.