A Man Is No One

Into the Dark

The Midlands

The Midlands makes up the majority of the landmass that is Errandil, covering more than fifty percent of the continent. The fine prairie and wild savannahs of the Midlands spread from the desert wastelands in the south to the frozen mountains that border the northlands with a variety of forested and hillbourne regions in between. Grazing creatures meander through the wilderness feeding upon the tall grass while predatory beasts lay in wait for the perfect time to strike. Men and other humanoids till the soil, exploiting the fertile soil surrounding the miles of river that carve through the Midlands surface. While not the only cradle of life on Errandil, the Midlands certainly encompass the most wide array of surface dwelling creatures.

The southern half of the Midlands is also known as the great river basin as it provides ample room for the flood waters that rush from the northern mountains during the warmer months as refurbishes the nutrient depleted soils that allow for such booming civilizations to have formed. The southern Midlands is considered anything south of the Massenmarch and Glomma Rivers, which includes the Glandrather Forest and the Forest of Spirits. Subsequently, the southern Midlands borders what is named the Wastelands as well as the unnamed wastes to the south. It is typically believed that the forests belong to the Elves, although there is a certain level of unspoken understanding that man be able to traverse the woods without harm presuming they remain peaceful. Whereas man is more partial to the grasslands, which is where most humanoid civilizations are found.

The northern half of the Midlands known as the Northern Steppe exists on the northside of the natural border created by the Massenmarch and Glomma Rivers. It too thrives over the rising river waters of the warmer months that present with the northern mountains melt, but the climate is much cooler boasting a greater appreciation for the seasonal sun that presents during the summer months. The major areas of the north include the northern foothills, the Lowlands of Khinasi, the Peacewood Forest and the Aelvenwode. Its most notable borders are the mountains that separate it from the Northlands and the Aelvenwode itself. Unlike the forests of the southlands, the Aelvenwode boasts a group of elves that are extremely territorial and are protective of their home. There is always a very real threat of death for any non-elven blooded being to breach its borders, and oftentimes the tension between the two civilizations is thick enough to threaten war.

Over all the climate is fairly typical. Warm winds blow in from over the ocean off the eastern shore bring intense and abundant storms. These storms typically miss the area closest to the shore, growing as it follows the rivers west or turning up towards the north. Of course, these storms form all along the coastline typically battering the Midlands but occasionally reaching the mountain passes before letting loose. The north is most certainly hit harder than the south as the storms from the lower portion of the coastline are swiftly blown to the north. The southern half typically misses out on the snowy winters of the north, with the exception of the occasional clipper or artic vortex. But even then, it is typically only the tips furthest north of the southern midlands.

Into the Dark

The Dark Capital of Gilgondorin

Gilgondorin

Gilgondorin. It would seem as though a map has never made it beyond the borders of the Massif. Little is truly known about the composition of the great crater-city and even less is known of its origin. While people have proclaimed to have been from the city, some of the most unscrupulous people this person has ever had the displeasure of encountering, such things have never been proven. Subsequently, it is believed that individuals who inhabit the crater-city never reach beyond the borders of the Massif. The only notable information known is that of its appearance and the mystery of its origins.

Some scholars suggest that Gilgondorin is the oldest known settlement of the land. However, those very same scholars have no understanding of who established it or how it came to be. They suggest that this settlement was birthed out of the “Long Night,” when the warmth of the sun had been stolen away from the night and even the southern Midlands were blanketed in a gray hue that fell from the sky but was said to not belong on this land. A spell of clairvoyance provided the only known representation of the strange city, but it was proclaimed that the seer who was so bold had died only a few short moments after seeing the structures. In fact, it took mage of necromancy to learn the truth. A portion of history that dare not be spoken lightly, not under the blessing of Yggdrasil. A massive floating structure, tethered to the land by chains, suspending over a settlement of stone structures secluded by a great crater that extends far away from the city walls.

So what is inferred about the settlement given those who have been encountered with stories of Gilgondorin? Quite frankly, it is a dangerous and unsavory place. It is presumed that the settlement is chaotic and unlawful with an evil ruler who maintains control by power and fear. A settlement of murderers, thieves, and other thugs and rapscallions. It is a place that no normal person could feel comfortable inhabiting. All the concrete evidence needed is discerned from that understanding that every scholarly expedition made into the Massif and towards the discovery of the truth concerning Gilgondorin has been fruitless, with those travelers never to be seen again.

Into the Dark

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Essentially, the entire repertoire of a seemingly lifelong criminal. Xander found it to be quite an oddity. He may have been young, but he was far from naive to the ways of the world. Being on the outskirts of the Kingdom, he had the opportunity to encounter a number of people that might be included in the seedy underbelly of the southern Midlands. But there was a major difference in the encounters Xander had with those individuals, and the one he was having with Rio. Those individuals he had encountered in Pyre, were more secretive of their past. They had even gone so far as to hide it, or at the very least refrain from talking to it all together. But this man, a career criminal it seemed like was more attuned to disclosure.

Of course, his eyes did not widen as the story went on. But his face did contort into something of disbelief. Some men, Xander had heard, would openly boast about their exploits using events that they were not personally present or accountable for to boost their reputation and avoid unnecessary confrontation. It was a common occurrence amongst some of the more lackluster individuals of Pyre who were attempting to avoid some rapscallion or attention from the wrong people. Some of these things they spoke of, never happened all together. But why would Rio need to make use of such tactics with him? Xander was but a child trying to save his sister, certainly no competition for a full grown experienced warrior. Perhaps it was some sort of “cool-factor” that Xander was not aware of?

Such a bold mention of “shape-shifter” and “black blood” had struck him as odd. Shape shifters were infamous in his hometown. Exclamations of snatching up naughty children from their bed or those who wandered too far beyond the boundaries of their territory. Of course, those old wife's tales were often attributed to condemnations by the teachings of Yggdrasil. A belief that Xander had disregarded when he left. Descriptors such as “black” or “dark” blood were often times spoken in hushed tones. This Xander knew personally, although he was not so quick to disperse with that information. As it were, Rio did not appear to have the black blood as he did beneath his cloak. There was no way to argue against it without further proof.

It was simple. Xander believed no such nonsense. Criminal he may have been, he could believe this. But a shape-shifter and a black blood, well, those were harder pills to swallow and Xander did not have the stomach for it.

Xander stood up, turning his back to the flames of the hearth. “I can’t think of anything more dangerous than facing darkness in the eye.” He made sure that his left arm had been concealed beneath the mundane cloth, “I can’t think of anything that makes me more worthy than surviving that meeting.” He leaned in, locking his gaze with Rio’s which allowed him to take note of the powerful blue hue to the man’s eyes. At the same time, it exposed the slash of black scale like flesh noting a touch of darkness upon his face to be scrutinized. “And since you offer, I would be stupid to turn down your company.”

He took a few steps back to allow a comfortable space between the two of them, “I’ve got me a tiny private room up the stairs, end of the hall. A bit pricey…. Maybe I shouldn’t have…” Xander bit his bottom lip as he turned his view to his feet slightly ashamed at such wasteful spending. “It’s at the top of the stairs, third floor, end of the hall. I got a window too.”

The boy turned away and began the short journey to his room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Into the Dark

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

”Sarah!” Xander yelled, his back pushed against the exterior of his hamlet farmhouse.

”Heheheh...No Sarah ‘ere ta save ya now boy…” The grotesque darkness addled beast growled.
The creature, humanoid in form but more darkness than man took a step closer slowly pulling a crude curved short sword from its belt. Bearing its blood stained yellow fangs, the strange beast of pale green skin seemingly decayed and stretched over his sinew and bone cackled with glee. Its body covered in cloth and loose hanging bandages, large bat like ears lined with golden rings. Incandescent eyes of topaz, peered through Xander’s skin fueling the slobbering jaws that moved just enough to allow its pointed tongue to flick a wet tongue over its dry teeth.

Slowly the creature raised the rusty steel blade above its head, glistening in the moonlight. Above its head, the blade wavered. It’s adjusted and tightened. The blade fell from its clawed hand. Its eyes spread wide. Its jaw went slack and a blade erupted from its chest, black blood dripping over the nearly forged steel.

”Come on Xander,” a feminine voice cried out in panic, “we have to move!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That was only the first time she had saved him that night. The creatures had swept across the hamlet in the late evening as people were winding down from their evening meal enjoying the crisp summer air. They were not equipped to burn. Such fires would betray the darkness as it moved in secret. But they began by gutting the homes closest to the forest before moving into the hamlet proper before. Two guardsmen on duty. They couldn’t even sound the conscription alarm. The tailor had done that before he was cut down with the guards standing only a few yards away. Of course, they were fighting their own battles.

Despite how fast Xander and his sister fled, they had no one to run to. Their parents had been entangled in their own battle. They had been trained to fight to a certain extent, but none of it could have prepared them to combat the darkness. The first had only been slain because she had feared the loss of her baby brother. Subsequent encounters had not gone so well. Evasive maneuvers, parry, dodge, feint… both of them had learned them all to varying degrees. But there were too many of them. Every scatter point seemed to lead them to another encounter.

So they did what children do when they have nowhere else to turn. They stopped running and they hid. They used their knowledge of the hamlet and found themselves a quiet place to hide. Their biggest danger had been their inability to see. From their nook upon the storage space of a barn, nestled in amongst the bales of hay they could not keep track of their enemy. As they were laying in wait, hidden, the adrenaline had begun to wear off and a drip of blood tickled Xander’s leg. A drip of blood that had fallen from a gash on the girl’s arm. His sister’s arm.

But the darkness moves like a wave. It had swept over the hamlet of Pyre, taking with it whatever lacked the strength to prevail. But it would not recede back to the forest from which it came as though it were the ocean. Instead, it pressed onward as if it were still cresting along the plains of the southern Midlands.

While Pyre gathered its dead and made its dying comfortable, the darkness moved on. Rumors spread quickly that the King’s riders on a routine patrol had come across their path and quickly thwarted the threat. Word of mouth suggested that they had not left a single monster to roam the land. Of course, Xander had not the means to go carousing through the grasslands to see his vengeance fulfilled.

Looking up from the floor Xander turned to face Rio. His eyes determined, and he spoke sternly trying contain the apprehension in his voice.

”To save my sister, as far as I have to go.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Into the Dark

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was still relatively early in the evening. The bar had not begun to wind down for the evening. Mugs of ale chimed against the wooden table tops as they were emptied. Spoons clattered against bowls. Boisterous laughter reverberated through the rafters. Various noises common to this type of establishment echoed off the walls. They were cheerful, amicable at worst but even those who struggled to handle their alcohol were enjoying a joyous occasion.

But then the room fell silent, or so it would seem. As Xander’s thoughts coalesced into words, he felt as though all eyes had fallen upon him. He felt as though everyone was looking to him for the answer to a question that scholars had been pondering for centuries. It was a question that he did not have the answer to, only a passing fancy taken from an excerpt in a book written in a language known only to a few all across the Midlands, north or south. But he would not give it to them willingly.

Xander took a mouthful of ale, puffing his cheeks outs like a rodent before forcing the liquid down his throat in one painful gulp. It was a gulp too big for his adolescent throat. The pain was apparent in his clenched eyes that blinked furiously as he wavered his head from one side to the other.

“You’re not from around here, are you? North Midlands, the Glandrather… it doesn’t matter", Xander began as he scanned the room to be sure his delusions were just that. "I have - a plan.”

He was just shy of being a teenager. He was alone. He had only one reason to go back to Pyre and only one reason to continue forward. Which was bigger? Spend what little time she may have had in this world and watch his sister die or struggle with the fear of losing her while trying to save her with the only lead he had.

“I’m going to the Capital.” Xander began, as that is where his plan would either end or continue. “My sister is sick. She got it from those things that creep around the wood, carrying the darkness.” Xander took another drink before setting his empty mug down on the table between them. He leaned in closer to the new acquaintance, “Before I left Pyre, Maestra Luna showed m a book. It was old. Put together in a way I’ve never seen before.” Xander turned away for only a second to ensure that no one had wandered to close. “Her translation said with a potion, the darkness can be stopped.”

With his free hand, his right hand the boy reached into his belt and pulled out a piece of parchment. On either side were multiple drawings related to two separate plants. Each side depicted representations of their leaves, roots, flowers, and last known locations at least according to the translation now written in the common tongue. Xander offered it to Rio with no inclination or concern as to whether or not he would be able to make heads or tails of it.

“The Maestra thought the Great Athenaeum in Orthreloth would have more information. It was the only direction she could give me.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Into the Dark

The City of Orthreloth

Statistical Information

• Total Population: 72413
• City Guard: 883
• Clergy: 505

• Inns: 48
• Taverns: 181
• Blacksmiths: 121
• Healers: 45
• Weaponsmiths: 36
• Armorers: 36
• Bowyers: 45
• Magic Shops: 21
• Booksellers: 11
• Merchants: 48
• Leatherworkers: 121
• Tailors: 207
• Jewelers: 36
• Cobblers: 223
• Fishmongers: 60
• Farriers: 145
• Carpenters: 145
• Masons: 103

Loosely Accurate Map of the City

Orthreloth, the capital of the Kingdom of Duringham and home to the seat of King Marcurio Thadon the twelth. A thriving metropolis that provides a prime example of a thriving economy and military might in the Midlands. While it is not the earliest constructed settlement in the Midlands it was one of the first. The city was constructed in a strategic location that exists between where the Eachine River splits from the Glomma River and where the Glomma River splits from the Massenmarch River. It is because of this particular location that the city has thrived.

Racially integrated, the city of Orthreloth is certainly a melting pot of cultural convergence. There is no specific observation of Yggdrasil although they do favor the most appealing in a positive light. It is better to have good neighbors than evil. But who is to say that more diabolical sects do not exist in the darker corners of the city. There are only two holidays that the city celebrates as a hole. These are the Royal Ascension, or the yearly anniversary of the current king’s reign. And the Festival of the Hunt, a contest in which the island is barricaded at either bridge and participants must hunt down ferocious beasts released on the island. Otherwise, celebrations are held based on personal belief.

There is little to say about the city for it is quite typical. The western edge of the river, while technically not in the assumed territory of the Kingdom is inhabited more greatly than the east. The eastern side of the river is densely populated with what would be considered a middle class socioeconomic status. The island is the residence of many upper class citizens, as the festival of the hunt is provided mostly for their entertainment. The western half of the city is a menagerie of socioeconomic status. The Castle and seat of King Thadon resides upon the hill the homes beneath it get progressively less lavish as the distance grows until the poor district is reached closest to the wall.

The river in most all locations has some jetti or dock, of course there is an official port on the south side of the wester edge of the river where the larger ships dock. The shipping industry is paramount to the settlements survival. Most of the city’s goods and migrants come in on ship as traversing great distances over Errandil can prove quite dangerous. Of course, the King levies a certain tax on goods that come into and leave the city; which can sometimes cause quite an uproar. But it is all for the greater good of the Kingdom.

Mixed within the city are a few particularly notably organizations that hold a particular sort of influence over the city’s lot whether authorized or otherwise. The Iron Veil is a guild of mercenaries or sell-swords that has a strong host in the city. At least one inn is entirely devoted to serving their cause acting as a haphazardly placed headquarters. Then is the group that calls themselves the “Men in Cloaks,” a guild of rogues and thieves that often police the poorer districts of the city as the guard is more heavily focused on the richer sides of town. Finally is Yggdrasil’s Watchful Eyes, which is the largest religious sect and denomination of Yggdrasil in the city. They command a large following as they work well throughout the city to provide religious guidance and healing through physical and sometimes arcane practices. They also maintain a vast knowledge of various schools of information, as both extremely literate and extremely pious in keeping the written word.

There are multiple points of access constructed within the twenty foot high stone walls that surround the city, with guard towers built at similar intervals. This wall is lined with archers, murder holes, and rock piles should a siege be brought upon them. But while this is the primary line of defense it is not the initial. More than a country mile beyond the walls, strategically placed to ensure line of sight are watch towers on both the western and eastern edge. In times of trouble, they are equipped with mighty brazzers that can be seen for miles in every direction. These will alert the men on the wall who will call upon the collective force of the guard and if need be an order of conscription within the city walls.

King Marcurio Thadon the Twelfth

It is important to say a few things about King Marcurio Thadon, the twelfth of this name and the twelfth of his station. The crown eminents with an archaic resonance of the King’s of the past, as if they guide the current wearer from beyond the grave. The armor and accoutrements never change. Only the face. Even the name does not change. Yet, people do not question. His demeanor, attitude, and plans never change and still people do not question. It is as if the King’s spirit was lead by Yggdrasil himself, divinely inspired or communicated with every new crowned King. Of course, those who are arcanely alert may take notice of the crown specifically as it does radiat a magical presence, but if anyone has ever found anything off kilter they’ve made the decision to keep their mouth shut. Of course, regardless of why the King is now the twelfth of his name despite the physical appearance changing (sometimes drastically), the King has never shown any signs of evil intentions towards his people. In short, the King is a continual beacon of hope for his people.

Into the Dark

The Hamlet of Pyre

Statistical Information

• Total Population: 322
• Hamlet Guard: 2
• Clergy: 4

• Taverns: 1
• Blacksmiths: 1
• Leatherworkers: 1
• Tailors: 1
• Cobblers: 1
• Ferriers: 1
• Carpenters: 1

The Hamlet of Pyre was built near the southern border of the Kingdom of Duringham. As it is told, a group of nomadic people were attacked by those inflicted with the darkness while traveling north to seek protection within the Kingdom. Suffering severe casualties, the tribe scattered in all directions. However, those who remained in the area to fight off the darkness and survived constructed a massive funeral pyre of the dead that was said to have burned to see the light of seven new days. The light shone so brightly against the night time sky that it gained the attention of those who had fled and drew them back together to honor the dead in their ascension.

That same pyre is still the center of the hamlet to this day. Encased in stones found on the banks of the river the surrounding land, the people of that time held the pyre in high regard as a shrine to the people who sacrificed their lives so that they may live. The Pyre grows with every death as funeral rights include the cremation of the body, a collection of the ashes which are then spread amongst the stones of the pyre before a new stone is added.

The hamlet is quiet, even on the not so typical day. It expands haphazardly from the pyre at the center where one would find establishments such as the blacksmith, the tailor, and the inn. These buildings function as both businesses and homes for their proprietors. There are other homes in this hamlet proper, but they are relatively few. As one moves further out from the hamlet proper, they will find the homes clustered together in small groups of two or three each with their own family but collectively maintaining a portion of farmland in a sort of commune.

At any given time there are only two guards on duty and they maintain the hamlet proper. Rarely do they patrol the farthest reaches of the hamlet’s jurisdiction, typically only when requested by those who live beyond the hamlet proper. Because of its small size, the guard also very rarely patrols by night doing so only upon request of the ruling lord. However, upon an order of conscription by that same lord and army of around one or two hundred can be gathered to fight on varying levels. They are responsible for maintaining their own weapons and what little armor they can afford as well as training to a competent and combat ready level.

Lord Orsin Daremyth

The ruling Lord, Sir Orsin Daremyth was a knight in the King’s royal regiment, charged with protecting the King when outside of the castle beyond the responsibility of the King’s Guard. After the death of the last Lord, he was gifted the position for his bravery, loyalty, and responsibility in his duties. For him, it is mainly a retirement position. A place for him to pass. His modest manner is present amongst the buildings of the hamlet proper, distinguishable only by the size in comparison to those buildings around it. He is charged with making the important decisions of the hamlet, which are few and far between. He is kind-hearted, just, and fair with a penchant for second chances.

The Elder Scrolls: The Infernal Library

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Enathrae could not hide his immense pleasure, a wide mouthed grin split from ear to ear. A spectacular performance at the expense of the lady-knight and the floating, nose-offending corpse. At first it was only a chuckle that had escaped his lips but as the lady-knight stormed off passed his position near the stairs his body curled into boisterous laughter. The lich, arrogant enough to believe people would see beyond the wretched, wrinkled body of kindling and the lady-knight so hot under the collar as to stupidly initiate a negative conversation with a lich. A lich? What the hell was Havfyg up to? A lich, a were-croc, and a lady-knight walk into a tavern… that is it. There was no punchline. That was the joke. The dunmer was smart enough to keep his dark skinned ass in the alley to await the potential fall out of this leaking powdered keg. He was not about to be the fire to ignite this potential conflagration in these surroundings.

“I suppose it’s about time we should be hitting that dusty trail,” the Dunmer swooned as he turned towards the ascending staircase with his hands in his pockets.

“Foolish enough to piss off a lich…ha, a woman after my own heart.” Enathrae laughed jumping up the stairs two at a time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With an attitude that made a mockery of determination, Enathrae meandered through the castle uninhibited. A few golden septims would not be missed, nor an apple or, “Aw...let me guess, someone stole your sweetroll?” the Dunmer mocked to himself. He ran his tongue over his sticky lips, destroying any trace of evidence before moving on. Tossing the apple in the air, he contemplated his upcoming journey.

Such a ragtag group of particularly pugnacious rapscallions on a journey to a place enshrouded in secrecy. The fools actively seek out the daedra, summoning their council as if it were merely a passing fancy. But why? Such a cryptic message from the college delivered by the King, a King that failed to provide any real answers. Some King eh? Perhaps it should be -king-...a wise man once contemplated that a man who must say he is the King is no true King. One might extrapolate that into including that a true King would have knowledge of his Kingdom and advisers in place that could appropriately deal with such matters. Perhaps this king is not so secure in his position.

”What is it that has you so frightened that you cannot send your own loyalist?”

Before him stood such grandiose wooden doors, it was disgusting. So much larger than any man, or mer. Perhaps a giant would be better suited to room such an obvious and ostentatious overcompensation. The massive doors at least four men high and three men wide standing abreast was bound by iron. The exposed wood in between the iron straps intricately carved in depictions of fowl beasts and brave warriors. Despite the rudimentary pictograph’s overall appearance they were skillfully crafted with a level of respect for the trade rarely seen in this day and age.

Enathrae stood for but a moment in admiration, not so much of the size but the artistic skill of the elementary artwork. With a wave of his hand, a servant was kind enough to force the door free of the proticulos. The city quickly opened before him, flooding the room with a torrent of scents that offended the nose and a cacophony of noises that were nothing less than ear shattering. It was a time of celebration. It was a time that Enathrae had hated, with the noted exception that it provided an adequate distraction for death. He took a bite of his burrowed apple, one hand in a pocket and made his way into the city.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was disgusting. Never had his nose been assaulted so savagely. Simmering meat of an unknown nature in one direction, warm piss poor ale wafting over from another, and what had been the worst were the influence of that piss poor ale that had been discarded in every back alley and side street that he had the displeasure of walking by. It was a celebration alright. However, very few people enjoyed the jubilation with any couth.

Such dirty things men were. So numerous that in most provinces of Tamriel they overtook the more civilized mer and brought them down to their level through fear of ostracization. It was more readily apparent in a place like Windhelm’s Grey Quarter. It was a perfect place to make an example of as they all soon learned. But despite Enathrae’s attempts, it was a lesson they soon forgot. But what are a few dead nords between mer?

Enathrae found himself in the Talos District, which happened to be noticeably dangerous. There happened to be a very obvious separation. Those who followed king Havfyg and those who did not. As the sun moved lower into a sky that would soon be evening, tensions were rising. The altercations had not be physical as of yet, but he could sense something could easily go awry. Such things would make it difficult for him to move swiftly through the streets.

Should he avoid such catastrophe? No, it would be against his nature to willing meander through a battle field and not take advantage. Killing of the innocent, even of the not so innocent was legitimate if it was done to advance himself or promote order. But it would be the order of king Havfyg and that was an order that was slowly beginning to grow sour in the pit of his stomach. Speaks the words to allow for the personal freedom to ensure self preservation, then determine the appropriate course of action. Could he kill Havfyg? There was not enough information available to him to tell. Too much power was at stake to make assumptions.

The mer went to consume a bit more of his apple only to lay eyes upon that god awful mundane golden ring gifted to him by this mighty king. A mighty king who apparently could not afford anything of actual visual attraction. Could it read thoughts? It was provided that the ring would eliminate any potential threat to the king directly. But would it prevent any actions that were openly against the king? Questions perhaps for another time, another day - when there were not so many questions to consider in how to have this curse removed.

“What’s this?” Enathrae croaked under his breath, cocking his head in confusion.

Who was this brazen woman so roughly manhandling the common nobility? What was she searching for. Such a fine grip upon the man’s arm. Of course, his mistake was allowing one to subdue him in the first place. But knowledge if the half of the battle most forget while they are wildly swinging their weapons this way and that. Quickly Enathrae found himself an inconspicuous locale from which to view the woman, following her movements to better understand what may be transpiring here.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

What Are You Listening To?

Pandora >>> Jeremy Soule Radio.

Into the Dark

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His adolescent eyes opened wide, unblinking and staring at the floor. In his mind things had been different. Xander had been calm and collected, brazen even as he stood up to those who came before him with gusto demanding a fellowship be assembled to assist him on his personal journey. His heartbeat quickened. Breathe came in short, sharp waves. This wasn’t like the stories he had heard growing up. Stories of people coming together to assist in the cause of the greater good, to combat the growing darkness before it sweeps across the kingdom. Now, he was nervous, afraid even.

Pyre was a well sized hamlet, but by settlement standards it was still quite small. It was a well populated hamlet, around three hundred people all together. Unfortunately, outside of the hamlet proper most gathered in small collectives only rarely seeing other people. Leaving Pyre on his own was a step that most people didn’t take lightly, let alone a child. But Xander had decided that his cause was just and teachings be damned, with Yggdrasil’s blessing or not he was going to save his sister. But he did not have much to go on.

“I’m looking for Abyssal Shade, Atrestrianna, and a way to cure the darkness…” Xander blurted out, sweat beading across his forehead dripping down his face.

His face grew pale. An exasperated look swept over his rough visage. His mouth hung open, jaw slack with disbelief at his folly. So foriegn had interactions with individuals outside of his own family, or even the few people he encountered in the hamlet proper been that he truly could not comprehend how to initiate an actual conversation with another person. What would his sister have told him?

“I...I’m sorry,” Xander sighed, more disappointed in himself at this point than nervous. “I’ve come from Pyre. My name is Xander. What’s yours?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~