*the parchment is stained with water at places blurring the text.*
393 Years, in the 6th Month of Arhat the Fire Lion, in the Year of the Bronze Wyvern.
I have left the Isles in all haste, word having reached the Isles via the last boat to dock here. As my last scroll, written nearly a year ago to this date, suggests, the foul perversion of the natural order is a plague upon us all. This threat has increased dramatically in recent weeks, something I have noticed through unusual activity in the constellation known as the Triquetra.
However, my fears were not confirmed until the courier arrived yesterday, bearing word that Shard was under repeated attack by hordes of undead led by a foul Adan’f necromancer. I travel now to Therengia seeking more information, as the Paladins and Clerics of the Keep there have long defied the undeath plaguing the realms.
I shall write more as I meet with the residents of Therenborough.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
6th Month of Arhat the Fire Lion.
The month now draws to a close and I have more disturbing information to write.
I arrived safely in Riverhaven and immediately sought travel farther west to reach Langenfirth. Having crossed the Lake, I began my travels north, and there I ran into undeath. The roads were contested by the undead. Fortunately such beings fell quickly beneath my hammer, and I was met by my old friend Tygor upon the road. He and I joined forces and fought through to the keep. Along the way we met several other travelers who were also fighting this menace. One was a lass I met long ago in Ratha, Redeth.
Arriving at the gates, Tygor and I found the militia had been called to arms and the keep isolated by raised drawbridge. At this point I took my leave to seek Solantir, for he was sure to know any activities that had occurred while I traveled.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
6th Month of Arhat the Fire Lion.
Southwards to Shard I now travel. The threat is darkest there, though persistent rumors occur that the necromancer Xerasyth will bring his armies northward to the River Crossing, and perhaps to Riverhaven or Therengia. No more seems to have yet come from the undead armies that assaulted Therenborough while I was journeying there. I believe it was a feint to keep aid from traveling south.
Furthermore, word has reached the northern areas that Xerasyth, who was once a Adan’f is now a Skra’Mur. What dark arts could do such a thing are beyond my knowing, or desire to understand. Learning such a path will only lead to madness and decay.
I met with Solantir, and he told me that he spent time with the Paladins in their Keep learning from them and assisting them in some small manner during the attack. He said that it seemed Riverhaven fell under attack around the same time as Therenborough was attacked, but the details had not yet reached that far north. The militias in the area took the threat very seriously and it is why I travel south. I must see firsthand what is occurring and aid in what ways I might. If nothing else I must reach Forfhedar and talk with whomever I may, as it alone of the provinces I have yet to hear any word from. I worry that the Dragon Priests may have closed the passage overland through Raven’s Point, yet I must attempt to get through.
If word reaches there before I do, I must attempt to meet with and rally the dwarves against this threat. Such an army may help oppose any move by the Necromancers to strike father north, or at least delay them.
Kertigen protect those who fight this menace.
Signed by my hand.
Kraggur of the Tribes.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Solantir's History
Having penned in full the account of my youth prior to becoming a bard, find below my tale.
Solantir
====================
I am Solantir, born most appropriately in the month of Skullcleaver the Dwarven Axe in the Year of the Crystal Snow Hare, some 17 years ago. My people, for I am a Kaldar, are a hardy race hailing from Albaria.
Unlike most we fear not the storm or sun, my people having elected to choose an existence more in touch with nature. Albaria is a snow-swept landscape of mountains, forests and plains, home to many peoples that the denizens of the Kermoria would think quite strange. I have not seen them myself and know of Albaria and its peoples only through the stories of my people. However, this is an account of my early years, and not one of the Kaldaran peoples.
****
I will not get into the appropriateness of my birth year, except to note the fact that my family was saved from a goblin raid by nothing less than a dwarven axe. My family was prone to wandering; my father was a metalsmith, and my mother an herbalist. We moved from town to town, and were in the northern reaches of Therengia, when our camp was beset upon by a goblin raiding party. I could not have been more than a year old, and have no recollection of the event. As my father told me, just as they were being swarmed, a muscular shape heavily garbed against the cold appeared, a massive axe clenched in both hands. Fearing some form of ogre or troll, my father leapt to attack it, disregarding the goblins, when the axe swept down and swiftly removed a goblin’s head.
As the form did this, one hand shot out and grabbed my father’s wrist, halting the blow in place. With a casual flick, the axe darted out again and stole the life from another goblin, before letting go of my father’s wrist.
It would turn out that this was a dwarf who would become a patron to my family and me. We did not know it at the time, but the dwarf, Kraggur, was young for his kind, having barely reached adolescence. My family spent some time near his family’s hold before we left and continued on our journeys. Neither my father nor mother saw him again after moving on, but I have come across him again in my travels and he has become like a second father to me.
****
As a child, my life was as idyllic as could be. Streams to swim in, trees to climb, and to me that which most wondrous – the harmonic sounds that were generated in the world. It saddens me that many cannot perceive and interact with the wonder of the world through the sense of hearing and the mind’s perception. The interaction of all things, from the growing flowers to the sound of my father’s hammer upon the forge, is nothing short of spectacular. This growing sense, however, would drive me from my family, as the conflict between my father’s desire to have me follow in his craft met with my own internal sense of balance and order, and the pursuit to discover more about this sense which my parents apparently lacked.
****
What would most strongly mark my path, after twelve years wandering with my family, was a chance encounter with a stranger upon the road. I believe that it was meeting this man who forever marked my fate, which sowed the ultimate seeds of unhappiness with my parents and set my feet upon their way.
We were wandering the shoreline east of Riverhaven, when we chanced upon a knight-errant. He went by the name of Skald Jarin and was a self-titled Knight of Faenella. He was not a man-at-arms, nor a paladin, yet he wielded a sword with great proficiency and was clad in shining plate armor from head to toe. For several days he accompanied us, never removing his helm or armor in our presence, yet the timbre of his voice was always reassuring. Each night, as we would sit around the fire, he would remove his gauntlets, freeing his fingers to play upon a finely crafted harp. I swear that, even then, I could see the notes rising into the air, crafted of myriad colors as dictated by the song.
The last night before we parted paths, he gave to a gift of a simple lyre, for me to practice upon he said. He must have sensed something about me during those nights, something of my sense for the magic. It was a completely unremarkable lyre, except for a simple brand of a wren and the Goddess’ name carefully carved into its neck: Faenella.
****
I practiced upon that lyre for years, slowly gaining some skill in its playing as we continued our travels up and down the lands of Kermoria. Increasingly I became more and more rebellious against my father until finally, one day I packed my things and left. In hindsight it was complete idiocy, the actions of a willful child. Sadly, I have not seen my parents since that day, though we are in infrequent contact. I left for a town known as the Crossing, where I would become reacquainted with an old friend…
Kraggur. It had been long years since he had seen me, naught more than a babe in clothes, but it was he who recognized me, for I knew naught but his description from long ago. It is said that dwarves are long-lived with memories that never forget. But I can say that he had changed from what my parents said about him. From a youth who was light-hearted for the dour folk, to one with an echoing sadness behind his eyes. The story, at least for part of the sadness, I have put into song that I hope one day will be heard across the realms. It is the tragic tale of his elder brother. I know that Kraggur has written an account of his early days, and they make no mention. He told me that the sorrow was so great he could not express it in his own words.
By this time, over sixteen years, he had been through much and learned a great deal, being held high in the esteem of the practitioners of lunar magic. I spent some time under his tutelage, learning a few more advanced tricks of the forge (although I am certain they pale compared to the skills he knew), as well as lessons in logic, and most importantly, an examination of my aura. It was he who pointed me in the direction of Silvyrfrost, Bardess and a Guildleader of the Bardic Guild. With a few coins to establish my apprenticeship, he pointed me in the right direction and continued along his way.
****
A year of rigorous instruction followed, honing my senses to the tune of elemental magics, learning other instruments, vocal training, and the use of weapons. Many masters did I learn under at this time in the various arts of being a bard, but none more surprising than my meeting with Skald Jarin again. He was an elf!
I had never before seen an elf, and thought my eyes had betrayed me. Underneath all that armor was a slender being with pointed ears! Yet the voice was one I recognized. Knowing me from before, I became in pupil in the arts martial, gaining an appreciation for heavy armors lost on most other bards. Being unused to such weight, many bruises were earned, but I have come to appreciate its superior protection.
He, and others, tutored me on the more typical heavenly patrons of the bardic arts: Hodierna, Faenella, Glythtide, Albreda, Murrula, and Idon. However none of them do I hold closer than Faenella. Indeed her touch has graced me, and to that I will turn shortly in this account.
On the last day of my training, Jarin ordered me into the woods to meditate, knowing the close confines of training had been chafing my Kaldar spirit. I retired to a quiet grove to the north of the city, and played softly upon my lyre, the same as gifted to me four years before by Jarin. As I played, a strange calm settled upon me, and a small wren landed before me. I blinked and in place of the wren stood an elvish woman with stunning green eyes, soft brown hair, and a harp held in her hand. Despite my surprise, I continued playing and she accompanied me.
Staring into her eyes, I felt her thoughts enter my head, asking if I was willing to enter her service as a knight-errant and protector of the Fae. She then withdrew her thoughts from mine as I began to follow her lead as we changed songs. Upon its completion, I nodded to her, and felt a small change take hold of me, certain wildness within my soul released, yet tempered. The lady bard played one more song with me before she became a wren again and flew off.
That evening, Jarin came to the woods to retrieve me. However, he greeted me differently than he even had before, clasping me warmly and welcoming me to the Knights of Faenella. Upon my asking how he knew what happened he held up a small mirror. To my surprise my ears had changed and were slightly pointed like an elfs! I bore part of the mark of the Fae now, and have been committed to Faenella ever since.
Solantir
====================
I am Solantir, born most appropriately in the month of Skullcleaver the Dwarven Axe in the Year of the Crystal Snow Hare, some 17 years ago. My people, for I am a Kaldar, are a hardy race hailing from Albaria.
Unlike most we fear not the storm or sun, my people having elected to choose an existence more in touch with nature. Albaria is a snow-swept landscape of mountains, forests and plains, home to many peoples that the denizens of the Kermoria would think quite strange. I have not seen them myself and know of Albaria and its peoples only through the stories of my people. However, this is an account of my early years, and not one of the Kaldaran peoples.
****
I will not get into the appropriateness of my birth year, except to note the fact that my family was saved from a goblin raid by nothing less than a dwarven axe. My family was prone to wandering; my father was a metalsmith, and my mother an herbalist. We moved from town to town, and were in the northern reaches of Therengia, when our camp was beset upon by a goblin raiding party. I could not have been more than a year old, and have no recollection of the event. As my father told me, just as they were being swarmed, a muscular shape heavily garbed against the cold appeared, a massive axe clenched in both hands. Fearing some form of ogre or troll, my father leapt to attack it, disregarding the goblins, when the axe swept down and swiftly removed a goblin’s head.
As the form did this, one hand shot out and grabbed my father’s wrist, halting the blow in place. With a casual flick, the axe darted out again and stole the life from another goblin, before letting go of my father’s wrist.
It would turn out that this was a dwarf who would become a patron to my family and me. We did not know it at the time, but the dwarf, Kraggur, was young for his kind, having barely reached adolescence. My family spent some time near his family’s hold before we left and continued on our journeys. Neither my father nor mother saw him again after moving on, but I have come across him again in my travels and he has become like a second father to me.
****
As a child, my life was as idyllic as could be. Streams to swim in, trees to climb, and to me that which most wondrous – the harmonic sounds that were generated in the world. It saddens me that many cannot perceive and interact with the wonder of the world through the sense of hearing and the mind’s perception. The interaction of all things, from the growing flowers to the sound of my father’s hammer upon the forge, is nothing short of spectacular. This growing sense, however, would drive me from my family, as the conflict between my father’s desire to have me follow in his craft met with my own internal sense of balance and order, and the pursuit to discover more about this sense which my parents apparently lacked.
****
What would most strongly mark my path, after twelve years wandering with my family, was a chance encounter with a stranger upon the road. I believe that it was meeting this man who forever marked my fate, which sowed the ultimate seeds of unhappiness with my parents and set my feet upon their way.
We were wandering the shoreline east of Riverhaven, when we chanced upon a knight-errant. He went by the name of Skald Jarin and was a self-titled Knight of Faenella. He was not a man-at-arms, nor a paladin, yet he wielded a sword with great proficiency and was clad in shining plate armor from head to toe. For several days he accompanied us, never removing his helm or armor in our presence, yet the timbre of his voice was always reassuring. Each night, as we would sit around the fire, he would remove his gauntlets, freeing his fingers to play upon a finely crafted harp. I swear that, even then, I could see the notes rising into the air, crafted of myriad colors as dictated by the song.
The last night before we parted paths, he gave to a gift of a simple lyre, for me to practice upon he said. He must have sensed something about me during those nights, something of my sense for the magic. It was a completely unremarkable lyre, except for a simple brand of a wren and the Goddess’ name carefully carved into its neck: Faenella.
****
I practiced upon that lyre for years, slowly gaining some skill in its playing as we continued our travels up and down the lands of Kermoria. Increasingly I became more and more rebellious against my father until finally, one day I packed my things and left. In hindsight it was complete idiocy, the actions of a willful child. Sadly, I have not seen my parents since that day, though we are in infrequent contact. I left for a town known as the Crossing, where I would become reacquainted with an old friend…
Kraggur. It had been long years since he had seen me, naught more than a babe in clothes, but it was he who recognized me, for I knew naught but his description from long ago. It is said that dwarves are long-lived with memories that never forget. But I can say that he had changed from what my parents said about him. From a youth who was light-hearted for the dour folk, to one with an echoing sadness behind his eyes. The story, at least for part of the sadness, I have put into song that I hope one day will be heard across the realms. It is the tragic tale of his elder brother. I know that Kraggur has written an account of his early days, and they make no mention. He told me that the sorrow was so great he could not express it in his own words.
By this time, over sixteen years, he had been through much and learned a great deal, being held high in the esteem of the practitioners of lunar magic. I spent some time under his tutelage, learning a few more advanced tricks of the forge (although I am certain they pale compared to the skills he knew), as well as lessons in logic, and most importantly, an examination of my aura. It was he who pointed me in the direction of Silvyrfrost, Bardess and a Guildleader of the Bardic Guild. With a few coins to establish my apprenticeship, he pointed me in the right direction and continued along his way.
****
A year of rigorous instruction followed, honing my senses to the tune of elemental magics, learning other instruments, vocal training, and the use of weapons. Many masters did I learn under at this time in the various arts of being a bard, but none more surprising than my meeting with Skald Jarin again. He was an elf!
I had never before seen an elf, and thought my eyes had betrayed me. Underneath all that armor was a slender being with pointed ears! Yet the voice was one I recognized. Knowing me from before, I became in pupil in the arts martial, gaining an appreciation for heavy armors lost on most other bards. Being unused to such weight, many bruises were earned, but I have come to appreciate its superior protection.
He, and others, tutored me on the more typical heavenly patrons of the bardic arts: Hodierna, Faenella, Glythtide, Albreda, Murrula, and Idon. However none of them do I hold closer than Faenella. Indeed her touch has graced me, and to that I will turn shortly in this account.
On the last day of my training, Jarin ordered me into the woods to meditate, knowing the close confines of training had been chafing my Kaldar spirit. I retired to a quiet grove to the north of the city, and played softly upon my lyre, the same as gifted to me four years before by Jarin. As I played, a strange calm settled upon me, and a small wren landed before me. I blinked and in place of the wren stood an elvish woman with stunning green eyes, soft brown hair, and a harp held in her hand. Despite my surprise, I continued playing and she accompanied me.
Staring into her eyes, I felt her thoughts enter my head, asking if I was willing to enter her service as a knight-errant and protector of the Fae. She then withdrew her thoughts from mine as I began to follow her lead as we changed songs. Upon its completion, I nodded to her, and felt a small change take hold of me, certain wildness within my soul released, yet tempered. The lady bard played one more song with me before she became a wren again and flew off.
That evening, Jarin came to the woods to retrieve me. However, he greeted me differently than he even had before, clasping me warmly and welcoming me to the Knights of Faenella. Upon my asking how he knew what happened he held up a small mirror. To my surprise my ears had changed and were slightly pointed like an elfs! I bore part of the mark of the Fae now, and have been committed to Faenella ever since.
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