Marten Rivers's page

The sunrise was majestic. Great brushes of red and purple mixed with grey and blue on a canvass so beautiful there was no artist in the world that could match it.

Marten sat cross-legged, a small fire crackling before him, looking out from the top of Yudah the highest hill in the forest that afforded him such a magnificent view over the sea to the west. The smoke was acrid and scented with eucalyptus and peyote and as it drifted up he inhaled deeply, hands spread to either side in a gesture of both acceptance and supplication.

Oh, Great Spirit of Gozreh, whose voice I hear in the wind, whose breath gives life to all the world. Hear me; I need your strength and wisdom. Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever behold this red and purple sunset. Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people.

Help me to remain calm and strong in the face of all that comes towards me. Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock. Help me seek pure thoughts and act with the intention of helping others. Help me find compassion without empathy overwhelming me. I seek strength, not to be greater than my brothers, but to fight my greatest enemies – fear and shame. Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes. So when life fades, as the fading sunset, my spirit may come to you without shame.

With his prayer done, Marten stood and kicked dirt over the fire. He had asked for strength and wisdom, beyond the rains and the fish in the sea, the greatest gifts Gozreh could bestow.

Because he was afraid.

It had been nearly three summers since their mother had died and three summers since he had last seen his brother, Gryf,

The twins were strong children, Gryf wielding the willow club and the blade with skill and determination, Marten with spell and spirit. They served the Circle well as hunters and guardians, bringing home food and chasing away the wolves that sometimes forgot their place in the Balance and wanted to snatch away the newborns in the village.

The Elders instructed them both and taught them a great many things about the birds in the sky and the spirits that dwelt on the winds. Their mother sat on the Council of Four Winds and had instructed them in both the way of nature and the way of brotherhood.

“Your sprits are bright.“ she had said. “And like the mistletoe that grows with the oak, you should never be separated.”

The Circle were skinchangers, an ancient tradition as old as the forest itself, believing that their spirits were as transitory as the winds, able to shift from one form to another as easily as the men from the towns changed their cloaks. The Circle made their homes in the caves that sat high above the choppy waters of the sea on the Varisian peninsuala. Theirs was a life of study and salt and appreciating the Waters of Life that Gozreh so beneficently provided.

Marten had been a diligent student. He worked every day to achieve that state of mind where his spirit was separate from his flesh and he could mould his shape as sculptor moulds clay. He had never mastered it. But his determination was strong and he knew he was close. Even since childhood he had been able to study the creatures of the forest and will himself to be like them. He could not yet change form, but he could already make whole creatures of the forest through his force of will alone – the strength of the wolf that dwells in the forest, the springing frog that makes it’s home in the streams that run down to the sea.

Mother had been endlessly proud. He was the youngest in the Circle’s history to demonstrate this mastery over nature, even to this extent.

Gryf had always found the teachings more difficult, however. He was possessed of a wanderlust, a desire to see the great works of man, the cities they had built, the monuments they had erected. Long had they understood that man had an ecosystem of it’s own. Just as the ants built their colonies, man built their cities and so long as the balance remained the Great Spirit would be pleased. But Gryf could never understand that, he felt that nature was there to serve mankind and used as a tool like any other. Consequently, his acceptance of the Circle’s teachings was muted and his ability to skinchange had never manifested correctly. He could warp his flesh but in ways that disturbed Marten and was possessed of a strength not granted him by the beasts of nature.

Marten himself was no stranger to civilisation. Often he would travel to the nearest townships, especially Sandpoint, to trade furs, fish and smokeleaf and he had struck up a friendship with many of the the inhabitants there. But then their mother fell ill. It was a devastating and swift sickness of the blood. The Elders performed their dance of Cleansing, they healed her of her wounds but the sickness persisted. Marten could no nothing to help being possessed neither of the wisdom nor the power of the Elders and Gryf must have felt even more useless. Eventually the pair travelled to Sandpoint to seek the aid of Koya Mvashti and her mother, a pair of reknown herbalists and mystics but even they could not save her.

Marten thanked them for their help and promised that he would repay them when he could and after that a peace settled on him because he realised that her spirit would soon be free to ride the winds and would settle in any animal or plant she chose. She would soon enjoy a freedom that men could only imagine in their most lucid dreams. Gryf refused to accept that. He argued tooth and nail that both Marten and the Elders were fialing her, that they should travel at once to the great city of Magnimar to fetch the best healers in the land and save their mother.

She passed before they could resolve their differences. Distraught and furious, Gryf left the Circle, vowing never to return and word soon reached them that he had joined a caravan travelling across Varisia and seemed to have been true to his word.

Marten made the walk back down the hill toward the ccaves that they called home.

Two days ago one of the rangers who hunted the wood stopped in the encampment for supplies. He spoke of Sandpoint and a rise in goblin activity and the troubles they were having there.

Marten knew well the problems of goblins, a particularly vile band having once dwelt in the same cave complex as the Druids. But he also spoke of a caravan returning and that Gryf was part of it’s guard. He had spoken to the elders of this and informed them that if Gryf were to leave on another caravan, Marten would go with him. He would follow his brother to the ends of the earth to make amends with him and they had understood.

Determined to make peace with his brother, and to show him that their mother had not left them afterall, Marten had packed his meagre belongings and began the long walk to Sandpoint, hoping that Gozreh had heard his prayer.

Marten is going to focus on spell casting and summoning - particularly on battlefield control and healing to aid his allies and has a good spread of skills that will be invaluable in the wild.

Marten stands around average height but is lean and hard as are most of his kind who forge a life in the wilderness. His eyes are keen and he represents the calmness and tranquillity of nature. He is a perfect counterpoint to Gryf who represents it’s ferocity and devastating power.

The journey that they undertake during this adventure will also be a journey of recrimination and resentment hopefully leading to peace between the pair. Both have good intentions and at heart want to help people though their approaches might be very different. I think there is a lot of roleplaying potential in the pair, especially when other characters and an epic journey is thrown into the mix.