[center][h1] Lies of the Shadowwald [/h1][/center]

Believe not the tales of Gundwain Sahfal, noted writer or the [I]March of the Shadowwald [/I], popular [b]Fiction[/b], concerning the fabled Shadowwald. While this text is a best seller, heralded as collector items, for their secretive excerpts for a select few, regaling buyers in stories of extra adventures that had befallen those marching few, it must be said they are patently false. A writer, if we must call him up from his status, sometimes has to embellish a tale to earn a bit of gold, if his other works are not providing. 

[I]March of the Shadowwald [/I]is one such work, written by a writer who has turned to sensationalism - to hyperbole - to resurrect a career that was deemed snake bitten from the start. The stoic lead, Goren Joquinal, is attractive to readers, as it plays on many other prominent character traits found in even more popular texts; the quiet, attractive rebel who gained fame in a shocking manner. The amassed army of loyal, disgruntled followers that united behind a common banner, and finding a home for themselves. It hits on all emotional levels, but the fact is, Goren's tale was not one of truth, and if it was, then the entire elven kingdom has been forbidden from talking about it. 

The truth of [I]The March [/I] is this, if Goren was a factual member of the kingdom, then he became a traitor and should not be celebrated, his name, as it seems to have rightful been, should be exiled from all tongues, and forgotten. For Sahfal, who was birthed to charlatons in their own right, to portray him as some folk hero, who lay with the Queen, is tantamount to him promoting treasonous action against ones own. 

As curator of Elven history, my station allows me access to the most hidden secrets of the Kingdom, and as Elven Born, these tales were told to deter children from disobeying, for it ended all the same. Not with a home found, but a marker - unblessed by El'I, and ungraced by the Queen, as would have befitted his station. 

[Right]--- Lies of the Shadowwald
Mihangyl Shana[/right]

[H2][center]Lawlessness[/center][/H2]

Unbeknownst to the [I]Moving[/I], travelling northward would likely place any well meaning adventures, or cast off exiles, in the path to the Lawless Ones. Unofficially, they were no known group, their chain of command virtually unknown to any who hadn't visited the village before. They were all troublemakers, those who could make no home for themselves anywhere else. There were tales, rumors really, of odd ongoings, a sound that really never stopped. Commotion. 

What the town was, was a converted abandoned village. Windows were boarded up, shops formerly closed now opened with lazily, mistrustful owners. Constant struggle for rights to squat in a town whose owner no longer walked the path of Allaria, but lay slumbering beneath a makeshift grave if insufficient depth and regard. Occupied by the most unsavory of the criminal element, they dealt in the likes of work that was sanctioned by the Council, and many of the towns around Allaria, as illegal. They made their living on murder for hire, theft, blackmail, kidnapping. Their walks of life were vastly different, and yet, not at all. Some were groomed for the life, taken in by one cult or another, by a ruffian with a penchant for turning small children into hoodlums. 

As it were, Gretchen Vandum, headed up the town now. A menacing pirate, who was headed towards a famed career before being forced inland in this cold excuse for a living. There were things out in that sea now, gigantic things, and things she did not want to have to deal with. She'd seen it with her own eyes, my turned living in all it's undead glory. 

She had become used to the rabble that had begun calling this place home. It was an easy task becoming something like a mayor, especially when order was something loose and ill fitting in its previous form. Her time as a captain lent to her credibility, and within a fortnight, she had taken over. 

There were varying scouts roaming the cold out perimeter, watching for approaching parties. Their goal was simple, to rob or kill trespassers. Who would look for them in the cold, scarcely explored north, where the snow blinded even the most skilled of would be mountaineers? 

Their new leader was intelligent, she grouped them by fives and sent out at least three scouting parties. They married well, each skill suited to benefit the other to maximize their effectiveness. Whomever happened upon them scarcely returned with a happy tale, should they have returned at all. Snow white furs of creatures protected them from both the cold and easy detection, making their orders easier to carry out. 

One such group now stalked the land in front of explorers from [I]The Moving [/I], though this was not known to them. Would they processed diplomatic or aggressive, these lawless few has mere hours to decide.