Paths of Legend : Origins (IC)

The Duchy of Mentlar, 2375 (Elven Calendar)

"112 years ago, humans first came to Telgar. The explorers from another land did not expect to find others here, but they did. Elves and dwarves, and halflings, all living peacefully. Other humans, those of Thune, may have conquered these peaceful lands, but out ancestors chose a different path. Larent the First, first King of the nation that bears his name, sought peace with the people of Telgar."

The storyteller stood tall for a moment, mimicking Larent the First's pose in the paintings that depict him. The wooden stage was surrounded by eager children and their parents, some bored, some just as eager as the children. The parents had heard the story before, of course. It was told every spring festival, one of the five seasonal holidays of Larent.

Perrin, the storyteller, judged the frontier-folk's reactions and let his dramatic pause linger a moment longer before continuing the story, "The peace did not last long. A dark sorceress, Azilyk, forged a weapon, the Dagger of Souls, into which she poured all of her ambition, hatred, and lust for power. With it, she summoned an army of demons and undead to her side. Larent the First, his Kingdom barely a year old, assembled an army of his own. And by his side, his companions, those who come to this land with him, and new heroes, those protecting their homes. Galen and Blain Krona, cleric and thief. Ruggin Deepmine, dwarf. Moodrinthal, High Wizard-Lord of the elves. Jyros Logan, the stranger not of this time. And Kiraya TiDrekan, sister of Azilyk and the only one who could rival her in magical power. The final battle took the heroes to the gateway of Kae'Alor, ancient elven homeland. No one, except perhaps the elves of Kae'Alor, knows why Azilyk wanted the secrets within the elven homeland, but the heroes were determined that she not succeed. Azilyk and Kiraya lit up the night sky with magics of fire and lightning and eldritch power. Larent and the others fought against Azilyk's demonic champions on the very steps of the fortress containing Kae'Alor's most treasured secret."

Perrin raised his arms in a flourish, raising his voice for the climax of the story, "Azilyk, her body broken, unleashed one final, desperate spell, seeking to usurp another body. But, King Larent plunged his sword through her heart before she could finish. The power unleashed shook the very ground. Larent and Moodrinthal were the only ones to survive. The others were lost, but their sacrifice had helped to ensure Azilyk's defeat. Her soul trapped in an indestructible gemstone, hidden away by Larent and Moodrinthal. But...what of Azilyk's weapon, the Dagger of Souls? It was lost, never found by the heroes. What horrible destiny does it still hold? No one knows. Thus is the tale of the Dagger War."

Perrin bowed to enthusiastic applause from the gathering. The young Duke Dervin Mentlar, watching from his pavilion nearby, applauded as well. Perrin stepped off the stage to greet the Duke, whose father had been an adventuring companion of the storyteller.

Among the crowd was Merrick, far from home. Mentlar Duchy was on the eastern frontier, on the border of the elven land of Kae'Aline. Merrick was used to the rugged hills of Wyvernsbane Duchy and the constant patrols and militia training that most citizens underwent to defend the southern border of the Kingdom from the monsters to the south. Here in Mentlar Duchy, things seemed serene and peaceful. Life was hard work here, it seemed, as today's festival was the beginning to planting season, but hardly anyone was wearing weapons...back home, everyone carried a weapon.

Stoja was here as well. Her home village was not far from here, only a few days by horse, but it was an isolated village nonetheless. They didn't appreciate strangers...or magic. It was due to Stoja's practice of the latter that Stoja was now here in Mentlar Township, the capital of the Duchy, during the Spring Festival.

And then there was Cyral. A crowd like this was the perfect place for a pickpocket and a thief. Cyral wasn't the only one, of course. Most of the thieves in Mentlar Duchy belonged to Jareth's Jackals, a guild of bandits and thieves who spent most of the time harassing and stealing from travelers on the long road between Wyvernsbane Duchy and Mentlar Duchy. During the festivals, however, they came in to town to pick a few pockets.

Merrick, Stoja, and Cyral all notice an elf wandering through the crowd, careful to avoid meeting the eyes of the Duke or the storyteller. This elf was unlike the local Kae'Aline elves - they were all blond or red haired and had skin kissed with color by the sun. This elf had jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, with skin as pale as moonlight. Merrick knew from his coloring that this elf was from Kae'Alet, the elven realm that surrounded the capital city of the Kingdom, north of Wyvernsbane Duchy.

The mysterious elf carried a a longsword and wore leather armor beneath his cloak. He spoke to no one and sat, away from the crowd, under a tree, his gaze wandering back to the Duke and the storyteller.

Merrick leaned against a tree in the back of the courtyard looking at everything at once. He was just close enough to hear the story that the Storyteller was saying, but far enough away that no one would notice him. Merrick was scanning the crowd to see if he recognized anyone from his old guild.

Merrick was wearing a new set of armor. He had picked up a set of banded mail and was still getting used to the feel of it. His old armor was well known among his old guild and Merrick was trying to hide! Merrick went as far as to cut his long brown hair short as well. The only thing that Merrick had kept from his old set of armor was his bastard sword which was at his side.

A few of the townspeople looked as if they were going to say something to him, but a glance was all it took to stop that. As the Storyteller was wrapping up his tale Merrick noticed an Elf walking among the crowd. Merrick recognized him as one of the types that lived near his homeland. This Elf was trying to keep to himself and not really look at anyone. Nobody really seemed to have noticed him walking through the crowd.

Merrick picked up his pack and moved out from underneath the shade of the tree. He watched from the corner of his eye where the Elf had gone. When Merrick saw that the Elf had gone to sit under a tree he positioned himself against a building so he could watch the Elf as well as everybody else.

Merrick thought to himself as the sun was warming his tan skin. Merrick was wondering what an Elf from so far away was doing in this town. Merrick calmed his mind and let the Elf out of his thoughts. Content with watching the crowd some more Merrick went back to seeing everything that was going on.

Stoja

Sitting down for after the long walk to the festival, Stoja rubbed her arthritic knee through her heavy skirt and sighed blissfully as she massaged some of the pain away. She smiled at the people around and took particualr delight at the fun the children were having. Stopping one such boy with a smile and wave. "Could you be a dear for a poor old granny and get her one of those nice candied apples?" she hands him some coins, And get one for yourself too, sweetie."

After rubbing her knee for a while longer she sees the boy come trotting back, totting two of the apple treats and with a grin hands one to Stoja. She notices he has already taken a massive bite out of his and she ruffles his hair and smiles. "Now off with you, you little scamp! Have some fun." As her runs off she starts to delicately nibble her apple and after a few hesitant attempts to come to grips with the red delicacy she grins and, taking a cue from the boy, takes a massive bite. Savouring the sweetness in her mouth she starts to laugh at herself as bits of apple struggle out of her mouth and dribble down her chin.

Running her gnarled hands down her homespun dress to remove some of the sticky toffee she fixes up her iron grey hair and stands up to get a better view of the storyteller. Not bad, she admitted to herself as he spun his tale and looked around at the other folk to see if they appreciated the quality of the tale being told. It was then she noticed the elf, he stood out like a sore thumb. With everyone standing still enwrapped in the tale, he was moving eyeing the Duke and the tale teller. Slowly Stoja moved herself through the crowd, edging closer to the armed elf.

Cyral scowled at the storyteller as well as his fans as he worked the crowd. The small man was slight in stature, and ill-fed, giving him a slightly unhealthy pallor and a desperate look in his eyes. He also stunk slightly, having avoided a bath and a shave for the last three days, while he held nothing back when he had the urge to pass gas in the busy street. His disposition was also foul, as the few pockets he had gotten around to picking left him with only a few dozen coppers. He really didn't like hard work, and the thirty minutes spent for such meager reward exhausted him and made him consider quitting for the day, and purchase some bread and cheap beer.

But then he saw him... the odd-looking elf. He looked a lot odder than any other elf he had seen before, and Cyral knew that this was some far off foreigner. And foreigners were always targets, with all the odd trinkets sometimes found in their pockets and the lack of knowledge of local legal customs when things went sour. Cyral slowly moved in a semi-circle so that he could watch the back of the new mark and look for any small pouches or sacks that could be easily cut and palmed. One more try... perhaps he would get lucky and be able to buy some bread and two cheap beers.

After a few minutes, the Duke and the storyteller emerge from the Duke's tent and they both take the stage.

The young Duke holds up his hands, calling for silence, "Your attention please! Your attention! Perrin, the storyteller, brings us news as well as stories. Jareth's Jackals have stepped up their attacks on travelers in recent weeks. I now put out a call to serve your Duke. The Jackals have plagued our merchants for too long. I mean to put an end to them. If you have skill with sword or spell, step forward. The risk will be great, but so will be the reward."

Most of the villagers scan the crowd, eager to see who will step forward. After a moment, the foreign elf stands, though he keeps his face in shadow, simply raising his hand slightly.

A young woman, blond haired and athletic, wearing chain armor and shield, carrying a mace, steps forward from the crowd. Her shield bears the mark of the Immortal Varash, matron of midwives and healers.

The Duke nods to both before speaking again, "Anyone else? Step forward!"

My curiosity is instantly piqued when the Duke says "Great and Reward" in the same sentence.

I watch the Elf stand up and raise his hand and some warrior woman show her interest. I scan the crowd to see if anybody else is going to step forward.

My mind is racing running the possibilities of this adventure. Wondering if I put my lot in with those two if we could pull this off. I decide that if I were to go with them then the chances greatly improve. Plus I could really use the coin...

I stop leaning against the wall and stand up straight. I look around briefly and then raise my hand. I nod my head as the Duke looks in my direction. I quickly go back to leaning against the wall after the Duke acknowledges me.

Stoja

Standing up and speaking firmly, "I'll put myself forwards." As she hears a few snickers around her and someone comment "What could she do?"

She rounds on some of the people smiling all the time. "What could I do?" she laughs, it was time to own it. "Well dearie, I am a witch! That's what I can do."
As people instantly start clearing a space around her, she uses the space to move forwards to the stage. "And I will serve if you'll have me, dearie."

Cyral frowned as the strange elf had raised his hand. "Damnation," he thought to himself as others in the crowd stared at and appraised Cyral's target. Now with those many eyes watching there was no way the thief was going to be able to take the man's purse. His stomach grumbled in pain and Cyral's mind began to work fast. He didn't like the idea of putting himself into danger, but maybe he could join this band, let others fight instead of him, and whether they succeeded or came up empty, Cyral would eventually be rewarded with something other than a few coppers. It had been awhile since he enjoyed a warm meal. Trying not to sigh, Cyral raised his hand too, in a manner of volunteering.

The Duke nods, "Very well. Volunteers, come to my tent and we shall discuss the details of your excursion."

He and the storyteller depart the stage and head to the Duke's modest tent, accompanied by two guards. The blond woman follows almost immediately, but the foreign elf waits, apparently waiting for everyone else to proceed before he joins the group. He stays in the back of the tent, in the shadows, and keeps his hood up and face lowered. Either he doesn't want to be seen or recognized or both.

Once everyone is assembled, the storyteller speaks, "Jareth's Jackals have taken a hostage, Eldrina Spellbinder, daughter of the Duke of Reltigar. She is a headstrong young woman and an able adventurer in her own right, but she is prone to traveling alone which is foolish at the best of times."

Duke Dervin speaks, "I wish to see Eldrina rescued and returned to her father rather than give in to Jareth's demands for a ransom. Her father is on his way with the ransom money but it will take weeks for him to get here. I'd rather be able to present his daughter to him upon his arrival. The Jackals have taken the ruins of the Tower of the Immortals as their hideout according to my scouting parties. Your first priority will be to find Eldrina and bring her back unharmed. If possible, wipe out the Jackals and their leader as well. Any questions?"

I scratch my head thinking over the problem. The nagging feeling of being overwhelmed keeps gnawing at the back of my mind. I decide that my curiosity is too strong to not ask the question.

"Duke, thank you for letting us participate in this adventure. I have a quick question for you... How big of a force is holding Miss Spellbinder and what type of people should we encounter in their camp?!"

I quietly wait for the Duke's response.