[I]Gwenyfar Cerrunos Ravenspire[/i]

[i]Clippity, clop; clippity, clop; clop, clop.[/i] The continuous sounds of Asper’s hooves hitting the dirt road filled the cavity of her mind without bother. The woman atop the handsome steed’s back, a beautiful deep bay stallion, a well muscled creature that could cover distances quickly. The woman adorned in a simple green woolen cloak, held the reins gingerly in her left hand. Her posture still remained erect in the saddle despite many days riding. She had come from Titus, a near fortnight ago, on a job.

The job itself? Find and rescue Bartholomew Grey. Bartholomew was the son of a trading merchant, Cassius Grey. The reason for the rescue? Cassius enlisted Gwenyfar’s help to bring his son home before the plague spread too quickly and took his son. When she got to Titus, the villagers, those that remained and hadn't fled further south, told her that Bartholomew resided in a cottage about seven and  three-quarters of a mile outside of town. She road north as they directed, and discovered a hamlet completely burned to the ground. She had searched through the remains of the dead, through their charred homes to locate any evidence of the young man. It hadn't been long in her search before she came upon a cottage fitting the description, yet, on a wooden pole erected in the center of the path, was a piece of parchment tacked to the pole. Gwenyfar could still recall the faded writing as she had looked upon the scratchy runes, bleached from the sun, and withered from the rain. 

“DO NOT ENTER. ERE IN LIES B. GREY. SET HIMSELF AFIRE AND HIS HOUSE. THE PLAGUE IS COMING FOR US ALL. ~ B. Grey” ‘Twas a suicide note. 

Upon further investigation, Gwen discovered that indeed, he had set himself and his cottage ablaze. She found his body curled in a fetal position, his charred body unrecognizable. Yet, in the dim light, Gwen found a pendant clutched in his dead grasp. Through careful extraction, Gwen pried the pendant from his grasp and pocketed it. Not for herself, but for Cassius. She confiscated the note as well for further proof. 

It bothered her to be a bringer of bad news, but there was no other way to tell them the truth. She wondered if Cassius would still pay her the 100 gold coins, since she had found his son but couldn't rescue him.

The morning sunlight broke through the grey dawn clouds, sending bright shafts of light to illuminate the dark. She could see now, The Cross Roads. Gwenyfar slowed Asper to a walk, to let him begin his cool down; there was no sense in overworking a horse that would be  your only mode of transportation. And your only means of escape from the Black Blood Plague.

As she entered the Cross Roads, Gwen passed by The Kevil’s Arms tavern. She had only been at the inn three weeks ago, and a sign had already been erected in the doorway. She didn't bother to read it as she had more important things to do at the moment. Report to Cassius.

Finding Cassius proved not to be too difficult of a task for her, as she spotted the flamboyant trader selling his wares from a wagon cart in the small market area where the other, pitiful vendors had come as well. Dismounting, Gwenyfar approached Cassius, drawing out the pendant from a pocket on the interior of her leather jerkin.

“Cassius Grey.” She began until the merchant looked her direction, eyes quizzical. 

“Any word of my son? What do you have to tell me?” He inquired vicariously. 

“I found this, Mr. Grey.” She responded as she proceeded to hand him the burnt pendant. He examined it closely, and looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

“Is this all that you have found? Do you mean to tell me he's dead?” His voice cracked as his throat tightened in disbelief and despair.

“Aye. Is this his handwriting?” Again, Gwen produced another item. The suicide note. His hands tore it from her grasp as his eyes read the disheartening words.

“Aye.. This is by his hand.” His voice sounded purely mournful as he spoke, Gwen could hear it as plain as day. She waited in silence before he said anything else. It wouldn't be right to demand payment while he mourned at the first word of news.

Turning to leave Cassius, Gwen started for Asper before she heard him call out. “Wait! I should at least give you your pay.” The man hurried after her.

She turned to face him and was surprised to see him dip into his coin purse and retrieve an even smaller satchel of coins. 

“You did not bring him back, but you found him and brought me closure. With the world going to hell, I can at least be a man of honor and keep my word. In that pouch is the full payment which I owe you. Thank you for your service. I never did get your name?”

She offered him a ghost of a smile, as she could feel his pain, the loneliness was far too well known to her. “I am Willowleaf.” With that they shook hands firmly and Gwenyfar departed to find a local smithy of some sort if said It was still fairly early in the day, just after noon.

As she approached The Kevil's Arms, Gwen spotted the sign she had seen earlier on her ride into town. The sign directed anyone willing to join the Consano to seek inside. She shrugged her shoulders half-heartedly, as if being apart of the Consano would be good for her. 

She continued on her way, her green cloak whipping in the wind behind her as she walked; keeping her head low all the while.

The smithy, if you could call it that, was a tiny edifice with a center forge and anvil, other than that, she did not even spot a tanning rack, nor any type of bench, nor grindstone. Frowning at the quality of the forge, Gwen determined she couldn't have everything.

A burly man, with heavily etched wrinkles in his face shaped a new blade by stretching the metal with each resounding swing of his hammer. She watched him work as she leaned against a wooden post for some time before approaching him.

“If you need some help, I'd kindly lend a helping hand.” Offered Gwenyfar out of the blue, speaking loud enough for him to hear her.

The brute of a man jumped at her words, looking at her with brows raised. He studied her for several hard moments before he began to laugh raucously. 

“You lassy? You think you can help me? You are but a twig that I could snap betwixt my thumbs!” His voice was as a deep as a war drum with each chuckle.

Offering him a faint smirk, Gwen shrugged her shoulders, “I'd like to prove you wrong if you would let me.” Her hazel eyes scanned his tools, his other hammers and tongs, she itched to lift that hammer again, to feel the heat of the fire on her face.

“Very well, let's see what you can do. If you screw this up, you owe me 50 gold.” The man stepped aside and held out his hammer to her. She approached him and took the hammer in her hand and received as well, his smithing apron. She adorned herself properly before winking at the older man.

Lifting the hammer high into the air for dramatic effect alone, she brought it down hard, and began to lengthen the sword blade at a quickening pace.

Eight and a half hours later…

The blade had been worked long enough, and into proper shape, all that was left was to add the hilt. Here, the old smithy that had watched her silently while worked, rose from his seated position with a smile upon his wizened face.

“All right my girl, you have proven your skill. I could tell by your first hammer swing. Tell me this before you go, why bother to help me?” Inquired the smith.

“It has been more than a fortnight since I have touched a hammer, and felt the warm blaze of the forge’s fire on my face. My father worked a forge in my younger years before he passed, he taught me the trade in case I never learned to do anything else with my life. I just wanted to feel the fire again.” Her husky voice remained quiet as she spoke, receiving but a nod from the smith.

“So it is said. Those who are born of the hearth, kindle the fire for as long as they can lest they be consumed.” Here the elderly smith simply have her a nod to his own response as confirmation in his belief. 

Without further need to speak anymore, Gwenyfar turned to the smith in acknowledgement and bowed her head, and uttered a quick voiceless prayer to Ruo, in hopes to convey good luck to him in the future, so that as he too might survive the plague. At that, she turned and headed towards the Kevil's Arms inn as nightfall had descended slowly upon the Cross Roads.

By the time she reached the inn, she had found it empty, as Gwenfyar took refuge in the solace of her walks, she had especially taken to Asper, a stallion of 10 years, that she had raised as a young teenager.

The moon was a special light to Gwenyfar, as she had taken to a peculiar fondness for it on her sellsword missions of the past. It's white light illuminated against the dark abyss of the starry night sky.
It was a map she understood and felt comforted under, but yet it's map did not yield to her it's secret of life; it consoled her in her darkest hours. The moon had guided her to safety on many occasions, through escapes, and through stealthy deeds done in the dead of night. 

The view of the inn, allowed her to collapse back to society as Asper snorted loudly. They had arrived and the pitiful stable boy had made a pledge to brush him down good for her tonight. Dismounting, Gwenyfar gathered her gear about her and headed up the wooden steps to the door of the inn.

Once inside, she saw that no one official looking had remained inside, yet she saw a curious chalkboard with apparent volunteer names listed, and stranger still, next of kin. Well, that's what she was here for. She lifted the white chalk thoughtfully and etched her name into with known eloquence. Next to it she wrote her next of kin to be Agnar Ravenspire, if he were still alive, that is. Gwenyfar Ravenspire was no illiterate woman by any means. She favored literature, and secretly had begun to desire starting her own library, perhaps one a treasure trove of her personal favorites. The older authors piqued her curiosity, as she loved to read about the times by gone. That is where the key to the future is to be found.

She ascended the stairs, her buckled satchel on her back, and found the hall to be empty. Fires had begun to glow, in the rooms occupied. Letting her footfalls land softly upon the creaky wooden floors, Gwenyfar discovered a room at the end of the hall on the left; unoccupied. She took the key off the ring and opened the door, finding it empty of occupants.