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It seems like we are back on track again! As lurking was apparently kinda hard over at Rondak's Portal, here's The Story So Far (tm), courtesy of the magic of cut-and-paste:
Part 1: Prologue
SAERN:
Snow drifts in the wind of the late afternoon, as the low sun lances with golden beams behind midnight blue clouds. The scattered firs and spruces cast their shadows darkly on the drab ground, like the spearheads of giant sentinels deep beneath the ground. Their boughs wag and sigh with the wind, as biting as a sword’s edge. The north sings its eternal song; the whisper of the wind, the howl of the wolf, and various bird calls and chirps from here and there, unseen in the dark branches along the road.
Here are three travelers, all in a row, strange and brave for testing these lands. The front man walks with a strange grace, an uneven gait, sometimes halting, sometimes rushing. Here he spies a fine tree, a rare snow flower, a glimpse of a bird, and he rushes ahead. There he spies a familiar sight, one estranged to his eyes for nearly a decade, and his feet stall in memory as a smile or some other expression crawls over his face. A dog, laden with bags and sacks bulging and sagging all around, attends this master of his.
The man looks young, much more than his years should tell, and clearly of Ak blood. His blonde hair, unkempt in a fashionable way, waves with every furtive glance of his face. He has an easy grace about him, and his face is often bowed in a grin. His garb is a fine weave of fur and leather, thin but proof against the cold; at least to his northern blood. His eyes sing, piercing and blue like a glacier.
Across his back rests a lute, worn with care, and at his side hang a sword and a whip. Packs and pouches adorn his belt and other places on his person, as if the dog he frequently pets wasn’t carrying enough odds and ends.
This is Daeman Greensails, a bard returned to his home from many, many a year at sea.
Behind him walks a figure, vaguely defined as a female, and cloaked in mystery more than furs. Pensive despite her grace, she carries an uneasy air about her, but wise indeed would the man be who could say for sure why. She looks to the one ahead of her and sometimes to the one behind, and often at the land all around. The bard is quick to exclaim a new find or wonder, and she looks on, carefully intrigued.
One may think her a monk, looking over her thin gray garment, the fabric cut at the knees and elbows. Certainly the black sashes that hold the cloth to her, and the matching wraps upon her forearms, running all down to her wrists and beyond, where they vanish beneath her leather gloves, enhance this appearance. Her calves and feet fit snuggly into her supple leather boots, like those that are popular aboard a ship or in the south, in Calisae. Even with the fur cloak draped across her thin shoulders, this is far from enough to keep her from the biting wind, yet she seems to pay the dire chill no mind. Certainly she is a capable woman, and the blades at her side, one long and thin, the other short and bent, (not to mention the bow on her back) speak volumes. These weapons seem to garner far more respect from their master than her dress.
This is Lythdrae Vasyln, though prying even that from her can prove difficult. From where does she hail? Why, the south, in Calisae; one could hardly be native to a land more removed from these current climes in Aksal. Why is she here? Well, that would be the question, wouldn’t it?
The rear guard of the procession bears not the easy grace as the others. Certainly, his frame is thin and willowy, but he is hunched, his shoulders bunched and his arms shivering. He trails slightly behind the others, unable to match their easy pace. His short, well-kept blonde hair, his pasty skin… one may reach the conclusion, finally seeing his blue eyes, that he was Ak, but that would be incorrect. No, any experienced traveler would know this lad, clearly the youngest of the three, to be an Ariol, from Saern’s rich heartland.
His dark robes, so clear against the snow and speckled with drifting flakes, his smooth walking staff, the belt pouches and book hanging from his side; all clear indicators, given his heritage, that this one knows magic. A green sash rests upon his wrist, a dramatic splash of color in his otherwise darkened regalia.
This is Aererath, a young mage of Arionor. Even Lythdrae cannot match the air of secrecy that surrounds this stooped young man, but his destiny will become all too clear in the weeks ahead.
So, now, here are three travelers, walking south in the late afternoon, among the blue-tinged shadows of the spruce and firs. Just this bright morning they disembarked from their long sea voyage aboard the Blue Lady. They landed at the small outcropping, Grayrock Point, a popular stop for smugglers and other not wishing to pass through customs at Northwind’s harbor. But lawlessness was not the intent of their going ashore at this point; no, the bard’s idea compelled them.
The three conversed as they walked, and here is what they said:
DAEMAN GREENSAILS:
Daeman was still lost in thought, transfixed by the majesty of his homeland, when a sharp cough from his new companion Arerath brought him out of his blissful stupor. It was only just then that Daeman was aware of his long shadow and the sun threatening to sink into the horizon. Daeman passed a look back at his charges. Lythdrae seemed fine but Arerath was clearly uncomfortable in the cold snd tired from the long march. "Great." He thinks to himself,"my first chance to show a southerner some Ak hospitality and I march him to death in the snow in the first day." Daeman stops and turns to face his comrades. "I think it's time to set up camp for the night. Spead out and look for a good site here in these trees, we need a space wide enough to get a fire but with enough trees to hide the smoke and keep out the wind. If you see something promising let out a whistle."
WHITE TOYMAKER:
"Trees..." Lythdrae murmurs as she looks about. "I could tell you everything I know about trees and improvised shelters, and I wouldn't need a second breath to do it."
Well, there's nothing for it but to look about and see what there is. Shifting her shoulders uncomfortably beneath the ridiculously weighty outfit that the shopkeep had insisted was necessary to bear the northern chill, she sets off toward the trees. Hopefully, one or the other of her companions will know more about the local environs and flora than she does.
ARERATH:
"So bloody cold" Arerath says again as he coughs into his robes trying to take the chill out of his lungs. He then pulls his robes tighter around him trying to stay warm, "So have brought some bloody warmer clothes that is for sure."
SAERN:
The trees are thick in this length of the road. The snow hangs heavy on their bows, and the long shadows totally cloak the land. Lythdrae and Arerath are no woodspeople, that is certain, and Daeman's long years aboard ships haven't lent themselves to his wilderness skills. Yet, it would be a blind man who didn't recognize what the bard stumbled upon with his searches: a patch of low branches, with the snow all knocked off and piled around the ground. A track or two, indeterminate in nature, runs for a few feet back under the trees, where the branches seem to form a short natural tunnel. Perhaps this is a game trail, or simply a sheltered spot from the wind. In either event, it looks promising.
DAEMAN GRRENSAILS:
Daeman lets out a long whistle when he finds the small wooded haven. He takes enough time to unstrap his shortbow and quiver and remove Arthur's saddlebags and place them in a dry spot. After this however his eyes rest on the seemingly natural tube of boughs and without hesitation crawls inside for a better look.
ARERATH:
Arerath not one to explore so eagerly waits for the bard to give a signal, either an all clear or his death screams. Pulling his robes in closer to stay warm, he scans the surrounding area for anything else interesting.
WHITE TOYMAKER:
Knowing her companion's lack of caution, Lythdrae peers carefully into the apparent tunnel before following him. Whatever may be in there, she'll be no better off for staying outside when her guide is within.
ARERATH:
Arerath waits for a few moments, and if he doesn't hear the screaming he peers in, "We shouldn't be waste time on ideal exploration, so if the cave is secure we should warm it up and use it for settle. If not, then we should move along to find settle and get out of this bloody cold."
SAERN:
While the mage waits apprehensively, wishing for a better field guide, the bard plunges deeper into the twisted forest, leading Lythdrae further into the brambles. It's certainly no quiet affair, what with all the snow crunching, twigs crackling under foot, and branches swaying around, disturbed by the passage.
A thicker tangle of foliage momentarily blocks the bard, and gives Lythdrae time to catch up. While Daeman struggles with the twisted limbs, distracted, Lythdrae hears something... a thudding noise, just off in the forest beyond their twisted path. Something is out there, and it is coming towards them as they stand twisted in the maze of trees....
WHITE TOYMAKER:
Stepping forward nimbly, Lythdrae draws her rapier and places a hand on Daeman's arm to gain his attention.
"Stand ready," she murmurs and flicks the tip of her blade toward the sound, "something approaches."
DAEMAN GREENSAILS:
Sobered by the barely audible sound of Lythdrae's steel slipping free Daeman focuses himself on the task at hand. He slides a dagger free and pays close attention to her body language. He's seen her pick her way through complete darkness without flaw while he stumbled. "If something shows itself she will be the one to see it.
SAERN:
The two prepare themselves, steeled against whatever strange thing may be coming their way. The approaching crunch of snow grows louder, more distinct. The snap of branches, and the limbs before the two intrepid adventurers begin to move and rustle. Then they part with a sudden motion!
There stands a wide-eyed man, Ak, clad in a chain shirt and furs, and wielding what may well be the largest spear any of the others have ever seen. Perhaps it would be more apt to describe it as a tree trunk with a metal point?
The man is handsome, with strange, vibrant eyes, and it appears as if he has perhaps decorated his armor and garb with some bright feathers. He looks totally surprised to find Daeman and Lythdrae here in the woods. Just behind him, another man is visible, bearded and armored, and what looks to be an elf alongside him.
Oh, what strange things happen when traveling!