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[Scar]

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It had been quite some time since he had traveled this area. South, southeast from Ashecrosse lay a stretch of forest that he called "Treefellow Forest" named after its occupants, guardians of the woods, which rambled about within its depths. He had watched them fight and kill the bats which prowled about, venturing too far into their domain. Invariably, the Treefellows won individual combats, but several of the bats might have had a chance of taking one of them down. The Treefellows never attacked him, but seemed content merely to tweet and twitter, their birdsong-like language, perhaps greeting him or, more probably, warning him to treat their woodlands with respect. Scar, on a routine patrol, and intent upon relieving himself, stepped down off his wolf mount to enter the forest's edge.

It was then that he saw the body of the Treefellow lying crumpled in an unnatural heap. Having some expertise in investigative work from his many years as ruler of Papua, plus his natural penchant for it, he took a close look at the corpse.

Something has gnawed upon this as if it were food... and chopped parts of it away... I have seen this before... he thought to himself. He recalled when, once before, he came upon one of the Treefellows which communicated to him about a deadly presence among them in the forest. He had mentioned this to his cohorts, but nothing came of it as events, greater in magnitude and scope, superseded it, and it had been forgotten. Perhaps this was the very Treefellow that had spoken to him by telepathic means, asking for his aid. He hoped not, but this one was dead, and would speak no more.

He decided to venture into the woods to search for more bodies... and he found them, one after the other, not too far apart, all scorched, slashed and mutilated. Something was at it again, killing the benign beings for sport, trophies, thrill, or to take something from them of value... or all of that.

The clomping of feet behind him and a twittering sound made him turn around to face the Treefellow which had suddenly appeared. He nodded out of respect, but waiting to see what it would do.

"Returned it has. Death-cloaked magus. Kills and steals it does. Help us you will?" came the voice in his head.

"What can I do?" he asked.

The Treefellow extended its huge right hand which held a small smooth ebony stone. Scar took it, and scrutinized it. It was about the size of a child's fist, more oval than round, holding a gleam on its polished surface. He looked back up at the Treefellow, waiting for instructions on its purpose and use.

"It glows green... come you will? Help us to fight?"

"Shall I bring allies? How many enemies do you face?"

"Only one, but one of many. All same. All dead magus. Bones. We kill few, but more come. Not know when or where from. All steal wood."

Scar nodded. "I will do what I can. I will inform my people. I... we... will aid you."

The Treefellow bowed slowly and stalked away.

Scar put the stone in his pouch, finished his business, and returned to Ashencrosse.

[Scar]

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Having slain dozens of orcs inhabiting the small fort near Ashencrosse, and searching their premises, and corpses, especially of the mages, Scar was convinced they had nothing to do with the depredations of the Treefellows. It was obvious that the orcs needed wood for repairing their structure and for making hafts for their axes, but no great quantities of wood was needed for that. Besides, there are only a few things that an orc likes to do more than taking an axe or hatchet to a tree. Treefellows would just be in the way. Not only that, but the mention of "bones" gave him the idea that undead might be involved, perhaps necromancers from Umbra? That would be his next place to search for clues...

If that turned up nothing, and he suspected it would, the only recourse would be to wait for a signal from the stone which he carried with him... that, and to inform his friends of what his investigations had failed to find.