The Western Reaches: Voyage to Stonekeep [Closed]

[Blackroot]

The Western Reaches: Voyage to Stonekeep
​

Its late fall in the forests. The flame-tipped branches have lost the strong grip they once had on their children as the leaves fall towards the ground. The wooded halcyon, a great shrine to peace, sits idol on the banks of the rivers. But, in the farthest reaches of secluded meadows and deep within hidden groves, whispers of a long forgotten name and a blood soaked past begin to resurface. The forest has lain dormant for eons. The most ancient of oaks and great elms were but saplings when the old names were uttered throughout the land. Then, the dark places of the forest harbored only death and fear. The forest had known a time when only malice and hatred reigned, when virtue was thrown from the throne that it ruled from and the dark and ancient names were brought up to replace them. But that is a time that has long since been forgotten. ​

 

[Blackroot]

Oakthorne​

The Great Forests of the West have, for many years played a vital role in the upbringing of many generations of the beings that live in, under, and atop the hearty boughs of the great trees therein. As well as offering shade, fuel, and food from the multitudes of deciduous wonders, two strong rivers that flow through the wooded banks have created a sort-of paradise for forest goers. The great forests hold many secrets; secret lovers, sanguine plots, and affairs better lest to be discussed under-the-table have echoed throughout the growing pillars of the land. A testament to the great nurturing of the forest is the thriving town of Oakthorne, which can be found a few miles from the forest’s southernmost edge. It’s a good-sized community that has held strong since it’s founding more than 250 years ago by Quarnus Oakthorne, a well-known merchant and ale-master who had used the forest as a place of storage for his caches of ale and various things of value. Oakthorne's populace consists mostly of small farming families and their extended relatives; nearly everyone is related, distantly atleast, by either birth or marriage.

Since its first foundations were laid the town was kept secluded from the rest of the region, either by geography or its people, and because of this seclusion the town has stayed in an enlightened state of harmony. The people stay true to the customs of old and the majority of the town tends towards a conserative lifestyle, the only strangers who are admitted to stay in the town are those who would bring the wealth of the cities, but nothing else, into the groves of the forest. All whos permanent residences are not in Oakthron are travelling merchants who have stopped for a break in the town.

Recently Oakthorne has kept a watchful eye to the north. There have been numerous attacks by rabid animals whos origin is still yet unknown. Many of the townsfolk believe the animals have just been driven down due to a long overdue migration, but a few others believe that the animals have been altered somehow, and that the answer to the problem lies in the ancient ruins that have lain solitary for an unmeasurable amount of time. Mercenaries have been hired to dispose of the problem, but as of late there has been no progress made. The past couple days has brought a handful of new wanderers to the town, most are just pompous asses who brag about dragons they've slain or ancient evils they've destroyed, but there is still a select few who seem to know much of the dangers in the lives they lead. A large foreigner has taken up residence in one of the abandoned houses to the south of the town. It would seem that he looks not for adventure, but aid. A woman of elvish blood has been spotted an many occasions circling the outskirts of the town, something aobut the air that surrounds her speaks of a life stolen, and a tainted past. There is yet another who has sought refuge in a small public temple, offering aid to the needy and taking care of the surrounding area. It is supposed that they may have a trait in common, they have answered the call of a town in need, or perhaps they are the ones in need and they town has supplied them a way of fulfilling it. ​

 

[Blackroot]

Dawn breaks

Pinpoints of light pepper the forest floor as the first rays of the sun signify that dawn has come. A light fog obscures most of the forest giving it a strangely ethereal quality. The cool morning has given a sense of serenity to the beginning of your day. Your mind is has been cleared of any negativity you felt the evening before.

[sblock=Lucrezia]You awaken in a cool sweat to see that your pendant is capturing the sun in a most peculiar fashion; the rays of the sun beat down on your gossamer-like mithril shirt, reflecting the pure white light into the stone giving it a subtle glow. Morning dew clings to the leaves near your head. THe babbling brook you crossed yesteday can be heard but is out of sight, due to the moss laden boulder to your immediate right. To you left you can just barely make out the watchtower of Oakthorne almost 200 yards away, through multitudes of trees. It would seem that today is would be perfect for making your way back into the town nestled safely in the heart of the mighty boughs of the Great Western forest.[/sblock]

[sblock=Searcion] The small square window to your left allows the first traces of morning light to pass into your bedroom. You've been awake for an houror so already, giving thanks to the mighty lord of the sun, Pelor. The small golden statue infront of you still holds just as much mystery and intrigue as it once held while you were a child. The cool dormitory walls are coated in a thin sheet of dew, as they have been for the past month you have lived there. Dressed and ready to go out into the town, you go to leave the temple to find out who had left the strange message back in your quiet, former village.[/sblock]

[sblock=Amarok] You awaken to the quiet sound of rustling ouside the small, decrepit building you've used as shelter since you had arrived yesterday; the broken door merely propped arainst the doorway, the windows unhinged and broken. Your must bedroll needs washing, you can smell the odors of not only your hometown, but also the sweat you have perspired along your journey. The smouldering remains of your fire glow gently in the humid darkness. [/sblock]

 

[Eitharaux]

Searcion exits the temple and does a relaxing stretch or two, for he has just gotten out of bed from a long night's sleep. He heads toward the Inn with intent to question some of the villagers as to whether or not they had seen the same man he saw in his village, who had left the note. As he walks over, he cannot help but notice a wood elf hesitantly wandering about the village some 50 feet away. He walks in her general direction, hoping to greet her.

 

[Aogiri]

After stretching a bit and she pulls on her boots and bracers and packs up her bed roll. Fastening her crimson cloak she cautiously makes her way back to town, hoping that today people will be more friendly. While she slowly makes her way through the town she anxiously plays with her pendant, she then notices an elven man walking toward her.

 

[Eitharaux]

Searcion says, "Hello, i happened to notice that you and I may be the only two elves in this entire village. I just found it peculiar that there weren't any others when i came here some few days ago, being it a heavily forested region. I am Searcion, a cleric from a far, far town toward the North. You don't appear to be from around here either. What is your name?" he questions.

 

[Aogiri]

Lucrezia replied warmly, she was not used to these pleasantries. "My name is Lucrezia, and you're correct, I am not from around here, I'm originally from the east... well sort of. Oh, but I came to this town because I read a post, do you know anything about it?" She pause hardly a moment, "How rude of me, I never asked why you'd come.. or is that prying?"

 

[Eitharaux]

"Oh, I don't mind answering." he replied. Searcion then paused and looked at Lucrezia in a very questioning matter. "A post you say?" he paused again "That's very odd. I recieved one as well, a mysterious wanderer in a black cloak put it up. It said that this place required a helper of those greatly in need, however so far i havn't seen anything wrong with this village since i've been here, however, i havn't exactly talked to anyone either." he says while staring off at the inn. "Did the same person put up the post in your town?"

 

[Aogiri]

"I don't actually know, I didn't see.. " Lucrezia followed his gaze to the inn "Am I keeping you? I'm sorry, I'll just... go if you have something you need to do." She smiled awkwardly, still playing with her pendant.

 

[Blind Azathoth]

Amarok awakes, as every morning, with a heavy sigh. Grimacing at the foul smell of his blankets, he stands, and proceeds to smother the remnants of his fire with earth. This done, he begins his morning prayers; first to Ikkuma, the All-father, the Great Old One; then to those ancestors who have passed on, beginning with the last to die—his mother—and stretching back five generations.

After rising from the bowed position taken during prayer, he dresses himself in his simple furs, skins, and boots, afterwards donning his familial artifacts: armor of enchanted bone, as well as the similarly mystical white cloak and silver ring crafted by his own sisters, items which had saved him many times in the past. Finally, he hefts his small sack of equipment, and the sugliin that has been a part of his family for generations—the sugliin that carries his father's spirit, Amarok is certain, for upon the death of his father a new ability awoke within the weapon, wreathing it in spiritual cold.

Amarok proceeds into town, intending to question the citizens, though expecting suspicion and no answers from them—the same that he received in all other places he had visited here in the south. Perhaps, he thinks to himself, heaving a deep sigh once more, it was a mistake to come here. Perhaps I should return home...

Yet only moments after thinking this, he stops in his tracks, staring, at the sight of a crimson-cloaked form beyond. Ah, calm yourself, Amarok, he chastises himself. You have seen many scarlet cloaks on your journey. None have ever had a connection to those who trespass on your homeland. Yet you are always so anxious when you see the next red cape or robe or cloak, always wondering if they will be the one who might have your sisters... Surely you must be aware by now that you will never be seeing them again, Amarok.

Doubt churning within his mind, Amarok slowly approaches the pair of elves, keeping his eyes on the one in the crimson cloak. A female, I think, he muses silently, though with elves it is so difficult to tell...

Although he nears the two conversants, he does not interrupt them, waiting instead to be noticed and addressed.