[center][h1][color=lightblue]Odran Stormweaver[/color][/h1][hr][/center]
[center][youtube]https://youtu.be/4_ANxTOG_Xk[/youtube]
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“Six in tide, Six are true
Six to be lead by a spirit of hue
Long awaited in the endless sin
They are the saviors of many a skin
While they live, he cannot survive
While he is here, they cannot thrive”
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[color=seagreen]“This second verse of the prophesy has long since been forgotten by the peoples of Valeroma, but that does not make them any less true. You have been chosen since before your birth, Vivian, Odran, Zav, Kassandra, Calit, Rosarina, to uphold this prophesy. Only by banding together to confront Vaeros is there any hope for Valeroma. Without you, Valeroma will fall.”[/color][hr]
Odran woke from his slumber with a start, his grip quickly tightening around the handle of the crossbow cradled in his arms. A sharp intake of breath attracted the attention of a group of sitting nearby him, a squad of 9 other dwarves like him, squatting around and leaning against their packs in the back of a caravan wagon. He and a squad of the Ironborn Free Company were headed back to Stormhold after a long year of patrolling and protecting the mountainside. After a long year of building, fighting, and walking they were finally granted several months of leave in order to handle their own businesses back home. 

"Eh? Wassat there Odran? You look like you've seen a ghost ye have." called out Tonner, another veteran dwarf in the squad. Bigger and stouter than even Odran, and usually carrying heavy equipment, the dwarf almost looked under equipped without a massive piece of wood or metal in his arms. A few of the other dwarves in the wagon chuckled as well.

[color=lightblue]"I very well might've"[/color] Odran murmured to himself, as he stood up, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. [color=lightblue]"Oi Durnan, whereabouts is the supply wagon again?"[/color] Without waiting for an answer, Odran already had his pack over his shoulders and had begun climbing out of the covered convoy wagon where his squad sat, much to the confusion of the others.

There was the thudding of a second pair of feet hitting the ground after him. Odran glanced back to see Tonner following after him. Ignoring him, Odran continued making his way through the caravan, and a few wagons back were the supply carts. Massive wooden boxes on heavyset wheels being pulled by a small contingent of mules, the Ironborn supply carts were small moving armories, set to carry everything the Ironborn Free Company needed. With a heavy gauntleted fist, Odran knocked hard against the side of the cart. 

One of the windows opened up and a confused looking dwarf poked his head out the window to see what was going on. Bushy white beard and a huge pair of spectacles made the older dwarf's eyes look like giant bug eyes, with thinning, but still strong and wiry arms. "Oi? Wot is it Odran?" Asked Henler the supply dwarf, still somewhat confused.

"That's what I've been trying to ask him!" grumbled Torren, "'Ave you lost it or something Odran? What's going on?"

Ignoring him, Odran addressed the supply dwarf. [color=lightblue]"I'll need another combat supply of bolts, a field pack, spare tools, a wee bit of rum and one of tha' pack mules. I've got the scratch for it o'course."[/color] he said, producing a heavy coin laden pouch out of his pocket and tossing it up into the cart. 

"Eh? For wot?" Asked Henler and Tonner almost simultaneously. Odran ignored them.

[color=lightblue]"Just get me the gear you cottonheads,"[/color] Odran said as made his way to the front of the cart and began unshackling one of the mules from the front of the armory wagon- a large bay mule named Rork. Still confused, Henler nonetheless began pulling the supplies out of the armory wagon, and handing them down to Odran who quickly strapped them to the sides of pack mule: A leather covered box filled with 40 heavy quarrels, a field pack with all the typical supplies needed for overland travel- mess kit, bedroll, waterskins, field rations, fishing line, an aid kit and the like- a half full bottle of rum, and a spare set of metalworking tools. Seemingly satisfied with his quick preparations, Odran nodded to himself and began stomping off in the direction of the Forbidden Grove, his pack mule dutifully following behind him. 

"Odran! 'ave you been hit in the head or somming? Odran! The war's over, where are ya going?!" Tonner called out after him. 

[color=lightblue]"Seems ta me, the war's just started."[/color] Odran muttered to himself, already well out of earshot.[hr]
[center][i]Two days later[/i][/center]

Having spent the better part of the last 48 hours doing nothing but marching, sparing little more than a few hours out of each day to rest and eat, Odran managed to make it to the Forbidden Grove just before dawn. Rork, the ever faithful mule followed behind him, laden down with the majority of Odran's gear. Odran, who had shed most of his arms and armor, save his crossbow, led the mule into the small clearing in the grove, his footsteps light and quiet despite his weight and bulk.

As it seemed, Odran was not the first to arrive. A few had already arrived in this once quiet grove. They looked familiar to him, despite never having met them. Odran remembered seeing their faces and figures in his dream- he was sure he heard their names as well, but the dream had happened so suddenly that he could not put names to the faces. An elven woman rested against a tree, another elf sat by her horse with some water and rations. Still a third elf had also just appeared into the clearing, making his presence well known as he yelled at one of the sitting elves, breaking the otherwise peaceful silence of the grove, but not before he disappeared back into the trees.

[color=lightblue]"What's he on about?"[/color] Odran asked aloud to no one in particular as he walked across the grove. He looped his pack mule's lead to a try nearby but not directly next to the elf and her horse before taking a seat himself. The sleeping elf in the center of the tree had the right idea, Odran thought to himself. His pack mule must have thought so too, as the mule plopped itself on the ground, ready to rest. Odran plopped down on the ground next to it, leaning his back against the mule's midsection. 

Pulling out his drinking horn, Odran poured a small amount of rum into it, before filling the rest of the horn with some water from his waterskin to form a basic grog. He took a big gulp of the drink and let out a satisfied sigh. [color=lightblue]"I don't suppose anyone knows why we're ta' meet here in some forbidden forest as opposed tae' nice warm tavern with a pitcher to go around do they?"[/color] Odran asked aloud, again not to anyone in particular.