Wiki Category: Syndar Characters - Active

PLAYED BY: Winter Edwardson 

CHARACTER NAME: Rosemary 

GENDER: Enby

PRONOUN(S): she/they

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: ~70

RACE: Io’Larian

HAIR: dirty blonde

EYES: blue

OCCUPATION: herbalist

KNOWN SKILLS: knowledge of some plant life and how to harvest them

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun 

APPEARANCE: usually in well maintained layered clothing adorned with various tokens and baubles.

NOTABLE TRAITS: appears serous except for the fangs

RELATIONSHIPS: some members of their old commune still survive but not many and most have settled down rather than continuing to travel

RUMORS: she seems pretty boring

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: 

For as long as I can remember we lived on the roads of Faedrun and that was where I felt most at home. We were a small commune but well traveled, at least through the human kingdoms. We were merchants, selling herbs, oils, tinctures, and potions. Sometimes we would connect with other merchants and travel in a larger caravan. We would take the time to trade stories, songs, food, and goods. Other times it was just our commune. The only kingdoms I never got to see were the Richtcrag and the Nara Pentare as there were many stories and rumors, that turned out to be true, of the dead returning as monstrous abominations. But, before the things of nightmare really spilled into my own reality I was able to find my peace in exploration. The rolling farms and fields of the Vandregon at twilight always made me feel like we were drifting on a golden sea of grain. The welcoming sight of the May’Kar oasis always felt comforting, like a friendly face offering to share their home with you. The gorgeous coast of the Aldorian port towns reminding me of the awe inspiring beauty of a true ocean. In stark contrast to these places the few times we came to trade with the small outskirt towns of Tielorrien the felt oppressive and overwhelming, like we were being burdensome merely by existing. But of everywhere else I’ve been, my favorite will always be the cities of the Yabantu Triumvirate. The smells coming from food stalls were always the most mouthwatering, the clothes were always the brightest and most beautiful I had ever seen, even the streets felt alive. I had to be corralled back to the caravan for gawking too long and taking the wrong turn.

Unfortunately, the undead threat continued to grow and grow. We were lucky, for a time, to not be near the front line, but it felt like it was getting closer by the day. Our trade routes shrank significantly, mostly consisting of cities in Aldorian. A short time after my name day, we heard that the kingdoms had all come together under the grand alliance. Some of our caravan split off to go help run supplies to the front lines the rest of us tried to help by keeping the civilians supplied. But finally, the alliance broke when the syndar kingdoms abandoned the lines and fled back behind their own borders. We tried to stay hopeful that we could survive. That hope was tested when the May’Kar turned and joined the penitent, but our hope was still not lost. 

Finally there were rumors of a new land that we could travel to in order to escape the undead. It was called Mardrun. It took us a few years but we were able to secure passage on a ship for the few of us that remained. Many of us found work and homes in a settlement called Daven’s Reach. After some time it was held hostage by some bandits. After this three of the members of the council of Newhope came and it was renamed Daven’s Hold. After several years of a quiet, mundane life I could still feel a quiet ache, much like a homesickness, for a life on the roads. 

CHARACTER NAME: Fynch

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): doesn’t matter to him how they are addressed

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 29

RACE: Syndar

HAIR: Dark black in color

EYES: Green

OCCUPATION: Arcane researcher

KNOWN SKILLS: Really enjoys learning (not really a skill but he enjoys it)

APPEARANCE: Relatively short and frail

NOTABLE TRAITS: Wears red face paint over his eyes

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: I was young when I left Faedrun, 7 I think. I don’t remember much of the early years of my life. I was taught and got a good education. My name was Lumirian back then, I was born of silver skin to two Io’Larian who can only be described as birth givers. I never knew them. I knew of them as it was knowledge and all knowledge is my birthright.

Growing up when you’re told you’ll be great but taught to look down on those who look up to you, it doesn’t make you feel like a leader. But I never wanted to lead, I only ever cared about learning. In my education I had one professor by the name of Gerthyrd. He was wise, more wise than any I have ever met. He instilled values in me, “always ask questions, and if you don’t like the answer then change it” he would tell me. The “Enlightened” had a thing for rules and schedule but Gerthyrd would never nag me about such things, besides who has time for sleep or speechcraft when there is a world of mysteries to be explored.

Gerthyrd was my teacher for many years, He taught me over on Faedrun and chose to accompany me over to this strange new world. He always said it was because “ I can’t leave my favorite brightest pupil”  But I think he wasn’t asked to come anyway, as one of the “Enlightens” best scholars. There were few other Syndar who could match Gerthyrds drive and nack for finding answers in the most unlikely places. A fine example was the time he (quite by accident) discovered that the short legged Borgus moth were in fact parasitic and laid their eggs inside the shell of red crested snail, which when hatched would proceed to eat the snail. Something never before documented. I digress, Gerthyrd was my mentor for as long as I can remember and I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.

At around the age of 18 Gerthyrd and I were traveling the continent researching our findings. Learning ways of Ulven, the soil properties of the outlands, how much venom a pignose worfbat could produce. It was during these travels we ran into another small group of Syndar. A disagreement in research and findings led into a rather nasty fight. Gerthyrd was killed and I barely managed to escape.

As I aged I changed my name and  spent several years traveling the continent learning the ways of all the people. The ways the Ulvan interacted, the breeding habits of the local fish, what plants were familiar from the old world. I learned and journaled all of my findings. I wasn’t always accepted by the locals, in fact more often than not I was turned away. But in time I learned. I still continue to learn.

PLAYED BY: Aaron Malone

CHARACTER NAME: Wrennalis (ren-NAL-is) or Ren

GENDER: Male

PREFFERED PRONOUN(S): he/him

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 42

RACE: Serous Syndar

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Magic Researcher and tea connoisseur 

KNOWN SKILLS: Adept at field and library research, skilled notetaker

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun, City of Seven Gates

APPEARANCE: A little on the shorter side for a Syndar, alters dress depending on the situation between simple and more extravagant.  Can almost never catch him without a book in his hands.

NOTABLE TRAITS: pointed ears, calm but serious demeanor.

RELATIONSHIPS:  Agrus Fillian, freelance research affiliate; Elzerith, faction leader of the Blades of Sol

RUMORS: Too much of a bookworm, can’t take a joke

BIO: 

Wrennalis, or Ren for short, was essentially born into the arcane arts.  His parents were established researchers in the City of Seven Gates, the capital of the Kingdom of Tielorrien in Faedrun.  Beginning to tinker with simple puzzles at a young age, Ren became enthralled with this gift and grew up assisting his parents in the lab.  By the time he was 23, he was forced to leave on a boat with other refugees for his safety due to the undead invasion.  His parents stayed to assist with the magical defenses of the city and are assumed to be dead.  The only things with Ren on the boat were some clothes, books, and some small bags of different Jasmine tea leaves and seeds that were his family’s favorite drinks. 

Upon landing in what would become Newhope, Ren stuck with a Syndar commune on the outskirts of Newhope.  For work, he would do freelance research and utilize funds to help establish a more permanent but small research facility in the outskirts.  About two years ago, Ren was approached by a researcher to assist on a special project but offered to pay extremely well.  He accepted due to the prospect of money but also to further his own knowledge.  This happened to be a team project with other freelancers involved, but one freelancer stood out the most, Agrus Fillian.  Agrus was extremely knowledgeable, friendly, and and willing to teach others.  Long day and long nights in the lab fueled by the jasmine tea were had throughout that year.  During one of those nights, Agrus overheard the lead researcher discuss details with a mercenary guard about taking everything after the project is done to sell.  The next day, the other researchers and Ren were informed of this and said, “screw this” and took all the research and instruments and left.  Unfortunately, the equipment needed to be pawned off because of not being paid for over a month.  This led to laying low for a while until an envelope came via messenger about two months later.

In this envelope was not one, but two letters.  The first was from Agrus himself.  He had said he was able to travel north to the Clan Goldenfield area to sell off the Mana Stone he had taken to make up for lost wages and met up with a gold-skinned Syndar named Elzerith.  Agrus was offered shelter and food with Elzerith’s organization, The Blades of Sol, up in Lumiria in the New Aldorian Settlement region and a safe haven to conduct research.  

The second letter was written in very ornate handwriting from Elzerith himself, an invitation to visit Lumiria with the same promises: food, shelter, research opportunities, and other activities.  Ren could not say no to this, so after he was able to sell some of the equipment, he was able to achieve safe passage up to Lumiria where he was met by the Lumiria town guards and escorted to Elzerith himself.  Elzerith mentioned that the Blades of Sol were looking to expand their knowledge of the arcane in a predominately martial and divine organization and that Ren would be a perfect fit as a researcher.  Ren hopes that his knowledge can assist the Blades of Sol with their endeavors.

PLAYED BY: Taylor “Yoss” Elmhorst
CHARACTER NAME: Lucien Moorfallow
GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: He/His
CLASS: Mage
RACE: Syndar
OCCUPATION: Alchemist
KNOWN SKILLS: Alchemy, Herbalism, Healing, Surgery
AGE: Appears to be in mid-late 30s, relative to human lifespans.
NOTABLE TRAITS: Eager about research opportunities and performing experiments.
RUMORS: More interested in studying undead/monsters in Mardrun than helping others. Recruited into Blades of Sol, no official explanation as to how/why.

Bio:
Lucien Moorfallow was born and raised in the Bridgefront district of Karindren. Coin was easy to come by with the proper skillset. Son of an apothecary and an herbalist couple he only needed the right tools and the right materials for the job. Lucien enjoyed providing a cure for drinks the locals couldn’t handle and helping clean up the blood from tavern brawls.

It was like any other day when the undead first showed up in Bridgefront. Lucien attended to the wounded as best he could, but it was already too late for too many. Unfettered, Lucien gathered blood samples from the living and dead alike, curious to the cause.

Overnight Bridgefront was put into quarantine and travel was restricted. Business for Lucien was good with patrons scared of the slightest scratch, and the inklings of antidotes and remedies sent district residents flocking.

Lucien ended up at the Magistrate of Civil Order’s administration office under the personal orders of Bridgefront’s guard commander. There they met a Magistrate of Karindren, as well as nearly every other citizen that looked as if they had ever touched a potion bottle. From Academae scholars to clerics of the Syndar Pantheon to Night Market apothecaries, the office was packed. The Magistrate made an offer in silver for all those in attendance who found more information about the undead as well as how to stop them.

Lucien began investigating at once, however he was too slow. Shortly after, Bridgefront had been condemned, and anyone seen in or attempting to leave the district was to be killed on sight.
It wasn’t long before other districts were condemned after Bridgefront. The undead spread like a plague throughout Karindren. Despite the city’s best efforts a full evacuation of the non-quarantined districts was called.

With little other choice, Lucien prepared to flee. Using his connections Lucien secured passage on a corsair ship. He was crammed into a wooden crate, hauled past the city guard and loaded onto the ship where he gave his final goodbye to Karindren.

Aboard the Duchess’ Fury Lucien discovered the ship he was on was sailing toward a new world – Mardrun. Lucien was seasick for the first week. But as part of the contract he helped around the ship, working with what was available to keep the crew alive.

Then on a stormy night the Peninent announced themselves to the rest of the ship’s crew. Disguised as crew mates and stowaways, the Penitent gave the Duchess’ Fury an ultimatum: Join the Penitent and head back to Faedrun alive, or go back as undead. Some of the crew decided to join the Penitent and reverse course. The captain of the Duchess’ Fury didn’t see much business in the undead, however, and chose to fight against The Penitent. Lucien agreed with the captain and joined his loyal crew members over control of the Duchess’ Fury.

With swords, arrows, and spells abound it was inevitable the Duchess’ Fury suffered one too many holes in the hull. In the end the captain of the Duchess’ Fury was victorious, but the ship was sinking. As his final command he ordered the survivors to take the emergency boat and search for land without him. The Duchess’ Fury sank into the depths and with a salute the captain sank with his ship.

Lucien and the remaining crew tried to brave the storm but were met with disaster. Flashes of lightning promised land ahead, but waves towered over them and threatened to encapsulate the boat. Just as they were nearing shore, a wave jettisoned the boat into the air, freefalling for just a moment, but enough to send the boat and its crew underwater and below another wave. The boat immediately shattered into pieces and scattered the men. By the time he felt sand on his feet and coughed the water out of his lungs, only Lucien survived.

Decades have passed since his arrival to Mardrun. With hosts of new plants, animals, and even humanoid species in the Mordok and Ulven, Lucien has had plenty to learn about. However, much of his time has been spent destitute, merely scraping by with hair-brained schemes and running from the consequences. Some remedies here and back alley triage there have given him allies, but he’s made just as many enemies along the way, particularly when the remedies and triage don’t work.

While on the lam, Lucien joined a merchant caravan heading toward a northern Ulven clan. The journey would take weeks, but halfway there the caravan was ambushed by bandits. In the dead of night the mules were slain, the merchants were robbed, and some of the carts had been set on fire. It was only thanks to a bodyguard bearing the symbol of a 12-pointed star taking charge that they had managed to survive the attack, but the damage had already been done. After the battle Lucien was left stranded in the middle of nowhere, however the guard offered him a choice: Chance his own against man and nature, or join him and venture toward his home in a nearby village run by a group known as The Blades of Sol. After filling his pockets to the brim with salvage from the caravan, Lucien set off ready to put his talents to use.

PLAYED BY: Matthew

CHARACTER NAME: Aladrin Greywood

GENDER: Male

PREFFERED PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 28

RACE: Feral Syndar

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Aladrin is a cook/adventurer who uses nature’s ingredients to make potions and food for all who seek comfort. As part of an adventuring group, he regularly seeks out anything that might further his knowledge, or just provide an excuse to explore.

KNOWN SKILLS: A skilled fighter and inventor, he brings these skills to help provide food and necessary items to any of his projects. Whether it’s a new type of crossbow or something to bring healing comfort. Through his travels, he’s learned how to pick locks and pockets, clean and gut a wild boar, and deal with bandits.

BIRTHPLACE: At a young age, Aladrin was born in the dense woods of Lairthudual. Living most of his time in the southern wood by the narrow mountains pass, he spent his youth scaling trees, hiding from random caravans in rocky crevasses, when daring enough to venture south, and learning about plants and wildlife from his parents.

APPEARANCE: Aladrin, like many Feral Syndar, has notable facial features. His include “less than neatlooking” ears he inherited from his father’s side, but the cheek tusks of his mother. Blue eyes, and brown hair, he would be hard pressed to pass for anyone but his parent’s child. Standing over 6′ as an adult, he has a muscular frame from years of traveling and fighting.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Love to play his lute and sing. Skilled with a bow and swords.

RELATIONSHIPS: In a group with Zenteagan Wincress, Connor Ashmane, and Stanley Lorden

RUMORS: He has a silver tongue

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Our story begins in the year 242, in the dense, thick woods of Lairthudual near the mountain’s pass narrow. His father and mother celebrated his birth with a great feast held for close family and friends. However, despite the tightly knit group of individuals invited, the entire village, if one could call it that,  joined in merriment with the newest Syndar clan member. For, it had been years since a family conceived and birthed another feral Syndar, and as such, the name “Aladrin Greywood” was chosen to signify the great lineage of honorable feral chiefs. While, Aladrin’s parents were neither chieftains or leaders, in any way, they still held high regard in their little town. For, they fed and nurtured their neighbors their entire lives. As farmers and lovers of nature and all it could offer, Arendril and Millian Greywood would always be known as givers.

It was in this town that Aladrin first learned how to hold a sword, swing a hoe, identify important herbs, and most beloved of all his skills and talents to his parents, share music. Nothing stirred the small dense forest village more than the quiet humming of the young boy as he weeded his mother’s garden or to listen to him leap tree to tree while shouting the ancient songs of Syndar past. Where he learned how to carry a tune or even handle an instrument bewildered his parents, as neither had so much as whispered any melodies in front of their friends. But, somehow, Aladrin caught on rapidly and shared strange songs unknown to the rest of their village.

Aladrin, however, knew where he learned, but was too fearful of the stern rebuking of his mother to ever let tell that he discovered his love of music by spying on the traveling caravans passing through the narrow mountain ranges. From a young age, any chance that Aladrin had to venture off into the woods and beyond, he took, and often saw more than his parents would wish. Either hanging careful from tree branches, shrouded by the dense foliage, or nestled between boulders in rocky outcrops, he would watch the horses pull wagon after wagon. Mysterious occupants and treasure, no doubt, lay hidden within, waiting for the opportunity to shine in the glaring sun. Aladrin would often wait for hours, watching and learning as much as he could about the newcomers to the region. His parents would never approve, as they spoke harshly of taking risks, not only at such a young age, but also the chances of their village being seen and absorbed by one of the many local governments. 

While not one for politics, Aladrin would often listen to his parents discuss matters beyond his understanding. Even at 9, sometimes in the open, or behind closed doors, he would peek beneath or through keyholes to listen in on many individuals. He had, afterall, been honing this skill since nearly his birth. Whether it was watching caravans pass while the guards talked about marauding bandits or his parents talking about the surge of “undead” moving north, he paid close attention and listened attentively.

“They are getting closer each day” He heard his father say, hushed. Aladrin leaned closer to the door of his bedroom, attempting to hear more, despite it being far past his bedtime.

“What can we do? We are farmers, not fighters. We barely know magic,and we can’t rely on your sword alone to defend us”, Millian replied, not looking up from the herbs she was crushing. Though, Aladrin did spot a harsh, anxious increase in the rhythm of his mother’s muddling.

“I think it’s about time we consider moving further north… toward the ocean”, Arendril stopped sharpening his favorite hoe. His long, curved sword hanging from his side. It wasn’t often Aladrin saw his father carrying his sword in the village, let alone the house. Aside from once swinging away some attacking bandits and leaving for a week to venture north, he hadn’t known his father to do more than practice with a sword.

“FURTHER north?” His mother finally looked up. “We just moved down here. Our people traveled a great long while to finally reach a land where we felt safe. Why on earth would we move again?” Millian had begun tearing up, clutching a handful of herbs in her hand and wiping a tear with the other. The muddler she still held smeared some crushed brushweed across her cheek. 

“Millian…” His father offered quietly, standing. Moving across the room, Aladrin was able to see his father grab a rag off the table and wipe his mother’s face. “We mustn’t worry ourselves with things we can’t control. We have a responsibility to our people and to our son to keep them all safe. We can’t do that with these… creatures… moving toward us. The only option we have is moving north to a potential safe haven.” Smiling, he stood and patted his sword. “Besides, who is the best swordsman you know?”

“SwordsWOMAN. Me, and you know it”, Millian looked up smirking.

“Well… yes, but…”

“Too bad YOU wouldn’t let ME teach our son.”

“Yeah, well… you taught me. So, in a way..” Arendril shrugged, and held his hand out for his wife to hold. “Anyway, you couldn’t teach him swordsmanship.” He stated, turning and looking over his shoulder with a devilish smile. “SOMEone had to teach the boy how to cook and clean”.

“OH YOU!” Millian jumped up and tackled her husband to the floor, rolling around faking punches. Aladrin noticed it got quiet, then heard the sounds of kissing. Grimacing, he knew what was coming next and returned to bed covering his head with his pillow.

Awakening to the sound of loud talking, blackness surrounded Aladrin. Leaning up, he noticed his room had been packed into boxes. All but a few objects lay neatly folded and by his bedroom door. Stumbling out of bed, he turned the handle of his bedroom door to be greeted by a living room full of village leaders, his parents, and some very imposing men in thick, metal armor.

“It’s time to go, we have horses ready and wagons for all of you.” The man nearest his door spoke, bellowing for the room to hear. He stood several feet over Aladrin, dwarfing him in the doorway. “Up north, we have secured a passage through Lairthudual, up to the northern sea near Karindren. You will be a part of a larger group leaving the southern continent.”

Aladrin could now see his parents staring at him, passed the great man that stood before him. The fear in his mother’s eyes only reaffirmed that which he had heard the night before. They would be leaving their home and traveling. The notion filled him with dread, but also excitement. He knew only this village his entire life, this would be his chance to see something beyond the forest.

Moving quickly passed the armored man, his mother scooped him up, bringing him closer to his father.

“Did you know about this?” She asked, looking at Arendril, with almost an air of contempt.

“I had a feeling”, his father replied, looking back at the armored man, who had begun barking orders at the village leaders. “During our venture north, we encountered a few traveling groups that spoke about a newly discovered continent called Mardrun. Suppo…” he trailed off, interrupted by Millian.

“A CONTINENT? You want us to move to an entirely new landmass? I thought this was just about heading north to a safer part of Lairthudual!” She exploded, hurting Aladrin’s still sleepy ears. Noticing, his mother cradled his head gently.

“Millian…” the large man in armor spoke, walking toward them taking off his helmet to reveal a thick head of golden hair. How did he know his mother? “It’s so much worse than you know. The undead aren’t slowing down. If anything their onslaught has only garnered fervor. It won’t be long before everything south of the mountain pass is destroyed or consumed. We have to leave.”

Aladrin could feel his mother’s knees begin to weaken. Loosening himself from her grasp, he dropped to the floor and hastily moved toward his room. Millian, as well, dropped to her knees and sat stunned and silent.

They all stood in silence for what felt like ages, before Aladrin himself broke the tension. Standing in his doorway, holding a box, his practice sword atop, and his traveling cloak across his back.

“Let’s go.” He said, shuffling the heavy box and his remaining belongings toward the front door of their home.

As he passed his mother, Millian reached an arm out and brought him to a stop. Holding a trembling hand to his shoulder, “We will be ok, Aladrin. I promise.” Mustering the strength to offer a smile, she stood and wiped her eyes.

“Well… you heard him. Let’s go.”

The following weeks Aladrin saw more of the world than he had ever before. Either riding atop or walking beside the moving wagons and horses, he rapidly darted his eyes across the land. New smells, animals, people, everything. If all this was new to him, how would a new continent feel? What is a continent? How big is it? At each stop, his father would pull him aside to hone his swordsmanship skills while the women cooked and prepared a noonday meal. Aside from the looming threat of an undead invasion at any point, Aladrin had never felt more alive. He didn’t want this feeling to end, and for once, he felt more at home on the road, than he did in his own village.

The morning fog had just begun to settle, as the traveling group crested the immense hill in northern Lairthudual. With the sun peaking over the horizon, Aladrin and the caravan shielded their eyes, only to be met with the sight of an immense sea with dabbled islands in the distance. Taking in the stupefying splendor of the vast body of water, and the harsh, but welcoming breeze of sea water, the group felt an air of relaxation for the first time in what felt like ages.

“Is that the continent??” Aladrin exclaimed excitedly, running forward to get a better, less crowded look at the sea. The adults in the party had a hearty chuckle, with several hugging their nearest neighbor in relief. Stooping, his father put a hand on his shoulder.

“Not quite, buddy. You see, somewhere, beyond that huge sea is another land. As big as ours. Maybe bigger, called Mardrun. They discovered it last year. That’s where we are going.”

“Wait… we’re gonna cross the sea? How?” Aladrin asked, looking up at his father.

“BY BOAT!” Exclaimed a voice behind them. Turning, they saw another Syndar man, considerably older than Aladrin and his father. Clad in black and navy robes and holding a tall staff, the man knelt close to Aladrin and pointed off into the distance, at the shore. “You see those groups of people by the water? They are climbing onto huge ships meant to carry us across the water.”

Squinting, Aladrin was barely able to make out the droves of people and wagons piling onto what appeared to be large wooden boxes attached to rolled up cloth. “I don’t get it. That’s a boat? So, in the stories of people sailing, that’s what they were on? I pictured some kind of floating turtle.”

The man gave a hearty laugh and stood to his full height. “Ahha, yes, well I can see how you’d think that. But, in reality, they are merely made of wood. The very trees that you, yourself, climb every day. They are made in such a way that they float on the water and can hold hundreds of people!”

Aladrin stood in awe at both the concept of a ship and the immense knowledge with which this man possessed. His father smiled and extended a hand toward the Syndar introducing himself and Aladrin. Taking it, the man bowed. “Greetings, I am Zenteagan Wincress, a healer by trade, and also a purveyor of rare and delicious ales.” Aladrin only now noticed that he had been holding a large tankard in his other hand this entire time, seeing him take a large swig periodically.

“What’s an ale?” Aladrin asked, staring at the mug.

“Well, it’s something that, in time, I’m sure you will enjoy. Brewed and malted from the finest hops and barley and aged in both oak and wine barrels, this ale is sure to fill your belly and your spirits…..when you’re older.” He added with a wink. Aladrin scowled, having heard this exact thing about the various fruit wines his parents consumed in the evening after working on the farm. “On that note, I must be off, for I desire a ‘window seat’ on our fair vessel, for, I get rather sick of staring at sweaty backs and cracks all day. Dear Arendril and Aladrin, I pray that when we land or sometime in the future, you look me up, for a familiar face makes a journey that much fonder. Remember the name Zenteagan Wincress and pour it across your lips!” He exclaimed, walking toward the sea, taking a large drink of his mug.

“Well… he was a character” His father smirked, looking down at Aladrin. “Let’s get to it. Time to get off these feet and see a new land”. Hoisting his pack further onto his shoulder, Arendril patted the horses nearby and continued forward to settle on the ship. Aladrin didn’t know what to expect or what lay in store for him on this new continent, but his heart was filled with wonder and excitement for a new world. 

—–

The hot glaring sun beat down on him mercilessly, as he hacked away at the dry dirt. Wiping sweat from his forehead, Aladrin straightened his back and gave his neck a crack. Looking around, he saw the hard working people of his former village toiling away, attempting to make the soil once again feasible in the early parts of spring. It had been a harsh winter in their 10th year here in Mardrun, but every year it got a little better. Aladrin still thinks fondly of the ship ride from Faedrun, despite the near year-long journey, it was pleasant with much of his village aboard the same vessel.

Looking into the distance across the field, he could see his mother lovingly bring his father a mid morning refreshment. Their love, it seemed, had continued to spur confidence in their decision to settle where they had. Originally lovers of the woods, they left Davens Hold in search of more fertile ground, as the mountains rarely had a moment of good tilling. Traveling east, they settled in the heart of Nightriver territory away from the dueling grounds of rivaling clans. Amidst their Ulven neighbors, they harbored the same friendly demeanor to win over the minds and attitude of the locals from nigh-hostile to a warm tolerance. With much of a similar agricultural landscape, but with some new changes in herbs, they found themselves flourishing once again growing crops and feeding friends and family alike. Life was slowly adapting to normal again, and in this new home grew contentment.

——

Aladrin settled down at the kitchen table, throwing a recently slain rabbit hastily onto the counter. Kicking up his feet and tossing his bow into the corner, he could catch the stern glare of his mother out of the corner of his eye.

“Young man, you do NOT get to mess up my kitchen with rabbit’s blood and think you can ALSO slam your disgusting feet onto my table”, she started moving across the room and swiping his dirt covered, boot laden feet off the placemats. “This isn’t a barn. Gut this rabbit, then go clean up. I’d get dinner started”.

Sighing, Aladrin, slunk toward the wash basin and quickly stripped the rabbit of its innards, fur, and various, inedible pieces. A task so brainless as he had done it hundreds of times with various animals. Life hadn’t changed much in this aspect. Even on Faedrun he often helped his father trap and kill animals for food, learning all the important aspects of hunting but also of respecting nature.

“Nature provides us with sustenance and nourishment, Aladrin”, his father would say. “As such, it’s our responsibility to maintain a healthy balance of prey and predator.”

“Why can’t we just hunt whatever we want”, an impatient Aladrin huffed, getting colder and colder in the evening chill.

“Because”, Arendril replied, smiling and poking his son in the chest. “Each and every one of us is a piece of this world. We represent just a tiny fraction in this balance. But all of us play an important role in keeping nature healthy. Why, we could kill all the mountain lions, but then who would keep the deer population from destroying our farms? Similarly, if we hunt all of the deer in the region, how will the wolves feed their young? All of us are responsible for each other. For together, we are what make this world whole”.

Smiling at himself and the decade-past words of his father, Aladrin finished cleaning the rabbit and his hands before tidying up the mess he made in the kitchen. Millian smiled behind her back, as she sliced potatoes, knowing that for all his still-youthful antics, Aladrin loved his family as they represented a portion of himself.

—

Wiping his mouth and rubbing his stomach, both Aladrin and his father leaned back in their chairs with a horn of wine and thanked Millian for the meal. Since he was young, Aladrin couldn’t remember a night when their family didn’t eat together for dinner. It was a family tradition, if they ever had one, and perhaps the reason why they still remained so close. But in no shortness of words did Aladrin ever express his gratitude for his mother’s cooking, a habit he had picked up from his father. 

Settling in for the night, the Greywoods relaxed by the fire out behind their little home, smoking tobacco and drinking wine. Plucking away at his lute and humming softly, he would see his father and mother swaying in their seats along to the beat. Smiles across their faces as they held hands.  It had been a while since he had thought about Faedrun, and even now sitting by the cracking pit of embers and watching them dance, he reminisced of all the moments climbing trees and sneaking through rocks, spying on the very types of caravans he, too had used to get to this very land. Much had changed, but above all else, he loved his family and their love for eachother had never waivered. If anything, he felt himself covering his head with his pillow at night more often than not, or merely using that as an excuse for an evening walk through the woods. Life was certainly different, but in the important ways, it remained the same.

—

Aladrin could feel the smoke burning his lungs before he even awoke. Coughing and struggling to rid his breath of the putrid smell of charred corpses and crackling wood, he rolled out of bed and heaved several times. Feeling his eyes tear, as he attempted to open them in the dark, hazy room, he could barely make out the sounds of his own breathing and coughing beyond the harsh clanging of steel and the piercing screams echoing outside his window.

Stumbling across the room, shielding his face from the growing heat, he grabbed the handle of his door only to feel the intense pain singe his fingers. Taking several steps back, he lunged against the door, feeling the hinges give way slightly. This time, aiming for the lock, he kicked with as much sleepy muster as he could manage and busted the door open. Met with an inferno of swirling flames and broken windows, the interior of their little home was torn asunder. Seeing the hilt of his father’s short sword sticking out from behind the table, he grabbed it and ran outside.

Dark objects darted across his vision in the dozens. Some clad in dark clothing and armor, others in nightwear, being chased by the former. Unsheathing the sword, Aladrin took in a deep breath to clear his senses and looked around for familiar faces. It took little time to spot his father standing back to back with another village elder, both holding swords, and swinging wildly at dark, quickly moving, almost human looking objects hunched and catapulting themselves in alarming speed. Without a second thought, Aladrin bolted toward the fray in nothing but soot covered nightwear and abandon.

Within 20 paces, he could see his father was defending a small cluster of village members, most familiar, with some Ulven mixed in, from the attackers. Quickly diving under a swinging sword and between the lines of dark figures, he thrust his back against his father’s and faced the onslaught, shouting for the whereabouts of his mother. With his head turned toward Arendril,  and hearing that his mother was safely hiding somewhere with the majority of the other women and children, he turned once again toward the enemy. It was then that he noticed the crouching, disfigured faces of the dark figures. With green tinged skin and horrific features, they angrily shouted in a strange language and attacked in an alarming frenzy. 

“What in the devil are these things?” Aladrin found himself shrieking, still unable to fully comprehend what was happening.

“Mordok”, replied his father, in a hushed, but also anxious tone. It had been many moons, since he saw his father with a concerned look on his face. Between the blood soaked hair and various burn marks, it was clear that he had missed quite a bit of the evening. “I don’t know why they are here, and so far south in Nightriver territory, but that’s a discussion for another..”

His father trailed off, as the Mordok continued their assault. In flurries of steel and fury, Aladrin found themselves amidst a relentless barrage of flying arrows, axes, and shields.

“We can’t hold them here, we have to move!” Shouted Arendril, to the other village leader, who simply nodded, while taking a swipe at an approaching shield. Aladrin’s father then leaned in closer to his ear, “Son, I’m going to run forward, you grab these people and drag them out of the village in the opposite direction. Head to the woods, you’ll find your mother there guarding the rest of the women and children.”

“Like hell, I will. I’m staying here to fight”.

“You’ll do as I say… and watch your language.” His father replied, giving him a shove. “Or your mother will kill us before these things can”. With that, Arendril turned and gave an aggressive kick to the shield of an approaching Mordok, staggering it, then using the same shield as a stepping stone to leap past the attackers. Confused, several turned and pursued, as Arendril bolted into the smoky darkness.

“FATHER!” Aladrin yelled, attempting to move forward. The older villager with them, grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head feverishly, and dragged Aladrin the other direction, hacking away at a few lingering Mordok. Looking back over his shoulder, Aladrin squinted in an attempt to see his father’s figure still moving about, but was unable to pierce the darkness with his vision.

It felt like an hour, running and diving past various Mordok, only to turn and swing, catching them in the back with a swift strike. The two of them, along with the helpful hand of a stout female they were “rescuing”, made quick work of the single, looting Mordok they would encounter. Reaching the edge of the village, the elder turned to Aladrin. 

“Quick, now that we’ve avoided their attention, you meet up with your mother in the woods. I will take this group to the north of the village near the grove. From there, we will wait and reconvene once we know it’s safe to return to the village. Your father should meet us there within a day or two.”

“Are you sure? How does he know when to meet us?” Aladrin grew worried about splitting up so quickly.

“Trust me, your father and I go way back. When we first settled in Lairthudual, we had to backtrack a lot to keep bandits and various ruffians off our tail. It’s an old battle tactic.” He added with a wink. This was the first Aladrin was hearing about his father ever being in battle. “I promise, we’ll meet up in the village in a few days.”

Aladrin watched him and the other villagers slink off into the hazy distance before turning to head into the woods. Leaping over the logs he followed the instructions of the older villager to the center of the woods by the large crop of boulders. He knew the place well. Naturally, sunlit in a clearing, it was a great place to soak up some sun in the early spring days and to hide from the same glaring heat in the summer. Shrouded in a blanket of night, it was just as easy to find, as the moss that grew on the rocks rippled in the moonlight and laid a well lit path through the woods. Phantom images of Mordok flashed across his face as he stumbled through the trees, making him hallucinate that he was being followed. Every so often, he would stop and listen, utilizing his hunting skills to remain deathly silent. Then, when he was certain nothing was stalking him through the night, he continued.

As he ran, he could see the clearing begin to illuminate in the night sky, breaths of relief and exhaustion left his lungs, renewed with vigor to be reunited with his mother and the other villagers in safety. Looking down in the fresh light of the moon, he could see the heavily trodden forest path with recent foot prints, showing that they had indeed made it. As he approached, and slowed, he couldn’t help but feel anxious. He didn’t detect any noise coming from the clearing. No whimpers of saddened children, no gasps of frightened escapees. Just silence. Breaking into the clearing, the large boulders loomed above him bathed in the night light, but nothing else. No villagers, no mother. Hastily looking around, now with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he ran around the boulder, and again, and again. There were clear signs that someone had been here. Broken sticks and leaves, muddy footprints from the evening dew trampled into the soft forest floor. But then, silence.

Bolting once more through the woods, he headed to the second rendezvous point the old man had told him of. North of the village just past the large oak tree and grassy hill overlooking the vast plain north of the forest. Clearing from the trees, he could see the oak in the distance.With the smoldering village to his right and the oak tree beyond, he made a mad dash to the gathering place. Air had long  since left his lungs. Despite being a hard worker, diligent farm hand, and a skilled hunter, his entire body ached and his chest burned in agony with each breath.

“Please, please please…” Aladrin found himself muttering to himself as he broke into a renewed sprint coming closer to the giant oak tree. Reaching the base, he halted and threw his back against the trunk, listening beyond to hear any signs of Mordok or otherwise. Nothing. Peering from his hiding spot, he looked over the hill to spot the remaining villagers and hopefully his mother. Again, nothing. 

Staggering away from the tree, he collapsed to his knees in exasperation. Where were the villagers? Where was his mother? He hadn’t seen any blood in either location. No torn clothes, no drag marks showing dead or captured bodies being hauled away to wagons. Even here, he saw the remnants of fresh footprints showing the villagers had indeed been here. With a great breath of air and muster, he stood turning back toward the hazy, burning village. Plumes of great black smoke billowed against the night sky, occasionally shrouding the moon in thick blankets of soot. 

With sword in hand, he marched through the fields toward the village. Hoping for some kind of answer. As he approached the edge of the village, he again stopped to listen. Apart from the steady crackling of beams absorbing heat and flame and the occasional collapse of a distant building, he was met with an eerie silence. No shrieking of Mordok. No screams of fleeing villagers. No clanging of hardened steel against shields. Aladrin slowly walked up the main path through the village square where he had once stood on the basin steps to ward off attacking Mordok. Piles of dead and decaying dark figures lay on the ground, faces covered in blood, ash, and war paint. The occasional villager could be seen crumpled in a bloody heep at the foot of another dead invader, some with limbs, others without. The gruesome scene before him left him numb to all but the desire to be reunited with someone. Anyone.

Aladrin spent a few hours wandering the village’s smoldering remnants, hoping to find some kind of answer. Horrific scene after horrific scene could be seen after every corner, with bloody streaks depicting a horrid death followed by some type of mutilation. It wasn’t until he neared the far end of the village, following in the same steps his father had taken only earlier that night that he found some semblance of an answer. There, embedded in a pile of dead Mordok were two swords thrust between the rib cages and backs of freshly bled bodies. A long, curved, blade with a spiked pommel and dappled metal indents along the spine. Clearly, something only a Mordok would carry. And a second blade.

A long, curved cutlass. Belonging to his father.

—–

It had been a long, grueling year since he found himself leaving his village. Trudging through the thick marshes of southern Grimward, he felt his energy renewed when he saw a familiar town in the distance. Though, it had grown considerably since first seeing it over 10 years ago. Davens Hold loomed in the distance, and for the first time in nearly a month, he felt excited. Primarily for the chance at a warm bath. Tossing aside his walking stick, after crossing the wide river east of the Grimward southern woods, he was able to make the trek across farm fields and open terrain much faster. It had been a solid week since he had a full meal.

Almost a week, in fact, since he met a traveling pork merchant by the name of Lanseall. It was purely a notion of fate and divine intervention that they met, as meat appeared to be scarce in this area. Or perhaps, Aladrin found his hunting skills lacking due to exhaustion. Lanseall happened to be smoking a fresh boar when Aladrin stumbled into his clearing, collapsing near the fire. A few hours later, he was eating the best tasting meat he had ever had. For nigh a month, Aladrin learned the secrets of smoking and curing wild meat from Lanseall, and vowed, upon leaving his new friend, that he’d meet again and best him in his own craft.

“Before you leave,” Lanseall stated, wiping some fresh herbs from his mortar and pestle, “I suggest you take some time and relax. If what you’ve told me about your family still holds true, you might get some answers from town.”. Aladrin sat up. It had been almost a full moon since he first told his friend about the fate of his village. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure the man had heard, for he was staring intently into the pit of his smoker, fanning flames, while his hair was catching fire.

“Just across this region is Davens Hold. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” Lanseall said, using a flask of river water to clean his utensils.

“Of course, it was one of the first places we visited, when we landed from the ships”, Aladrin piped up, wiping his face of sauce. Even after a month straight of eating nothing but smoked pork, he had yet to grow tired of the sweet, savory, smoky flavor.

“Well, I’ve heard they have a carriage that runs the distance from there to Crow’s Landing”.

“What’s in Crow’s Landing?” Aladrin inquired. 

“What’s in… why, it’s the festival. Well… more like a gathering of cooks and drunkards who meet every year. We call it a festival. Every year, we meet, we eat meat, and we uhh… touch meats.” He added with a smirk, still looking down at his cleaning supplies.

“You touch.,.. Oh what the hell, man. “ Aladrin blushed.

“Basically, we all get together and get drunk, share stories, eat food, and we relax. Something you’re in sore need of. In fact, I’ll be heading there in about a week’s time after I do some more hunting. You’ve GOT to try this new ale that I had there last year. Absolutely blew me off my ass. I don’t remember the name of it, but some guy named…. Zen? Tea? Teazen?” He trailed off, in thought.

Aladrin immediately pulled himself away from his plate of meat.

“Surely you don’t mean Zenteagan”. He blurted, still with meat filling his mouth. How he still remembered the name, he wasn’t sure, but the name was burned into his memory as much as that day, so many years ago.

“That’s the one! Wait, how do you know him?”

“I met him back in Faedrun before we left! I never even thought of him until you said his name!”

After saying their goodbyes, a few days later, Aladrin bid his friend farewell, promising to catch up with him at the Crow’s Landing “festival”, but not before he had a chance to meet a long lost acquaintance. 

—-

The ride from Davens Hold to Crow’s Landing was considerably more eventful than he had anticipated. What Lanseall had described as a “carriage” service to the southernmost tip of the continent was nothing more than a drunk farmer with no family who carted people around in exchange for more wine. After securing his passage with the promise of as much wine as he could drink when they arrived at the festival, Aladrin spent the following weeks with a sore rear-end from a bumpy wagon and fighting off the occasional bandit who stopped their travels to rough up some coin. 

After arriving in Crow’s Landing, it was a considerably larger town than Aladrin had expected. With merchants, and no shortage of taverns, he ambled through the streets looking for the closest semblance of a “festival” he could imagine. It wasn’t until he neared the center of the town than he heard a distantly familiar booming voice.

“Why, that’s the taste of fresh, roasted barley and tasty hops my friend! HAHA! See how it caresses the taste buds delicately then BLAM! Smacks you right in the throat”

“Whether it’s ships or ales, you always have a lot of say, don’t you Zenteagan” Aladrin called out as he approached. His old friend turned around hearing his name, and stared at Aladrin. A few seconds passed, and his eyes lit up.

“Well, I’d recognize those ears if it took another decade! Little Aladrin Grey..Greywood! Aladrin Greywood, how are you, old friend?” He beamed, immediately disregarding the man to whom he was trying to sell and was now pilfering coins out of Zenteagan’s coffer.

“That… that guy is stealing from you!” Aladrin exclaimed, pointing past his friend.

“Oh who cares, most of that was fake money anyway. You think I’d have real silver lying around a place like this?” He laughed loudly, looking at the man reexamining the coins he stole, and throwing them down in disgust. “My, you’re armed to the teeth, aren’t you? What’s the occasion wait… that’s… your father’s sword isn’t it. He isn’t…” He tapered off, looking at Aladrin in concern.

“It is his sword, and I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in over a year.” Aladrin started, then seeing Zenteagan’s anxious looks, he waved him off. “I’ll tell you about it over a flask of your finest, what do you say? I believe I’m long overdue for a taste”.

Zenteagan continued his concerned look for but a moment, before smiling, and clasping a hand on Aladrin’s shoulder. “Of course! I know just the place!”

The two of them walked through the town, now starting to fill up with an alarming number of drunken and scantily clad individuals. After a few minutes of walking, Zenteagan stopped in front of a large wooden door with a hastily scribbled sign above it saying “The Wandering Bard”.

“Is this…an actual tavern?” Aladrin asked inquisitively, looking at the questionably official sign.

“Well… yes and no. But mostly no. It’s better to not ask questions”, his friend laughed after knocking with a few loud bangs on the door, which cracked open and some leering eyes could be seen peering from the darkness.

“Aye, Zen is that you?” The voice asked mysteriously. 

“The one and only!” Zenteagan exclaimed with a slap to his thigh. The entire conversation ended there, as the door closed, then, following a harsh click, reopened with a hand extended.

“Well, then come on in, your ale will pair nicely with the little magic show we got going on right now.”

Aladrin had never experienced so raw an environment as the inside of the Wandering Bard, or whatever this place was. Drunkards brawling, fornicating, dancing, and passed out on the floor. Openly naked women walking about, with an equal number of openly naked men following either in tow or leading. They sat down, and Aladrin noticed the barkeep was a short, questionably aged individual barely able to reach the top of the bar, but yelling with the language of a sailor. It made him briefly reminisce of the first time he cursed in front of his mother, and she assailed him with a flying eggplant from across the kitchen. He doesn’t remember what he said, but he does remember he didn’t say it again. At least in front of her.

In the middle of the open space was a man in a wide brimmed hat, casting spells and creating baubles out of thin air, only to have them disappear seconds later. The magic show, from what Aladrin could surmise. It wasn’t much of a show, as the mage was merely performing child’s tricks while sneakily moving towards and away from unattended bags in the vicinity.

“Hey Zenteagan…” Aladrin started, nudging his friend.

“Please, you’re an adult now. Call me Zen, no need for formality”.

“Of course Zente…err…  Zen. What’s up with this mage. Is he stealing?”

“I should imagine so. I can’t see why anyone would be amused by these kinds of parlor tricks until it’s meant to be a distraction for something else. I’ll tell you what, nothing is more distracted than a drunk audience, and it doesn’t get much drunker than this!” Zen laughed, holding his belly. He was clearly in his element, Aladrin noted, with he far from his own. He hadn’t ever seen this type of debauchery, yet at the same time, there was a familial tone to it all. At least, until the mage was caught with his hand in the bar til. Unfortunately for Zen and Aladrin, they happened to be in the way of the oncoming bouncers.

“HEY! That’s enough out of you!” A large Ulven man shouted, grabbing a club leaned against the wall. He hastily made his way toward Aladrin, who stood out of force of habit if nothing else.

“Wha…” Aladrin started, but not until Zen and Aladrin felt a shove from behind. The mage had received a rather hearty accosting from one of the naked women who had assumed it was him that slapped her back side.  With physical agitation coming from all sides, the three individuals found themselves amidst a huddle of angry, naked, and drunken people all trying to punish someone for something, while it felt unknown what the actual crime truly was.

Aladrin felt a firm hand grab his cloak at the same time as he took a knee to the stomach from a thin, naked man with glittery skin.

“Time to go”, the voice said from behind him, as he felt his entire self being lifted off the floor and up and out the back door of the tavern. As he was dragged through the doorway, he collided with the mage, who apart from a busted lip, appeared in good spirits. Perhaps, Aladrin guessed, because he had consumed quite a few himself. Whomever was dragging them out of the tavern apparently had both of them in tow.

Moments later, he felt the roughly, scarcely grassy ground collide with his still swollen back side, and looked up to see not only himself and the mage, but Zenteagan also in a crumpled heap on the earth beside him. Looming above them was, strangely enough, the diminutive barkeep who spoke with a rather gruff voice.

“I SAID, it’s time to leave. You can participate in the festival next year. Leave the mage at home”.

With that, he slammed the door closed, and the sound of music and shouting resumed once more from within. Aladrin leaned over to the barely conscious Zenteagan and said with a groan, “I think it’s best we do our drinking elsewhere”. With an alarming speed, Zen hopped up, brushed off his cloaks, and checked his coin purse.

“Ah good, it’s still there. They didn’t get the real one. Can never be too careful!” He laughed, hauling Aladrin off the ground. “Now, who is our clever little mage friend who deprived me of a week of drunkenness”?”

“Ah right, umm… sorry friends.” the mage started, getting up and gingerly touching his lip with a wince. “The name’s Connor Ashmane”.

“Well, Connor, while I appreciate the rabble rousing, I think you owe me a drink. You can buy it in the next town over with the coins you’ve been stealing all night.” Zenteagan said with a dramatic flair and his hands on his hips. “For, I should, right now, be face deep in a tankard of ale and a bed full of women”.

“Right, yes, well. No worries, no problem. Let’s just head on over to Newhope. I hear there is a great little tavern there that’ll sort you right up”. Connor replied, digging around in his cloak, appearing to be looking for something.

“Newhope, well, that’s a bit further than I’d like to go for a drink, but I’m heading that way, myself.”.

Aladrin, finished cleaning himself off, and applying a salve to an open wound from a bottle, “Actually, before we head out, I’d like to see my friend Lanseall again real quick. He was the one who told me you’d be here, Zen.”

“Did he now, and how did he know that?” Zenteagan replied with a furrowed brow.

“I guess he had some of your ale last year, and thought it was amazing. He said he was coming back just for more of it”.

“Well, then I’m sorry that he’ll miss it” Zenteagan distressed with a feigned exasperation. “For to deprive one of a Wincress ale is a tragedy akin to a dive in the Dirge.”

“What now?” Aladrin asked, again unsure, as he knew that Zen held a lot more knowledge than he. 

“Oh boy, well, that’s a long discussion, definitely over a drink. In any case, I’m sure you’ll see your friend on the way to Newhope, as our paths are likely to cross. How did you get here? Did you pay for the carriage service?”

“Why does everyone keep calling it a carriage? It’s a rickety wagon with a drunk old farmer..”

“Ah, so you HAVE met him. Good, yes, let’s go find him, and we can head out. Aladrin shook his head, unsure of what to make of the last few days.

—-

The next few days felt eerily familiar, as the trio traveled along the same dirt road in the same old wagon, pulled by the same old farmer. Though, unlike his previous journey, this man and Zenteagan apparently knew each other, and conversed joyously the entire trip. Connor and Aladrin sat awkwardly in the back making small talk.

“Well, what have we here…” Aladrin could hear Zen say from the front of the wagon. “It appears a tree has fallen in the road”. Looking up and past the farmer, it did seem that at some point a tree must have come down.

“That’s weird,” Connor piped up. “We haven’t had any thunderstorms or heavy winds at all.” Just then, Aladrin spotted some quick movement in the treeline. Something he saw only a few days prior in this journey.

“It’s a trap!” He exclaimed, drawing his bow off his back and knocking an arrow. Surely as he had spoken, a dozen bandits seized the opportunity and darted from the woods toward the wagon. Zenteagan and Connor both lifted their staffs and began to channel mana to cast a spell, while Aladrin dropped one of the bandits with an arrow. Several of the bandits carried crossbows, and Aladrin felt bolts whiz by his ear with barely a hair missing his head. Another two bandits dropped from Zen and Connor casting spells. The bandits were closing in rapidly, and the horses begane to buck wildly, throwing the occupants around in the cart.

“Make for the trees!” Aladrin shouted, dropping another one with an arrow, before stowing his bow and pulling out his two long swords.

“Are you insane, that’s where they came from!” Replied Zen, hastily channeling more mana, while kicking down at a bandit attempting to swing at his legs.

“I know the woods like the back of my hand. We can take them out one by one, let’s go!” Aladrin shouted.

After a blinding ball of light, dazing the few bandits hovering around the wagon, the three jumped from the cart and made a mad dash for the closest gathering of trees. Aladrin knew he would be much more effective in combat when he could use his natural environment. Zen and Connor were not so sure, but having seen Aladrin drop three bandits before even pulling a sword, they had nothing to do but trust him.

The three ran into the woods, but stayed as close together as possible. The dense, thick woods offered little protection from natural, thorny shrubbery, but greater protection from arrows and heavy swings of a sword. Several bandits made a hasty pursuit, and found themselves chasing the three through a heavy brush of briarwood and bramble. Aladrin quickly darted from tree to tree, looking for the best one to scale. Spotting it, he quickly climbed his way up, and obscured his position from the pursuing bandits. Zen and Connor continued forward, aware of the plan to ambush the chasing bandits. Moments later, Aladrin saw the three following closely behind and jumped on top to take them by surprise. Knocking the one he landed on unconscious, he rolled aside and quickly slashed at the legs of the remaining two. Barely seconds passed that two more bandits quickly jumped out. However, this time, Zenteagan and Connor quickly dispatched them with prepared spells, as they revealed their position from behind nearby trees.

After dispatching the three incapacitated bandits, Zenteagan clasped a hand on Aladrin’s shoulder.

“Your father would be proud to see his sword being put to such good and well-trained use. Though, seeing a Mordok sword being used alongside, does fill me with a bit of unease as to the story of how you acquired both…”

Aladrin smiled back and returned the friendly hand on Zenteagan. “That is a story for another time. Right now, we have I believe three more awaiting us somewhere in these woods”.

“Well, we’ll take care of them right quick, we will!” Yelled Connor, as he brushed off his wide brimmed hat. Moving away from the three, he reaffixed his hat, turning. “I think we make quite a tea….”

SNAP!

The feeling of air flew past their faces, as an immense net hoisted them far into the trees. Dangling helplessly, they heard the chuckles of some voices below.

“Looks like we managed to grab some live ones, boys”. One of the voices said. In the position they were in, it was difficult to establish which one was talking. The trees provide shelter from the sun during warm days, but as the night wore on, it also brought about darkness much faster. With the sun setting, it became painfully apparent that they would be dangling in the dark soon.

“Whatcha think, boss? Skin them and make some new clothes?”

“Nah, I want the pretty one’s face”. 

Zen, leaned over to Aladrin and whispered “they’re talking about me. Hehe.”. Aladrin scowled at his friend’s light-hearted comment, as they were in serious danger. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a loud voice echoed in the trees.

“GENTLEMEN”

“What the hell?”
“Who was that?”
“Show yourself!”

“GLADLY!”

The next few seconds were filled with horrific screaming intertwined with the sound of metal tearing through flesh. No sooner had it started, then it was quiet. The giant net suddenly gave a lurch. Aladrin could hear Connor say “Uh oh”, before they heard a ripping noise, and they plummeted toward earth. Colliding with the soft forest ground, they rose, brushing themselves off and favoring a few limbs.

“GENTLEMEN! GREETINGS!” A voice rang out again, this time from behind them.

Turning, they could see a tall figure, clad in armor with an immense tower shield, holding a torch. Beside him lay the three bandits in a pile of bloody sinew and flesh, pinned to the ground by an impressively long sword.

“Uhh, hey there” Zenteagan spoke first, “Thanks for saving us. I’m Zenteagan Wincress, this is Aladrin Greywood, and Connor Ashmane.”

“HELLO! I am Stanley Lorden, the last of the Guardians of the Wall. At your service!”

“Guardians of the Wall, what’s that?” Aladrin asked, finding he knew a lot less about the world than he thought.

“That’s… a story for another time” Zenteagan interjected, “right now, I’m sure we still have bandits following us still, and it’d be fantastic to actually get my ale for a change.”

“I will escort you to the next town” Stanley spoke, offering his hand. Aladrin gladly took it, appreciative for the help and looking forward to getting out on the open road again. As much as he loved being in the woods, with the onslaught of Mordok and bandits, it was painfully clear that he would need all the help he could get.

——

The following few days passed without much note. The three arrived at Newhope and hastily made their way to the nearest tavern. Guzzling down pint after pint and joining in merriment, they spoke excitedly about their future prospects, how they felt working together, and after an evening of joyous fun, the four agreed that they would travel together from here on out. Whether it be adventure or daring escapades, it had been a long time since Aladrin felt at ease. 

Connor apologized for setting off the trap, stating he wasn’t much one for the woods. Zenteagan reassured him that as long as he didn’t try to distract them with magic tricks while stealing their silver, all was forgiven. Stanley Lorden spoke at length of the history of the Wall, their adventures, how they disbanded, and how he still carried true the namesake of their predecessors. Aladrin gave a brief recount of his past, how he fled from Faedrun and settled in Mardrun. The attack from the Mordok, and how he found his father’s blade. Zenteagan listened intently, appearing to have shaken off the effects of the alcohol, nodding and furrowing his brow at points in the story. It was truly serendipitous that they meet again, and Aladrin was glad to have finally found some friends whom he could trust. 

Lanseall was right. He needed to relax. His life had been difficult, but so had Zen’s. Seeing the older Syndar laugh merrily despite the despair and trauma they had both shared, reminded him that life could still be ok. He missed his parents with an anxious heart and could he, he would have wept openly. But he didn’t. He smiled, stood and toasted his new kinship, and after a few hearty drinks and a handshake to solidify their agreement to continue on as a group, Aladrin did something he hadn’t done in over a year.

He sat down on a free barstool, pulled out his lute, and began to quietly play, whispering to himself the words of his mother “We will be ok, Aladrin. I promise.”

Played By: Cody Jackson 

Character Name: Willow

Preferred Pronouns: They/Them

Race: Io’larian Syndar

Class: Cleric

Age: 40 (in the year 271)

Occupation: Member of the Community

Birth Place: Deer Clan Village – Faedrun

 

Backstory:

Where I come from we are given names that describe us and our role in life. Before we are born our mothers sit on the hilltop surrounded by the elders who gaze into a reflecting pool until a name comes to them. Through them we are given our names. I was born among my people and given the name Ruscoqui, but that name has since left me, slinking off into the woods like the wily fox it is.

I lived a happy life among my people, the Deer Clan. I was taught to hunt, to fish, to fight; and while I loved these things, nothing held a place in my heart like the nightly stories. Every night the elders would sound flutes and ring bells to gather the clan around a roaring fire where they would play instruments and tell the stories of our people. I was always the first to arrive, ready and waiting for the words of my beloved elders to spill forth and weave tales. When I was still young they started to bring me forward to recite the stories alongside them. People started to call me Parma; Book. “There goes Fox, the little story book,” the adults would call as I ran by.

I was a young adult when the news of the undead plagues became too common to ignore. It seemed that everyday reports of their activity moved closer to our home. We’d always believed that our remote village would keep us safe, but when your enemies don’t need to eat or sleep then they can march any distance and soon nowhere is safe.

Eventually we realized that we would need to move our people. Our hunters and tradespeople set about gathering as many supplies as they could and we packed up our village and began the journey toward the port cities. One night as we camped under the stars my grandmother, one of our elders, woke me. “Wake yourself, Eredh,” they told me.

“I am not, Eredh, grandmother. I’ve not heard that name before. Are you okay? It’s me, Ruscoqui.” They smiled at me, but their eyes were sad.

“No, Eredh. You are no longer Ruscoqui. That name will stay with our people.”

“What do you mean?”

“Change is in the air. It comes on the wind. There will come a time where we will run as far as we can and all that is left to us is the ocean. At that time our people will need to take to the seas to the new continent that we have heard about in rumors.”

“What does this have to do with me, grandmother?”

They let out a slow breath and let their eyes fall for a brief moment before locking onto mine. “We do not have the goods nor the money to secure passage for us all. The city-dwellers will not take us free of charge. We can afford to send only one and we must send someone who can carry our stories.”

My jaw dropped, “Not me! Why me? You are an elder! You know all of our stories and more. It should be you that goes!”

They held their hand up and I stopped speaking, “No, I am old. The elders are old. We need someone young who can plant roots on this new land. This is why your name is now Eredh, Seed.”

“I – I can’t do it. I can’t go alone.” My words choked in my throat.

“I will go with you,” they told me as they reached out and touched my chest over my heart and spoke again slowly, “here.” They gestured to the sleeping crowd around me and touched my heart again, “They will all be here”. They took a small pouch from around their neck and pressed it into my hands. “This is the money you will need for the ship. Go now, in the night. Your story will be told to the other’s in time so that they will greet you as a friend should blessings cause your paths to cross again, but for now you must vanish.”

“But – “ Their hand shot up again before I could speak.

“No, there will be no arguments. No discussions. You will go as Eredh and leave.”

I did as I was told, packed my things in silence, and slipped away from the camp with not much more than field rations, my war clubs, and a small bag filled with coins. I traveled alone for many days, my heart heavy with grief and loss, until I finally came to the walled city upon the sea.

I drew attention as I walked the streets. The middle siblings looked at me in my clothes and horns with derision; couples that passed would cling to each other when they caught sight of my war clubs. The few city-dwelling elder Syndar that I saw did their best to look away when they saw me. I’m not sure if they felt shame for themselves, or for me. The youngest siblings made a great show of pretending I did not exist. There were not many of them out and among the pedestrians of the city, but their aura of superiority spread far and wide.

Eventually I came to the port and found a ship that would be sailing to the new continent, Mardrun. I found the man booking passage and approached them with my coins in hand. They were a human with salt blasted skin, an unkempt beard, wild eyes, but most refreshingly, absolutely no pretension.

They greeted me with the first warm smile that I’d seen in days and took the coins from my medicine bag to count. When they were done they looked up at me and told me that it was enough to book a small space in the depths of their ship. Before I could answer, a middle sibling behind them chimed in to say, “Ah good down where this one won’t have to look at it. This one was getting worried when it managed to actually pull out some money.” My hand moved toward my club, but the human put their hand out and stopped me, spun on a heel and cuffed the middle sibling across the face. I stood in shock, but not nearly the level of shock the middle sibling clearly felt. The captain no longer sported their warm smile as they screamed at what I quickly realized was a member of their crew, or at least had been. By the time they were done screaming it was clear the Syndar had lost their employment.

The captain turned back to me, their smile back on their face, though clearly plastered over other feelings. “Well I have a deal for you instead. Can you work a rigging?”

“Uhh…”

“Can you tie a knot?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Well then we can teach you the rest. You join the crew for the journey and I’ll give you back half this coin when we get there and you can have a newly vacated bunk in the crew quarters. It’s much nicer than the deep deck, and don’t worry it’s mostly humans in there.”

I nodded politely, “This is a deal.”

I was led onto the ship and shown my bunk. I set my bag down and, for the first time since leaving, really took the time to look through it. Far to the bottom there was a narrow satchel. I opened it and found my grandmother’s flute with a note attached to it that simply read, “We will be with you” I cried for a while, but then I played. 

***

The journey was not easy, but eventually we landed on the shores of Mardrun. When I stepped off the gangplank onto the docks I was immediately overwhelmed by the city laid out before me. The colonists had not been here long and yet they had already managed to establish a vast network of stone and wood buildings. It was a lot to acclimate to.

I spent my first days in the city with not much coin to my name trying to find a way to scrape by. I’d told the captain to hold onto the coins that they’d tried to return to me so long as they promised to offer a working transit such as mine to another of my kind. It was a gesture that felt noble at the time, but as hunger began to slip into my being it felt more foolish than anything.

Luckily for me Grandmother Sialag does not forget to smile upon their first-born grandchildren. It was not long before I met other First Born Syndar. They saw me out of place in the city and extended a lifeline. They told me that many that had lost their homes and tribes on Faedrun had come together to make a home on Mardrun in the woods and plains to the north. They called themselves The Shattered tribes, though to me the name seemed disingenuous for though they were from disparate homes they had not shattered, but instead came together.

I traveled north with these new friends until we came to their village that would become my home. There were so many people there and it warmed my heart to see them living in a way that looked familiar to me. As night fell the people gathered around the fire and bid welcome to the new members of their home and as people settled in I spoke, “I am Eredh. I was sent as a seed to plant the roots of my people on this continent. I have been called Parma, the book of stories. I am a storyteller and I would be happy to tell you all a story now.” I pulled my grandmother’s flute from a small satchel, played a phrase, and began to tell them all the story of The Spiders of the Deep Forest. My heart swelled as they watched and listened. This was not home, but it was starting to feel like it.

UPDATE:

Time passed on the new continent and Eredh grew with their new found family in the Shattered Tribes. Their roots grew deep within the community as their grandmother had hoped and one night they had a dream. The saw their namesake, the seed. It cracked open and a large willow erupted from within, driving it’s roots deep into the soil and thrusting it’s branches far out into the sky. They knew they were a seed no more. They took a new name Tathren, but in their time with the Shattered Tribes their home tongue and been steadily supplanted by the common use of trade speech. With their roots deep they knew who they were and were able to colloquially call themself by a name more readily understood by those around them – Willow.

PLAYED BY: Josephine Magee
CHARACTER NAME: Niedre
GENDER: Female
PREFFERED PRONOUN(S): She/Her
CLASS: Cleric
AGE: 30’s
RACE: Celestine Syndar
HAIR: Once Silver/White, but has turned darker after a battle with a corrupted disease.
EYES: Bright blue
OCCUPATION: Has survived with hunting and trade, otherwise none yet
KNOWN SKILLS: Archery, divine magic, research (rarely), foraging
BIRTHPLACE: Tribe of the Lost
APPEARANCE: Silver skinned, lithe, bright eyed, typically adorned in a strange melding of noble yet rustic attire
NOTABLE TRAITS: Hair usually put up, quiet personality until agitated, typically wearing Reclamant heraldry
RELATIONSHIPS: Mentor: Aeronwen, Mother: Isolde, Father: Uaine
RUMORS: Some may have heard of a silver Syndar hiding in the Great Forest. None within Steinjotunn have bothered to confirm or deny.
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Born in Tribe of The Lost, Niedre was hidden amongst her tribe for years. Her parents held great affection for their child and didn’t want to see her become part of a system that sees Celestine as inherently better than any other Syndar. The Lost’s relationship with the Celestine was poor at best. If the Tribe could have any part in breaking this cycle, they would. So the entire tribe aided her parents in concealing her existance. However, discovery was inevitable and Niedre was taken from her tribe at an incredibly young and sensitive age. Where most Celestine spend their entire youth under the influence of the Enlightened’s teachings, Niedre’s was instead instilled with a deeply defiant streak learned from her upbringing . She spent the next several years under the Enlightened’s custody, attempting to defy them at every turn. As a countermeasure, her education was assigned to the Reclamant. With her proclivity for divine magic developing as planned and the child’s need for rebellion satiated, the Enlightened were satisfied with her placement. The Reclamant recognized Niedre’s talent for the bow and sent her Rui-Calithil, where she refined her skills as a hunter and socialized with other Serous syndar. Over the years, she formed strong bonds with her peers, although she grew distant from the Enlightened’s classically trained students.
Niedre naturally excelled at clerical magic, and was soon ready for more than novice tutoring. However, as the undead scourge became an ever growing inevitability rather than a distant threat, the master clerics of the Reclamant had little time to focus on Niedre’s training and were more often on the field than in their temples. Little by little, fewer and fewer of the Reclamant returned, until one day the temples were overrun, and the surviving civilians were evacuated onto the final ships to Mardrun. While the rest of the Reclamant stayed behind to save as many souls as possible, Niedre’s master Aeronwen forced her to board the last boats. Niedre arrived on the shores of Mardrun surrounded by hundreds yet alone.
As Niedre wandered Mardrun looking for remnants of the Reclamant or her Lost tribe, she came to settle at the edge of the Great Forest within the territory of Clan Steinjotunn. Although she did her best to avoid Ulven politics at every opportunity, she came to appreciate their apathy to her presence and even began to think of them as allies. To survive in her isolation she would hunt the wild and trade with the nearby Ulven settlements for supplies. On occasion, she would sit quietly amongst their spiritual leaders or join in on a friendly competitive test of accuracy with a bow. She never stayed present long enough to make close friends though, and hastily retreated back into the forest at any signs of The Order or Newhope approaching.
Despite her attempts to remain a hermit, what remained of the Enlightened did eventually locate her, and she was required to report to Celestial Arragones intermittently. Through these exchanges, she began to hear of the colonist’s efforts to push back against the Mordok, and their persistence to research ways of defeating the undead. After news of the retrieval of the Helenstone reached her, Niedre finally began to accept that perhaps her own goals were not achievable without support. Slowly she made her way north to The Shield of Mardrun, uncertain of what to expect…

PLAYED BY: Riley Aspen

CHARACTER NAME: Chulainn

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 31

RACE: Syndar (Feral)

HAIR: Red

EYES: Green

OCCUPATION: Hunter, trapper, trader, and teller of tales.

KNOWN SKILLS: Chulainn lives off the land, able to forage and trap to sustain himself. While not possessing the borderline magical panache of a Bard, he is more than capable of drawing an audience with song and story both. His skill with the blade is not meager, nor is his prowess with his Syndar birthright of arcane magic. While idle, he likes to practice small handcrafts, like scrimshaw and whittling.

SYSTEM SKILLS: Arcane 1 + 2 ; Armor Proficiency ; Thrusting Weapons ; Two Handed ; Ranged ; Trade: Hunter ; Traps/Devices ; Meditation ; Mana Transfer (F) ; Syndar Mana Reserve (F)

BIRTHPLACE: Chulainn isn’t entirely sure where he was born – he would suspect that his tribe of origin existed in the forests about the Cul’Claimete region in the Kingdom of Richtcrag, based on the information he has been able to scrape together, but anything more specific is lost to him.

APPEARANCE: Chulainn makes an effort to hide most of his physical features – fair skin and locks of curly, red hair can be seen from beneath his hood, and blue-green eyes can be seen from behind his wood-carved mask. He is taller than most, though usually sits or stands with a slight, predatory hunch.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Chulainn makes significant effort to hide his face behind a wooden mask. The mask bears a rune upon its brow – you’ll have to ask what it means, if it means anything.

RELATIONSHIPS: Chulainn is standoffish to most, but he seems borderline subservient to Arden Halifax of the Newhope Expeditionary Guard – though neither seem to mention their association apart from that they’re ‘good friends’. He can be seen frequently sharing stories at the fire with an Ulven healer who calls herself ‘Bryn’. Most perplexingly, he seems to frequent the periphery of the Blades of Sol’s encampment, sometimes lending a hand here and there, but more often than not just watching, like a wolf sitting just outside the firelight.

BACKSTORY –

The man we call Chulainn isn’t one you would consider a wide-eyed optimist. He has early memories of Faedrun, but most of what he remembers was either the horror and death which followed the last mass exodus from the old world, or stories of his early life that were related to him by his caretakers. Chulainn is a Feral Syndar who is adrift from his own society – his people and his culture are as alien to him as they are to you or I. He was left behind in the care of a Celestine, one who had been born to his tribe and since acted as a liason, as his tribe fled their homelands under the warning of a grave misfortune which would soon befall the land and claiming that a child would only slow them down. The Celestine named the child Elias, and brought him to a village of Serous Syndar to be raised among their people while the Celestine looked for another Feral tribe that would take the boy in – though, realistically, the Celestine didn’t expect to find one any time soon, what with how insular the local Ferals tended to be. Thus, the boy was abandoned yet again, this time in the hands of far less willing and altruistic caretakers.

From a Syndar’s point of view, it was little more than an eyeblink after the boy arrived that rumors of undead creatures decimating isolated Syndar communes reached Elias’ new home. Not long after that, the Syndar people retreated from their scattered forest communes and into cities as the grave reality of the undead plague came to light. When even their greatest cities fell, it was a mad rush to the docks, in hope that somewhere they could find a new home – but the captains knew their charter, they weren’t sharing that information, not that their crew cared. In the heat of the moment, death by starvation at sea was a deeply desirable alternative to being killed and reborn as a shambling abomination. And, through all these travels, little Elias was dragged along, the Serous unwilling to simply abandon him to his fate despite his unfortunate nature and Feral blood.

Travel by sea leaves little room for the cold, distanced hand that the Serous had taken to using with their Feral charge. The ships leaving Faedrun were packed body to body, and supplies were scarce at best. Fish could be harvested and rain could be collected to shore up the stocks, but rationing left both passengers and crew deeply irritable, the haughty Syndar so deeply accustomed to their nearly post-scarcity lifestyle back on Faedrun. Thus, the casual, cold disdain and bigotry of low expectations directed toward young Elias blossomed into barely-veiled spite. Words once murmured behind closed doors and out of earshot were now spoken aloud for impressionable ears, all-too-audible whispers that the child was cursed and brought nothing but death and misery in his wake, that they should have just tossed ‘it’ in the river and let Solar sort ‘the thing’ out.

Little Elias didn’t fare much better in the months which came after the boat reached Mardrun. The Serous tried to return to their old ways, but the second failed harvest forced them to realize that this new land was harsh and unforgiving to outsiders. The only thing which spared them from the choking grasp of Mardrun’s winter was a chance meeting with an Ulven hunter by the name of Stigandr. The trapper offered his services, sharing meat furs with the weary travellers, and seemed unperturbed with the Syndar’s casual disdain for their savior, almost in spite of the aid he was offering.

About the fire, to those willing to listen, he shared tales of great Ulven heroes and their mighty deeds, and chilled legends of the terrible Mordok and warriors who fought back against them. While most were willing to listen while food was prepared, all but the most curious souls filtered away, more interested in their own lives than that of the stranger. Eventually, only Elias remained at the fireside, transfixed by this stranger’s tales. Over time, the two began to talk, with Stigandr sharing his stories and Elias sharing what little he remembered of his upbringing. Stigandr saw in the boy – now, moreso a young man – a kindred spirit, and eventually returned to make Elias an offer. Shortly thereafter, trade between the settlers’ ship and a local Ulven pack was forged, and Stigandr once more vanished into the forest. No one really questioned where Elias had gone, most simply assuming that the Feral boy had returned himself to where he belonged.

Now, some years later, a Syndar wearing a rune-engraved mask emerges from the forest. He calls himself Chulainn: a man of many skills, and a seeker of glory and tales worth telling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RUMORS: Those who speak of Chulainn rarely speak well. There are some who say that his face was brutally scarred, and he hides it behind a mask out of shame. Others claim him a man-eating monster, and that the mask is simply his way of blending in with civil society for some reason. Regardless, Chulainn will rarely deny any allegations put his way, usually resorting to a retort of “Find out for yourself”. Similarly, he will not remove the mask to prove any of them wrong.