More Like An Epic Novel Than A Chapter 12: TOO Quiet

The first snows came early this year, less than a week ago -- and with them came illness for your aging father. Contrary to his usual verve and vigor, today -- like yesterday -- he remains indoors, near the fireplace, wrapped in blankets. Luckily, you were prepared for the early winter. Your father is always prepared, it seems. Ample wood for several months is stacked outside the windy side of the house, the piled up snow upon it providing additional insulation from the cold. Salted meats, wine, flatbreads and other non-perishables are safely stored in your cellar.

Of course, this weather heralds the most profitable time of the year for you, so this preparation is not for lazing away your winter. Quite the opposite -- the white winter pelts of many animals are in higher demand than ever, especially if the peddlers from the South are paying as much as they did two years ago.

But the peddlers didn't come last winter, nor any season since. As long as you've been alive, peddlers have come four times a year, and always within a week of Yuletide, Beltide, and both Equinoxes. They should have come last week, but you aren't holding your breath just yet. It's a Saturday, which means it's time for you and your father to head into town -- you were on an extended outing last weekend, and you've been all out of some of the pleasant amenities that Weatheryn can offer.

Your father doesn't look like he's in any shape to make the three hour trek to town, though, and the dawn is already shining rays of light up to the clouds along the eastern horizon. If you don't get going soon, you won't be able to make it back before dark.

Yordan gestures for you to come to him. His voice is thin and hoarse, but there's still a commanding presence behind it.
"Ari, you're 17 now...you can make the trip to town yourself. Taryn won't cheat you, he's far too honest for that, and if he doesn't have anything on this list i'm sure he can point you in the right direction at someone else's shop. Take Déchaîné, but ride him easy...you know that, though. Here's eighty gold -- you shouldn't need more than thirty for the supplies, but if it gets to be too late, just stay at the inn. Don't think you can get away with staying there for the fun of it, you'll work that money off in spades if you aren't home tonight."

A look of concern passing over his face, Ari looks into his father's hardened green eyes, which now bear a glassiness from sickness. "If you believe that I can, father, then I can. I know you can take care of yourself, but you've been getting sicker..." Ari looks distantly into the fire "...I will see what supplies they have to aid your condition, in addition to the other necessities." He stands up, "The first shade of twilight comes soon. If I am to go, I will go at once." Ari pours his father a glass of wine. "I will be back as soon as I can, father. I promise." He walks briskly to the coat rack and dresses himself in a winter outfit. First he slips a thick leather tunic over his cloth blouse. Over that, he dons the fur cloak, made from the hide of a large, white wolf, that his gave to him for his birthday. His father had received the same cloak on his 17th birthday, from his father. He steps into his comfortable soft leather and fur boots, puts on his fox fur hat and ties a woolen scarf around his neck. He quickly strings his bow and makes sure his quiver has at least a few arrows in it. He slings both over his back. Finally he slips on a pair of leather gloves. As he pulls the last glove on, "I'm off, father, get well. I'd hate to have to show you up again during our next hunt!" He quips jovially, to break the uncomfortable seriousness.

He steps into the cool winter air. It always brings a smile to his face. The new snow is always so pleasant to look at. He walks over to the stable and looks in at his father's rusty red, silvery maned horse. "Good day to you, Déchaîné. Fine weather, no? " He rubs the large animal's nose and feeds him some oats. Ari straps the saddle thoughtfully to Déchaîné's back and puts the in the bit and straps on the facepiece. He leads the horse out of the stable and hops on. "Well, my friend, shall we go for a ride? Heeyah!" With that he begin their journey to Weatheryn.

Though, nothing makes Ari happier than the freedom of the wild and riding, his father's condition has not left his thoughts. He would not push the aging horse too hard, but he intends to make haste.

Home-made Bow: Recurve bow made of three woods glued together in tension, allowing a heavier pull with less weight. This bow has a draw weight of approximately 80# - it's heavy, but not exhausting. With this kind of weight you can fire approximately 30 yards (90 feet) accurately, 60 yards (180 feet) with moderate precision, and 100 yards (300 feet) maximum. You carry one extra bowstring with you -- these are made of deer sinew from the hind legs and take about a day to make in ideal conditions. Your quiver, like most, holds no more than 20 arrows. These arrows have a flat, diamond shaped point with straight edges for the easiest penetration and removal from game. These arrows, furthermore, are fletched with goose or wild turkey feathers, whichever were at hand.

The path down the foothills is circuitous and narrow, wending from thick forest to meadow and back again. Your house is, after all, on the least civilized side of town for obvious reasons (hunting farm animals is looked down upon). The light snow whisks around the ground forming intricate curves, and your acute eyes notice plentiful game skittering along the periphery of your vision.

Only a few miles down the path, you see a rider bundled up against the wind, wearing familiar clothes. The figure looks up as he approaches, and you are greeted by the face of your father's old friend, Braeden. He looks more haggard and old than usual, with dark rings below troubled grey eyes. As soon as he recognizes you, however, he puts on a smiling face. One hand holds the reins of his horse, and as he gestures hello warmly you catch a glimpse of a letter safely tucked into his breast pocket under the furs.

Braeden opens his mouth to greet you, but whatever he says is drowned out by the sound of crackling, ripping wood, like a tree falling, and nearby. You'd guess the sound was from the deep stand of trees just beyond the meadow you both are in, but the woods are thick and you can't make out where it was. In any case, the tree branches are swaying more vigorously than by the wind alone, and you feel the mystery of the sound solved.

Your father's friend turns to look behind, to the stand of trees, then shrugs and looks back to you.
"Not nearly cold enough for the sap to be exploding, yet. Never mind, that, though. How are ya, boy? Goin' to the city on yer own already? You're gettin' older!" He gibes. The act rings false with you, though, and you can see that he's hiding something he doesn't want you to be burdened with. He never was a very good liar, and you've caught onto when you shouldn't push him on topics. Last time was the poor harvest a few years back, and this, you think, is another of those times.
"Listen, you'd better keep on to town. I'll probably stay at your place tonight and head back in the mornin. There's gonna be a nasty storm inbound tonight, and i don't reckon i want to get caught in it. Your daddy warn you about that? Well, whatever, i'm sure he expects you back before then."

"Whoaaa, Déchaîné. Easy there friend." Ari looks at the trees with a raised eyebrow, then to Braeden and smiles genuinely, but replies, "About that, Braeden..." Ari looks straight at the letter. "My father, he is very sick, as of late. As much as he'd enjoy your company.. I think it'd be prudent to let him get his rest, let's not mention the possibility of contracting what he has. I've been doing all I can... hm.. what's that you have there? A letter? Is it for my father? If it is, you can give it to me, Braeden, I'll make sure he gets it. I should be home by early evening; hopefully I will beat the storm. As per your question, I am doing well, I try to learn more every day, but you know how high my father's expectations are.." Ari half chuckles, he knows he's in a hurry, but he can take some time out to talk to the man. He liked Braeden, despite his eccentricities. "By the way, how are you, how have you been?"

Ari takes one last glance at where the sound came from, and returns his eye contact with Braeden.

"Your daddy's a tough bird, he'll get over it." Braeden says, waving dismissively with the reins. His horse looks drearily to the right with the gesture, confused as to what his master wants. "I've been well, spending most of my time in the mountains lately. Found another cavern system just about four days north of here, quite extensive this one. Maybe someday you'll join me so i can explore the lower caverns..."
Braeden's hand begins to move to his breast pocket, but he quickly retracts it and looks to see if you've noticed. His next few words are rushed, as if he's in a hurry to change the subject.
"Anyway, i've been meaning to come visit your old man for a few weeks now. I'm sure he'll appreciate the company while he sits around doing nothing."

Braeden then heels his horse into moving and salutes you good day.

"All right Braeden, you just let me know when you want to explore them, I'll look forward to it! Pleasant travels. Tell my father that I'm hurrying to town, haha. Save some of our wine for me, I know how you two get!" Although, very curious as to what that letter contains, he knows it is probably not his business. If it concerns him, he'll know eventually. But Ari has things to do, so he continues his journey.

As you pass through the trees, you casually look around for the fallen tree. You don't see anything freshly fallen within sight of the trail, but you do happen to spot a relatively old pine tree wedged at greater than a 90 degree angle between two other trees. How a thirty foot tree managed to get twenty feet off the ground, or why it would be closer to upside down than right side up, you have no idea. You don't remember seeing this tree last time you went to town, and there haven't been any gale force winds since then...but then again, you have to pass through almost fifteen miles of forest to get to Weatheryn, and you couldn't possibly know every tree along the path.

A couple of hours later you crest a final hill to see the "walls" of Weatheryn a few hundred feet away. The roads are covered in a fine layer of snow, and the town looks so serene in the uninterrupted white plains. The winds shift towards you, bringing the muffled sounds of metal clanging against metal and seagulls' cries. Even with only a third of the city visible from the land, it's still the largest bastion of civilization you've ever seen, and the complexities of city life always give you a moment of awe before you descend into the rabble yourself.

The 'gate' of Weatheryn stands open, undefended, as it always has in your memory -- a triumphant, twisted red stone arch standing between weather-stained wooden slats. A few children are waddling around in the snow on the front lawns of their parent's homes just inside the gate, looking like oversized seals with their masses of fur coats. This part of town is quiet compared to where you're heading, but even the sound of children playing is more noise than you're used to hearing. All in all, it's more than a bit overwhelming. You do notice that the Baron's flag is flying beside the flag of Weatheryn (although the two are almost the same symbol), a sign that Mathias is in town.

Still confused about the tree, Ari makes a note that he will have to check on that when he has more time on his hands. He might want to mention it to his father, as well. It would, at least, be a good story. Ari looks at the little kids , he remembers hearing stories about himself, from his father, about his early days. He shakes his head and smiles and continues on his way. Hopefully he'll get a chance to say hello to his comrades, before he has to leave. They'll be so jealous that he gets to travel alone. Déchaîné is an old horse, but he is most certainly NOT a small horse. His father saved him from a farmer who mistreated him, because he wouldn't follow his orders. He is a work horse with the heart of a War Steed. He was simply born into the wrong profession, by Ari's father's opinion. Ari did feel the faintest bit of pride, striding into town on his horse. All by himself. He holds the reins with one and and lets the other hang, idly, at his side. He throws his shoulders back, and holds his head high. To the market.

You make your way along the main street to the Ayrshire Stair, a grandiose name for what amounts to a set of rectangular cuts in the cliffside hardly eight feet wide. The slow descent into the second tier of the city brings a whole array of new sounds, sights and smells, and although your attention is focused on Déchaîné's safe climb, you can't help but sneak in a few glimpses of the activity below. You pass by the bakery first, and the warm blast of air from the open front door brings the scent of delicious yeasts and confectioneries.

The general store isn't far beyond, and you can see Nori's face glance out from inside a window, then dart away. Moments later, as you tether Déchaîné to the covered post away from the salty winds, Nori reappears with a carrot, which Déchaîné chomps away upon enthusiastically. So caught up in your feeling of maturity are you that you allow yourself a moment to size up your old friend -- he's still gangly and boyish, but he's grown to almost six foot, possessing a wiry strength that likely comes from spending so much time in the water.
"Ari! Ari, where's your da? You didn't come all the way here by yourself, did you?" Nori says to you animatedly. "Come on, come in!"

Taryn welcomes you into his shop stoically. His shop is unusually empty of wares.
"I see you've got a list of supplies to pick up...let's see if i can't find those for you. I hope you don't need anything made of metal." (You do, a box of nails and a spool of steel wire. The rest of the commodities, sans perishable foodstuffs, Taryn has on hand)
"The smoked fish you'll have to talk to Weslyn down the Franciscan stair to the docks tier, do you know her? Anyway, she's got the first shop on the left after you go down the stair. She ought to have the sea salts too, but these other spices...i don't even know what saffron is, Ari. I know it says to get whatever you can of these, but i haven't seen much of any of these. Only spices anyone has left are the ones that grow 'round here, and i'm sure you've picked and dried enough of those during the summer. Got your saddlebags with you? You can go ahead and start loading this stuff up and i'll tally up the cost." (It totals 26 gold)

"Nah, Nori. He's sick, besides, I'm old enough to do this sort of thing on my own. It's not like it's a big deal or anything... I'm going to be in town for a few hours if you want to tag along, mate." As Ari loads the last of the saddle bags onto Déchaîné, he says, "Thank you very much Taryn, you more than deliver, as usual. Do you have any idea where I can find metal necessities? I do not know Weslyn very well. I've only seen her once or twice. I'm sure she'll have what I need. I'll be on my way... are you coming Nori?" Ari leads Déchaîné down the steps to the docks where Taryn directed him. Sure enough, Weslyn's store comes into view. "So, Nori, how have things been? Any exciting stories? How are the other lads in town? Have any girls caught your eye lately?" Ari ends this sentence with a sly grin and a wink. "Well? Talk, mate! Tell me everything."

"I don't think you can buy any metal around here anymore, for any price. Færøer -- you know, the blacksmith -- you'd think he'd be having a rough time of it, but since no one can buy anything new, he's been busy just trying to keep up with repairs. Seven seasons now with no peddlers, though, no foreign sailors...we've fallen on hard times. I wish we at least knew why.
Tell you what, boy...you find yourself some pure metals in those foothills you live on, i'll make you rich." Taryn laughs, as he obviously does not expect this to happen.

The burden of responsibility weighs heavily on you, and the thrill of riding to Weatheryn on your own is wearing off. The nagging wish that your father was here to deal with this lingers in the back of your mind, kept at bay only by your stubborn pride at having troubles of your own to tackle.

The sounds of Weslyn's verbal assault on a customer shortly precede the appearance of a harassed looking man scuttling out of the shop. You've never met him before, but he gives you an exaggerated wink and a nod back at Weslyn's shop before continuing up the Stair behind you.

The shop itself is simple, a U-shaped glass counter with the smoked products below on display and Weslyn herself striking a terrifying pose behind the counter. Her expression warms as you enter, and she quickly finds the items on your father's list. (6 gold)

As you walk out, Nori finally finds a chance to answer your questions.
"Things are just like usual with the other guys in town, but you can feel the tension in the air anytime groups of adults get together. No more travelers, that's all they ever talk about. It can be disappointing not to have some of those trinkets, but i think maybe it's a blessing in disguise. Finally, we can be as truly self-sufficient as we've always claimed. I know father was joking about finding pure metals, but..." Nori trails off as he realizes he has no conclusion to his thought. "Hey, what do you want to do with the rest of the time you have in town? You don't need to head back for another two or three hours, right?"

"No, I don't have to leave for a little while." Ari pats his friend on the shoulder, "Though, I should probably leave within two hours or so, if I want to beat the storm that's coming. As far as the travelers. I don't think it's self sufficiency that we need. Weatheryn needs allies and it needs commerce. There are always people who wish to buy; there has to be some serious reason why travelers have stopped coming. That sort of thing doesn't just happen..." Ari gives Nori a dark look, "Something is amiss, I just can't put my finger on it, yet, mate. But, let's not worry too much about that right now. Where are the other chaps and lassies?

"Oh, I just remembered! I saw something very strange on my ride to town. On the trail I normally take, a tree was completely uprooted and was hanging, upside down, from another tree. It was quite bizarre. I've been trying to figure out how that could happen since I saw it. Any ideas?" Ari goes with Nori to see the other kids in town, before his long ride home.

"An upside down tree, huh? That is strange. Speaking of strange, a couple of days ago the Carteret's were putting the roof on the home Duncan and Maisi are supposed to move into when the baby comes -- no, no wait, that's not the strange part. The strange part is that the next day they all wake up to move furniture into the house, and POOF!" Nori waves grandiosely with his arms and exhales a gust of steamy breath, "no roof! Not a sign of it, save a couple of tiles nailed to the wall and some broken pieces of lumber.
Some people have been making fun of them for it...you know, saying things like 'Oh, you'll lose your wife next, Duncan! She just disappeared, eh?' but most folk are superstitious and don't find it very funny."

The two of you round a corner and the docks swing into view, matching the briny scent you've had in your nose with an image. The bay will freeze sometime in December, but for now it's too choppy for even thin sheets on the surface. The local fishing sloops are crowding the nearest two docks, but the further ones -- the longer ones for foreign trade -- are all but abandoned. Nori grabs the heavy wooden door to the Stone Archer Taproom and motions you up the three steps to the entry.

Skyla immediately notices you as you walk into the quiet tavern -- it is only mid-afternoon, and the tavern is small. She throws you a coy wink as you walk into the common room, then spins around to the back room, her long golden hair flipping from one shoulder to the other in the process. She's teasing you, of course. At least, you think she is. It's hard to be sure with her.

Nori blushes furiously.

"Well come on, i'm sure you have something to say to her! I think i heard of a new batch of cider from the Stanwood apple orchard..." With this comment Nori mischievously sneaks around behind the bar. You almost sigh, because you know exactly how that escapade is going to end.

"Wh--hm. Oh, so that's how it's going to be?" Ari grins and shakes his head and looks back to where Skyla went. He walks into the back room to meet her. This girl never ceased to confuse and intrigue him.

You walk through the kitchen to the back room. It's cold in this room, as the double wide, ceiling height utility doors don't keep much heat in. About 25 barrels and 100 more firkins lie stacked on the floor of the room, all with the distinctive Stanwood logo emblazoned on the side. You briefly wonder if these are the same casks they used last year...the Stanwoods would not be happy about that.

Skyla is already rolling one of the barrels your way with more force than necessary when you enter the doorway, and she laughs at your momentarily surprised expression before you stop it.
"All the barrels have to go down to the cellar...i've been working on it all morning. If you lend a hand we can get it done twice as fast -- i'm sure Nori will end up helping too when Mother or Father find him lurking around again." She pauses to leverage one of the stacked barrels to the ground with her knee -- and some obvious strain. "Don't worry about the firkins, those will get picked up by the families that bought them whenever they drop by."

"Shouldn't take more than an hour or two with the help of you two...i'm sure you can spare that much time, can't you?" She says with an exaggerated pout.

Ari, always willing to help a friend in need... especially an attractive female friend... makes a faux exasperated sigh, "Oh, I suppose. I have a few hours in town, I can't think of any better ways to spend it. Unless you have any idea where I can find some of the metal items on this list. If not, it's not an issue I'm going to lose sleep over." Ari lifts one of the barrels and begins bringing it to the cellar, making sure that Skyla sees how strong he is. "So, Skyla.. hmff (as he lifts the barrel).. how have you been? You grow more beautiful with each new moon."

"And you more forward. No, i doubt you can find any metal items in town. I suppose Yordan hoped you might get lucky and find some, but i wouldn't hold my breath." The conversation pauses as she rolls the barrel down the wooden plank laid over the cellar stairs.

The cellar is dimly lit by only a few lamps, but the solidly built stone masonry walls and floor keep the atmosphere from being overly cave-like. Wine racks cover two of the walls, the rest being open space for salted foodstuffs and barrels containing a variety of potent liquids. Two of the three cats owned by the Trevelyans meow at your disturbance of their basement-stalking.

"Oh, be quiet Cameron," Skyla scolds the nearest cat, a shaggy looking tabby, "there haven't been any mice to catch down here in months."

"Although," Skyla continues, turning her attention back to you, "i heard that Friar Tenon brought back two pounds of iron -- AFTER smelting -- after he came back from visiting some farmers not far from where you live. Don't tell anyone else, though. I overheard him telling Father in secrecy, i suppose because he doesn't want a rush of foolish prospectors digging up all over that area and ruining crops.

Don't get any foolish ideas in YOUR head, either. Friar Tenon said that there's no reason to expect any more than he brought, since 'whoever' it was that gave it to him had found it over a year ago, and none since."

Oh, don't worry. Two pounds of iron isn't enough for me to start chaos or get into trouble. Hah. But have you been wondering at all why the travelers have stopped coming? Something big is happening, or is about to happen, I think."

"Oh, i don't want to think about that anymore, Ari. Nothing has changed in months, and no one knows anything new, so what's the point? I'm not going to find the answers serving ale every night, and you aren't going to find them hunting rabbits, so let's talk about something happier.

Like the Autumnal Equinox! I know it's hardly as exciting as the Solstices, but even so...Elder Sion told another of his fables about the Light Age. You've got to hear him tell a story one of these days, you always miss them!" Nori nods his head vigorously in agreement with this statement.

Skyla dusts her hands off after setting down the last barrel and looks at the two of you. You have a half hour or so before you should start heading back. "So? What now?"

"I understand that it's a painful situation, but has no one gone to investigate? Hasn't anyone gone to find out at all? I'm just curious, is all." Ari's mind begins to wander as he pretends to listen to Skyla talk about Elder Sion's fables. His curiosity was burning into him. It seemed that the town's problems of late had a great deal to do with the lack of travelers. Whatever was stopping the travelers could eventually effect an ill fate on Weatheryn directly. He wanted desperately to go explore the reasons. It would be quite an adventure! But his father, in his sickly state, needed the supplies Ari was charged with bringing home. He also didn't want to abuse this new freedom his father had bestowed upon him. Many thoughts were dancing through his head, indeed. "Oh, his stores are wonderful? Perhaps I'll go to... Nori, remember that tree I was telling you about? Do you want to go see it? Skyla, You can come to if you'd like." Ari smiles coyly.

"It's not painful, i'm just sick of talking about it," Skyla says irritably.

"I'd better not, Autumn harvests are still coming in and Dad needs me around the shop in the morning." -- Nori, this time.

Skyla again: "I'm with Nori on this one. Not all of us have the freedom to up and leave town for a three hour journey."

Ari smiles and shrugs. "All right then. I should probably be getting home anyway, my father is sick and he'll have my head if I'm not home on time. It was nice seeing both of you. Farewell." Ari straps the last of his needed supplies to the horse, and grabs a quick snack that he packed for himself. He hops onto Déchaîné and begins riding out of town. He plans on taking a closer look at the tree, before heading home.

The trip back home gives you plenty of time to process all the thoughts you have tumbling about in your mind, but you come up with no answers. If anyone knows the answers, it's the best kept secret Weatheryn has ever known -- and why someone would want to keep it secret in the first place makes no sense.

About halfway back home you start to search for the location of the strangely fallen tree. You continue at a relaxed trot until you come upon the stand of trees you think you recall as being the one in question. Gazing upwards at the branches as you pass by, you are disappointed to not see the strange tree. Maybe it's the next stand of trees, you think?

Then, as you pass into the meadow, you clearly see that the hoofprints of the two horses -- Déchaîné towards the town, and Braedon's mare in the other -- stopped in place, rather than evenly spaced as while walking. That must have been the right stand of trees.

You glance at the sky -- it's almost dusk, but you think you can spare a few minutes for a closer look. Storm or no, a few minutes in the dark isn't very frightening at all so close to home.

From Déchaîné's back you search more carefully on the way back. From this direction you more clearly recall the knots of the old birch tree the fallen pine was wedged in, but the pine is not there. You glance around, confused, when you realize that the pine is, in fact, lying on the ground, as though knocked over by wind, torn from its roots. The impact pattern is still clearly visible to your trained eyes, as snow makes for easy tracking, but you see no detritus from the birch, or even any snapped branches save a few twigs. About halfway up the trunk of the pine, you see where fresh dirt where the roots tore out of the ground. Why that hole would be halfway up the tree rather than below the trunk is beyond you, and defies your knowledge of nature.

Ari tilts his head sideways in confusion. "Whoa, Déchaîné." Ari hops off his back and ties him to a nearby tree. He walks up to the strange tree on the ground. "Now how could this have happened...?" He looks around for some clue as to what could have happened. He looks in the hole the tree supposedly came from, then he goes and takes a look at the other tree. He is thoroughly perplexed. "Very strange..." He figures he still has some time. He checks the hole to see how a tree of this size could be removed. He looks for cut roots or if the thing was just pulled from the earth. He checks for tracks in the area one more time. If there are NO tracks, then something is very wrong as well. This is a lush forest, surely there would be some sort of animal presence. After about 20 minutes of looking for inconsistencies or other anomalies he decides that he should get back to beating the storm. He remounts and continues his journey home.

You find the tracks of some small game, nothing larger than a rabbit. Most of it is fresh -- from the last few hours. The roots of the tree don't bear any evidence of human violence, no axe marks, no saws. The root structure is covered in dirt, just like most trees that fall over. Standing up with no clear idea what is unusual here, you suddenly notice a set of large tracks you had overlooked before. Elk tracks.

It's clear why you overlooked them, though. They stop dead about 15 feet from the tree, having come from an area of harder, rockier ground only a few feet before. The tracks show no sign of turning or the like, they simply STOP.

Ari looks at the tracks for a time, perplexed. He decides to see if they continue somewhere else after this area. Perhaps they were wiped away and continue on the other side. He follows the direction the tracks were going and attempts to find where they continue, if they continue. He also looks for any traces of blood or fur, in case the animal was killed, or removed quickly some other way. If he finds nothing, he simply continues home.

No trace of the animal remains. Since no further information seems forthcoming, you simply head home. The journey is cold and grey, especially in the failing light, but uneventful.

The cabin is cheerily lit when you return, both by a crackling fire and a number of grease lanterns set about the cabin. Your father and Braeden look up as you walk in, and welcome you.
"Welcome home, son."
"There's stew over here, boy, grab a bowl," suggests Braeden.
The two men are leaning over a number of maps strewn across the large table, their bodies framing the fire between them. After the brief greeting, they return to discussing the maps in low voices.

Ari, shakes off the snow from his cloak and hangs it on the rack. "Your old cloak has served me well, father. It is quite the frigid mess out there." He chuckles. "I have all the supplies on the list that I could find." He puts a few of them away into the cupboard, and puts the rest on the table. While listening to their conversation, he pours himself a bowl of stew. When he is satisfied with the amount, he walks over to join his father and Braeden. He pours himself a goblet of wine. He takes a look at the map and listens to their conversation. Ari was taught at a young age to avoid unnecessary questions that can be answered on one's own. After a time of listening, he smiles and inquires, "How long have you two been at this?"

Yordan turns to look at you, and there is a brief pause before he responds. "A few hours. Come look, maybe your eyes will see what ours can not."

"Let me orient you on this map. Here," as he points to the lower right corner of a map dominated by seascape to the west, "is Weatheryn-that-was, on the southern edge of Star Lake -- where the Carolans live now. Here," he continues, this time further north, "is the Mirrormark, our northmost territory. Between the two is the Hammertauern mountain range, which Braeden has traveled extensively. Braeden?"

Günter Braeden continues the explanation, but not about maps.
"While i was traveling, i came across't a messenger, frozen to death maybe a week. The wolves ha already got to 'em, but not quite clean. Blood still around. Anyways, he'as got hisself all fancied up with black velvet an such, but no pony or nothing. In the mountains!"

"The letter, Braeden..." your father gently reminds.

"Right, the letter. So i search his coat 'cause i figures someone probably would like to know their kid or whatnot got hisself all corpsified. And what do i find in his breast pocket? A letter of war! Addressed to one 'Mikhail Brosk, Duke of Weatheryn'. Now what do you suppose that's supposta mean?"

Ari's mind begins to break down the situation. He listens carefully to what his father and Braeden tell him. Finally, he replies, "Well... there is no duke of Weatheryn, only Sir Baron Mathias. Hm.. a messenger with no horse. What did the letter say? Perhaps this has something to do with why travelers and traders have been sparse as of late? I hate to be paranoid, but I sense foul play of some sort. You said yourself, Braeden, he looked to have been dead for a while. Perhaps his horse was taken or maybe it ran off. But I feel that the letter itself could provide some more information. May I read it?"

Braeden looks askance at your father, but Yordan's face does not indicate preference one way or the other. He seems lost in thought, staring intently at the maps.

Braeden shrugs, rifles the letter out from beneath some other papers, and hands it to you.

His Excellency, Tamer of the Fey, Duke Mikhail Brosk Ten-Dragons of Weatheryn,

It has come to the attention of the Lordship of Celedaën that you have razed the village of Amnath to the ground, slaughtering all citizens, presumably with the intention of placing the blame on the Shandar Republic. This has been deemed an act of war, and will be treated as such unless we receive explanation and just remunerations by sundown tomorrow.

yours,
Celedaën, Chosen of Asgorod

Ari's eyes go wide. "Wait... what?! What is this? WHO is this Brosk character? Why do they think he's our leader? Our town could be in serious trouble, we need to let the Baron know about this!" Ari jumps to his feet and looks quizzically at the two men. How were they remaining so calm? Surely something had to be done.

"Whoa there sonny, don't get all googly-eyed so right quick," Braeden admonishes, straightening.

"Braeden is right. There's much we don't know; in any case, the earliest we can get to town is tomorrow afternoon. You've already hit on the most obvious: who is Mikhail Brosk? He certainly has enough titles, so there must be some record of him somewhere, though i have never heard of him. Just as importantly, what are these other places? If there is a Shandar Republic, it can't be within a thousand kilometers of here. I don't recall a village of Amnath or a Celedaën either, although those are more likely to go unnoticed than an entire coun-"

"Hold on now, Yordan," Braeden interrupts, "i didn't think of it when i read it on the map, but now that i hear the name Amnath out loud i'm reminded that there's a particular mountain only a few day's travel north of here called Amna's Fist. Mighten it be related." He shrugs.

"It's certainly something to look into, even if it's not the first step we take." Yordan concedes. "However, what has made me rather confused is this last part, 'Chosen of Asgorod.' I'd have to do more research into it which might take time we don't have, but i seem to recall the name Asgorod coming up before...the context eludes me," this last part clearly frustrates your father greatly, "but i think it was in an extremely antiquated context."

At Braeden's puzzled look, Yordan clarifies -- "Ancient. Which makes me wonder: why would a recently dead messenger be carrying an ancient letter? It doesn't make any sense. For that matter, the paper isn't very weathered."

Braeden shakes his head, baffled as to Yordan's train of thought.

"I'd like to help in any way I can. This is as intriguing as it is disturbing. I worry for the town's well being and even if there is no impending war... there's still the traveler issue." Ari studies the map carefully and looks for an area near Amna's Fist that would be suitable for a town. (i.e. rivers etc.) "Which direction did the messenger look to be coming from, Braeden?" Ari stands goes to the stew pot and pours another bowl. He waits for a response and then says, "I'm going to go check on Déchaîné, the wind is starting to sound bad. I need to make sure his stable is well locked. I'll be right back." He puts his boots and cloak on and enters the growing blizzard.

Almost too conveniently, there is a long, narrow area of mostly flat terrain which a mid-sized river splits in two just on the other side of Amna's Fist. You then notice another shallow valley to the north-east...and a plateau directly north of that, and a crater lake with significant flat terrain to the north-west of the plateau. In fact, all these seem to be a bit too regularly spaced. Perhaps it's due to Braeden's untrained mapmaking skills, but they seem to form a half circle oriented around a massive, high altitude valley. You briefly check to see if the half circle pattern continues, but Braeden's map loses much of its detail to the west, likely due to a lack of exploration in that direction.

"Hard to say, lad. He'd been dragged a ways -- probably by the wolves. The nearest trail is this one, here." He points to the map about a day's travel south of Amnath. Frustratingly, the path travels tangentially to the theoretical half circle, from coast towards the inlands just north of the barony of Weatheryn.

With that in mind, you bundle up again and trek out into the blustery winds. Déchaîné whinnies as you open the door to the attached stable, letting the wind in, and your cow Elli looks up at you mournfully with those big brown eyes. It's much warmer in the stable that outside, and you feel that the animals will be fine out here tonight. No need to bring them indoors tonight -- there might be a lot of snow, but it isn't horribly cold.

Ari rolls it all over. He needed to find an excuse to go explore the area within the half circle. Surely there would be some sort of town. He sits down on a bale of hay for just a bit and thinks. Perhaps he could convince his father to let him go with Braeden to help him with his map making. The man did invite him, after all, to go exploring some caves. It sounded interesting and perhaps while out exploring, they could figure out why the traders had stopped coming. Yes, this was his only option. He nods to himself and stands up. He feeds the horse some oats and makes sure the cow has enough food and water as well. He pulls his cowl down around his face and trudges back to the house.

When he enters, he once again shakes off the snow and hangs up his things.

"Father, I was thinking. Braeden invited me to go explore some caves with him, as I was traveling to Weatheryn. I'd like to go with him and help him with his map making as well."

He walks up to the map and points out to the two men the convenient half circle trail that borders the large area of flat land.

"Perhaps we could get some more information about this area, Braeden? That is, if I may go with you and if it is all right with you, father. I think it'd be a good chance to practice the scouting skills you've taught me."

He sits in anticipation and waits for one of them to respond. He did so wish to go on this adventure. He had tasted the freedom of independence, when his father allowed him to travel to town alone. He wants more. He wants to see the world. Above all, he wants to help the people of Weatheryn. He is old enough, now after all and his father had taught him everything he needed to know.

Braeden shrugs his shoulders, palms up, and looks at your father for answer.

"I don't know, Ari. Give me some time to think it over. It's late anyway," Yordan yawns, "and we should all be getting to bed. Speaking of, there's a mat in the corner there for you, Braeden. Let me go fetch some extra fur blankets as well -- should be fairly comfortable compared to the bedrock you seem to find yourself sleeping on all too often. Honestly, sometimes i think you actually prefer sleeping on pointy rocks."

Ari nods to his father. It had been a long day, anyway. He goes to his bed and falls asleep. The next morning, he awakes and asks his father and Braeden the same question. He really did want to see the rest of the world beyond Weatheryn and the known forest.

Before you sleep, you overhear Yordan and Braeden speaking quietly. You're not sure exactly what is said, but you're fairly sure it's about you, and your question. The excitement is palpable.

The morning arrives, and you hardly notice the chill air as you roll out of bed. Yordan and Braeden are already awake, sitting at the same table, now cleared of maps. They invite you to sit and enjoy the breakfast you brought back from town yesterday. You ask your question again.

"Are you sure that's what you want, Ariston?" Your father asks.

"The mountains are a forbidding place, especially in the winter, not green and habitable like our little swath of land here by the lake," adds Braeden.

Seeing that you have set your mind in place, your father sighs. "You may go on this one trip. Whoa, don't get all excited so quick. You remember that taking this time off means you'll have to work twice as hard when you get back to make up for lost time, or next spring could be quite unpleasant indeed."

"One other thing, Ari," Braeden adds, "i'll be having to go into town for some traveling supplies if we're to go on this trip, then stop at my own place, so i figure i'll be back here sometime tomorrow evening. We'll make our plans then."

"I was thinking..." Yordan says, "...i was thinking that you we haven't set up traps to the east, just north of the Berkeley farms. While you're there, give this book to Rægenhere Berkeley, and see if he's finished piecing through the last one i lent him." Yordan pauses. "Don't use those particular words, though. He's a bit defensive about his difficulty reading, and it's commendable that he's trying at all."

Yordan browses through one of the bookshelves along the wall while he talks, then finally pulls one down and hands it to you: Modern and Ancient Local Astronomy. "Lots of great diagrams in this one to aid with the text."

Ari wants to jump up and down. He wants to run around the cabin and howl like a wolf. He wants to embrace his father in gratitude. But he manages to contain his excitement. He smiles broadly. "Thank you. Both of you. I'll work THREE times as hard when I get back, father! Breakfast is delicious, by the way. I will meet you at your house tomorrow evening, Braeden. I know the mountains are dangerous, but you've taught me so much, Father. I know how to handle myself in the wild, now. I won't let you down, I promise! ...One more thing, though, Father. If it suits you..." He looks at his father, "I'd like to go to town before evening. I'd really enjoy seeing Nori and Skyla before I leave." He sits and waits for his father's response. He still can't believe his father is actually letting him do this. His father must finally believe that he is ready to handle himself in the wild. He will put all his training to the test.

"No Ari, i think it would be best if you do this quick task before you leave. The eastern foothills haven't yet been trapped, and it will only take you a day to travel to the Berkeley farms while setting those traps, and a day to return. The two of you should finish your travels at the same time, and be able to leave from here with all the loose ends tied together.

You can visit your friends again when you return -- i'm sure we'll be in need of some resources by then."

Ari nods to his father. "Very well. Shall I leave with you, then, Braeden?" Despite not being able to see his friends, he is still excited. He can't wait to get moving.

Braeden nods in approval and waves his hand in a vague gesture of agreeance. He grabs his pack and begins to roll up a number of the items he brought with him. You realize that now would be an excellent time to grab whatever you need for the trip ahead, and begin to consider what you want to bring.

Ari hops up and begins to pack his bag. "We'll be back soon father, I hope you are well, when we return." He packs his bag with some dried vegetables and meats (enough for a couple days, and to snack on.) He brings a skinning knife, his bow, a canteen, some bear grease and the book his father gave him. He dresses himself in his cold weather clothes. "So, shall we be off. Is there anything else I should bring, Braeden?" He shows the man and waits for a response.

"Patience enough for a stone," your father suggests, and Braeden chuckles in agreement, "but in all seriousness, remember to grab the traps in the shed before you go -- would be a shame to get all that way without them."

Braeden waves to you both. "See you in a few days!" He rides off slowly towards Weatheryn.

You, on the other hand, are glad for the forest which is filtering the blinding light of the rising sun as you ride to the east. The snows are lighter than they could have been for such heavy winds, but the reflected sun is still quite intense.

The ride would be boring if you didn't enjoy the outdoors so thoroughly. You notice the minutiae of signs of life all around you, from the particular warble of each different birdsong to the distinct tracks of a wolfpack moving north to the teeth marks of a deer on the bark of a maple to a particularly large patch of sassafras around a wild cherry tree that would be quite nice to harvest for tea.

A few hours along the way, trapsetting included, you are riding along a rather unspectacular stretch of road somewhere halfway between woodland and clearing. Then, without warning, and without any other event of note, a boulder the size of Déchaîné just up the path tears free of its mossy bed to hover at eye level, just over 5 feet in the air. A quick check of your surroundings reveals no third party, and the local wildlife is no more spooked than usual for your own presence.

Ari, startled, abruptly stops Déchaîné. "What the!? Whoa, whoa!" He stares at the phenomenon, thoroughly confused and disturbed. "First the tree, now this. Why is it, that whenever I go out by myself...?" Ari hops off Déchaîné. He scratches his head and blinks a couple times.QuestionExclamation Neutral Question Something is clearly wrong here. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up. He scans the area around the floating boulder before slowly making his way closer. He moves within a couple meters of the boulder and tries to see if there is anything strange about the boulder (other than the fact that it's hovering.) Baffled, he tilts his head and puts his hands on his hips. "How in the hell...?"

The boulder doesn't respond.

Ari, puzzled, decides to come back to it later. He continues his errand.

A rock haiku:

Ari looks closer.
The boulder does not respond.
How uneventful.

Ari dismisses the stone
It floats for reasons unknown
"I'll return if I may;
Perhaps in a day.
Until then, it will float here alone."

Listen now Ari and you shall hear,
Of the sprawling farms of Rægenhere,
On the 8th of October, in Weatheryn,
Soon you will remember with chagrin
That auspicious day on the northern frontier.

He had said to his farmhand, "It's a two day's march
By land or stream from the farm tonight
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the city chapel as a signal light
One if no peddlers, and two if there are,
And i on the mountain side will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through ev'ry Weatheryn village and farm
For all the country folk'll be in town like a charm.

Then he said "Good night!" and with laden packs,
Silently to the Berk-eley farm tread back.
Just as the moon rose over the 'mount,
Where verve and vigor are all that count,
The monolith -- ancient Fractured Stone lay,
A secret, much to pilgrim's dismay,
Forever there, it's said, it shall stay
When red moonbeam pierced the shroud
Of the ominously low, hanging gray clouds.

Meanwhile the earth and the sky and the trees
rises, floats and without any pretense,
hovers strangely in woodlands and o'er fence.
Further inspection reveals little,
and all the while you worry of metals;
Away at this problem your hero does whittle.
But even in comfort this is not where he'd settle.

Then he walks the path between gardens and trees,
The farm, he sees, and cliffs ahead,
And right in front of the red-brick shed,
is Rægenhere, shirt ruffled by breeze.
On the sunny rooftops, birds round him sing
Not yet frozen, he draws water from the spring.
And the ivy trellis climbs steep and tall,
to the highest point on the retaining wall,
of the cliffs framing his ancestral home
and holding back the tonnes of loam,
while the Watcher looks over it all...

"Hello there! I can't quite see you from here, come closer!" Shouts Rægenhere, his voice clearly audible as the wind carries it towards you.



Hearing the greeting
He rode close for a meeting
And posed a question to the man

"Hello, Rægenhere
I've ridden far to be here
And chanced on a phenom near your grange

"For, during my ride
I suddenly spied
An oddity that I found quite strange

"Listen a little
For I have a riddle:
A floating stone lit by the moon

"A reason naught found
From looking around
I thought I would come back to it soon

"Perhaps you can shed light
On such a strange sight
As I cannot come to a conclusion

"I assure you I am sane
But it I cannot explain
It was surely not an illusion."

With that Ari dismounted
And further recounted
Everything he had seen

Perhaps this man knew
Or at least had a clue
So an answer he could glean

"So what do you think?" Ari asked.

"The only floating stones i know are those far 'bove our heads
though if those were the ones you saw i s'pose we'd all be dead
Strangely though, since you didn't know, i've a story for you." He said.

"Behind my home of brick and stone a secret well kept still looms.
Abaft of trellis and retaining wall wind rocky routes and rooms.
When first we settled, by brigands were we nettled, and so we fled to those tombs.

A month went by without a raid, we spoke of moving back,
But we had more to fear than the swords of highwayman's attack.
For deep below, where no winds blow, rose a menace from the black.

I recall no speech of floating stones, but something along those lines,
Space with ceiling and floor but without wall which no geometry defines.
Madness slept there, hidden in its lair, no prayers would cleanse those shrines.

But all of this was long ago and far before our times,
and maybe it's worth little more than these groups of silly rhymes.


I see you brought a book, as well! I'll go fetch the one your father lent me last. I assume you're staying here for the night? I'll have the hands come in early for the occasion and cook up a feast -- they could use a break anyway." He gestures you towards the house.

"I honestly don't know about the caves behind the house, though. They've been sealed tight for so many years, i wonder if the entire cliff would come toppling down if anyone tried to break through the retaining wall. Guess there's only one way to find out, and i don't want to try." Stepping onto the porch, he pounds on a large bell, alerting the farmhands to return.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I would love to stay the evening. If it pleases you, I'd like to hear more of these caves..."

Ari, always the adventurous one, couldn't get his mind off the vague and cryptic description of the tombs. Ominous though they may be, he couldn't shake the curiosity. He quite simply had to see for himself. Perhaps later in the evening he would go explore the area. Surely there must be a way in. He would certainly find out.

After conversing with the man and dining upon a meal of cooked vegetables and spiced meat, Ari helps clean up. Afterwards he remarks, "I think I will take a walk to this cave we spoke of. If I don't at least get a glimpse of it, I'll never be able to fall asleep. I shan't be too long. Once again, thank you for dinner."

With that, Ari gathers his things and hops on Déchaîné's back. He brings the beast to an easy trot and heads toward the fabled area. He did so love riding at night, the moonlight and stars lighting his path. He never felt more in touch with nature than at this time in the evening. He listens carefully to the peaceful sounds of the wind blowing lightly through the treetops and the faint crackle of a stream somewhere in the forest's depths. As he rides deeper into the forest, towards the mountain, he notices the number of trees increasing in size and frequency. The ground begins to incline the farther he explores. Perhaps he is getting closer.

Soon the thickness of the trees begins to block the light from the celestial bodies in the sky and it grows quite dark. He strains his eyes, but can still manage to see. Finally, after a few minutes, the forest breaks into a clearing and Ari gazes upon the side of a rather sharply sloping mountain. Large boulders cover the area, as if from an avalanche... or a cave in! Surely, this is the site.

Something about the area makes Ari feel quite ill-at-ease. The more examines his surroundings, the more he notices that something is quite wrong here. The large trees in this area have no leaves and are quite dead. This would explain why he can see the sky. He looks up, swiftly moving clouds begin the roll in from behind the mountain range. How strange he thinks to himself I didn't smell a storm coming, where are these clouds coming from? Becoming more and more disturbed he hops off the horse's back and ties him to one of the trees. "I'll be right back, my friend." he reassures the great animal. He does not know why, but he feels compelled to draw his bow and an arrow. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Something horrible had happened here once, he can feel it. Again, without an explanation for himself, he searches the area for some sort of entrance.

Although there is a large amount of man made woodwork here, none of it seems to be an entrance. In fact, quite the opposite -- the hefty 6 by 6's appear to be hammered yards into the solid earth, forming a network to hold the rock in place. Spots of buried metals are barely noticeable under your feet -- a great amount of iron must have been poured here to keep the posts stable. All told, the woodwork must run, by your best estimate, over fifty feet high, after which natural rock continues at a vertiginous slope. Ivy runs up the wood and rock...if this was a landslide, it must have happened decades ago.

Sighing in frustration, you glance back away from the wall. There's a steep drop maybe 40 feet opposite the strange cliffs, while the path you took is to your left (from your current direction facing away from the wall). To the right the cliff and flat path converge -- this is as far as this path goes. Out of curiosity you move to the drop, pushing aside low tree branches in your way. The branches snap loudly, brittle in their death. The sun, below the horizon for over a half an hour now, still lights the low western skies to your right. That's strange, though...that would mean you're looking south, but having not turned while on the path, the rock wall ought to have been west-facing. How did you get turned around?

Already nervous from the dead trees and rollicking black clouds (despite no other signs of an impending storm), you attempt to orient yourself to the pastoral landscape below. There's a farm almost directly beneath you, maybe a hundred feet from the ivy covered cliff. To the left you can see an animal pen and barn, while to the right is a variety of grain stock. Splitting the two is a long axis of trees and garden, just like at the Berkeley farms. In fact, it's exactly like the Berkeley farms. But...you rode almost a mile straight north! There's no way it could be right there. Right?

A chill wind kicks up, whipping along the face of the cliffs. You pull your clothes close around you to keep in the warmth, but this air is much, much colder than it was earlier. You convince yourself that it's just because it's night and you're on edge, but you can't hold back a shiver. Déchaîné snorts and stamps a hoof twice impatiently, his breath steamy and visible in the winter air.

Oh well. Rægenhere had said the caves had been sealed shut during dinner, ending the conversation once the farmhands started to get too fanciful with their stories.

Ari grits his teeth in the cold and due to the outright wrongness of the situation. He knows the wilderness, he knows how to navigate and he definitely knows when he's riding in a STRAIGHT LINE. There's no way the path he took wound around and sloped upward as much as it clearly did. And where from comes this wind? He understands that it's winter and cold air is inevitable... but this wind doesn't feel right... not natural, like the black clouds. Black clouds are for early spring and the summer months. Black clouds mean a storm... perhaps a cold front and warm front were converging, like his father once taught him, when he asked about thunderstorms. But if that was the case, where was the original warm front? There hadn't been a great deal of temperature fluctuation over the past few days. So, if there were a storm, the wind would surely be warmer not colder.

Puzzled, he looks at Déchaîné, the animal isn't impatient, he's spooked. From what? Ari did notice that the sounds of the birds and other animals began to fade when he neared this area. Perhaps the cold? That couldn't be it. Even in the winter, the sounds of the night are quite obstreperous. As perturbed as he is, he has no intention of leaving just yet. This is all too strange, there had to be a resolution. He grips his bow more tightly, as if to squeeze out every last bit of the feeling of safety it contained.

Rægenhere would have said that the caves were on the cliff next to the farm. Ari scans his memory for any mention of the storied area being close to the farm. Ok, the man clearly did say that the caves were only a bit to the North. How did he ride so long without going anywhere? How did he end up here?

Ari's head begins to hurt from attempting to make sense of the bizarre situation. This is impossible. Even if he had been turned around somehow without knowing it, there's no way he could end up here. The forest doesn't even encircle the farm, he would have seen a familiar landmark. Surely he would have. Right? He shakes his head, as if to organize his thoughts, as with separating large grains of sand from small grains. Perhaps the strange events he had encountered recently were linked. The strange tree, the floating boulder and now this seemingly magical path that led him here. What did they have in common. Every situation defied his understanding of the laws of the physical world. Trees don't just get uprooted and end up in other trees and then simply disappear. Rocks don't float for no reason. Finally, winding paths are very obvious.

Even if this place isn't the the tomb that he had heard about, it still bore some greater significance. He isn't going anywhere until he finds out the meaning for this. He goes back to his horse and attempts to comfort him for the moment, while looking at the rocks held by the wooden posts. There HAD to be an entrance. Maybe if he moved some of the rocks out of the way. Or, maybe there was a way in through the top.

Ari goes to investigate the rocks further.

You want to scream in frustration. As it were, you growl under your breath at the maddeningly solid wall. The sound is unexpectedly loud against the previous backdrop of silence, almost amplified. You wonder if this little cup in the cliff might act as a natural amphitheater. Maybe when the wind is just right, you could hear the sounds of Weatheryn proper? But not tonight. The view is still amazing. If only it were a bit more clear, you could probably see a hundred miles or more.
Glancing up, you climb the edge of the wooden framework to the top of the thirty foot retaining wall. You feel confident that something must be up here.
But, after fifteen minutes of searching, it's just a precipice with a lot of heather and an extraordinary view.

Being tired, Ari decides that it is probably a better idea to return to the farm for the night and revisit this area in the daylight. Perhaps if he sleeps on it, he will procure an answer or have some flash of insight. He dismisses the fact that the trail he took here makes no sense and retakes it back the way he came. He unties Déchaîné and climbs, tiredly, onto the saddle. He would wash his hands of this weirdness, at least for tonight. "Well, Déchaîné, it looks like we have had enough adventure for one day, perhaps we should get some rest." He starts down the trail, but looks over his shoulder at the strange pseudo-amphitheater one last time before ultimately shaking his frustrated head and returns his gaze forward. "The world is a strange place, and it seems that only I get to experience the true strangeness of it. Maybe, I'm going insane..." He chuckles to himself, but there is no amusement in his tone. The events of the past week and this evening were beginning to get to him. It was all so bizarre.

You begin to descend, and as you go you notice the path winds closer to properly. You can't place it, but there's something pointedly wrong with it, still, as though you have to concentrate intensely to keep the trail ahead of you in focus. It is late though, and you wonder if the dim light might be playing tricks on your night vision. Just as you consider your night vision, you notice something unusual. You know you shouldn't be able to perceive colors in the dark, but the floating boulder ahead is clearly red.

At this point, the rock floating itself is hardly amazing, but among the shades of gray ahead, the rock in the distance is a distinct, if quite dark red, closer to maroon. The area around is unremarkable forest, although you can't really see very far into the trees. It's dark here, you think. Really dark...the bright, full moon Throne passing behind dark storm clouds. You seem to recall something about that being a bad omen from some religious text you read years ago.

As you move closer, the rock floats down to gently rest on the bed of peat moss, and the dark, blood red color fades to a black. You glance around, then up -- there's a break in the tree cover here, and you can see the sky for the first time since leaving the amphitheater. The clouds are moving quickly above, roiling like a pot on heavy boil, and tinged with the same angry red color as the rock. It's far too late past sundown for it to be the last moments of sunset, though. The ruddy color diminishes, and slightly afterwards the clouds calm, relatively speaking. The sky still speaks of storm, and on the verge of winter that could mean either snow, hail, or freezing rain, none of which bode well for the travel back home tomorrow.

Another few minutes of travel and the backside of the Berkeley farm is once again visible. It's certainly a welcome sight. One of the hands, riding rounds 'bout the farm watching for wolves or worse, looking miserable and cold, shouts a muffled greeting, recognizing Déchaîné immediately. The cot Rægenhere provided you is comfortable, but sleep eludes you. You awake in the morning unrested, not realizing when you had fallen asleep. The other hands sharing the room with you have already left, and morning light is streaming in through the windows.

Groggy, Ari wonders if he merely had a nightmare... it all seemed too strange, so vivid, but so wrong. He rubs his eyes and cracks his neck. He yawns deeply... did he sleep at all? He dresses quickly and trudges into the main dining room. "Strange evening..." he mumbles to himself. He grabs a piece of bread from the table and tears a chunk out of it. It was a bit stale; it had probably been left there from dinner. He didn't care too much. The events of the night before milled about in his mind. The more he thought about them, the more they bothered him. Why, in the past few days, has the world decided to stop working properly? And why am I the only one dealing with it. I wish I could get some more sleep He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He looks around the farm, so that he may pay his thanks and goodbyes to Rægenhere. After doing so, he would revisit the amphitheater for a moment, to make sure he had actually been there and/or to see if it really existed. Then he would continue his journey and meet up with Braeden.

You spot Rægenhere immediately when you exit the farmhouse; he's working on tending the grove of perfectly aligned pines lining the path. The gardens between each pine are bare dirt now, but Rægenhere is kneeling in front of one, laying flower on the ground. He stands up slowly as you approach.

"It was a year ago today my wife died, you know. They said it was wolves starved from months of poor hunting, but if you had seen the size of those bites...well, you might doubt too." He looks at you intently, then sighs. "Your father says i need to move on -- he's probably right, he usually is. I wonder if that's why he sent you here today."

"I heard you went up to the amphitheater above the boarded cave yesterday. You can see all the way to Weatheryn from there. You know, when we were talking about the caves yesterday, i meant the ones directly behind the house, not that one up above, although they are connected. The old texts my ancestors wrote said that during the full moon the amphitheater reveals a hidden door into the caves. Of course, my hands an i have been up there dozens of times during the full moon, and none of us have ever seen anything, so it's probably nonsense. It didn't call the moon Throne, either, that was strange. Something else i can't remember...it's not important, though."

"Before you go, i have something to give you. Come on, come with me." Rægenhere gesturs you to follow him as he walks briskly back towards the house. "Wait here." He says, a grin poorly concealed behind his features as he walks into the stable to the side of the brick home. When he returns, he is leading a chestnut palomino colt.

"He's a Percheron," Rægenhere explains, speaking of the breed. "Good draft horse, but better on the field. I owe your father more than a few favors, and this little guy is right up his alley." He laughs. "Although, truth be told, i expect he'll grow to over 17 hands. He's a little over two years old now, so don't work him too hard right away, but he's strong enough for some light riding. Enjoy. I should be getting back to work, though, and you should be on your way."

"By the way, i haven't named him yet. Couldn't quite come up with anything that stuck, i don't know why."

"He truly is a beautiful horse Rægenhere, thank you. I will do my best to come up with a name for him. It will take some thought, though. One of these days, I will return to investigate those ruins. Thank you for your hospitality." With that Ari heads back to the cottage to drop off one of the horses. "Well, Déchaîné, it looks like you have a new friend. Perhaps father will let me take this one on the journey, so that you can get some rest, no?" Ari smiles back at the young horse as it follows behind. "Hm... what shall I call you. Alezan? Hm.. I like that. Alezan." The thoughts of the strange ruins and bizarre events of the past few days still whirled in his mind, but he was happy, at least, that he had named the horse. "Well, time to get moving. Ch-yah!"

Alezan pulls on his halter-tie eagerly as you walk, drawing a few chastising snaps from the older warhorse. The air is cool but pleasant, and melting snow is gouging rivulets into the still soft earth. Since you set all the traps on the way out, the trip back is considerably quicker.

Halfway along the path, where you recall seeing the floating boulder last, you find it conspicuously absent. The dirt where it ought to have been sitting is still devoid of any trace of snow, and actually appears overturned, as though by a digging animal. You glance about, eventually noticing the the huge stone -- not simply hovering, but levitating a full twenty five feet off the ground. A bird, perched on the edge of the rock, warbles animatedly.

You take a few steps back to observe the mysterious boulder from a more oblique angle. As you step to avoid a nearby sapling behind you, you notice something strange through the bare branches of a hickory. There, in the not-so-distant sky, you see a rising plume of blackish smoke. It looks to be about where your home is, geographically speaking, but something about the color and amount of smoke looks very wrong.

"What... no... NO!" Ari quickly disregards the floating rock. "YAH!" Ari spurs Déchaîné and Alezan into a frenzied ride towards his home. Please be ok. Please be ok. Please be ok. This has to be a dream. As he rides, he sniffs the air to see if he can smell fire.

You ride hard to get back to your home, your only true gauge of how long it took the exhaustion of Déchaîné, who is lathering hard and snorting when you slow to a trot as you get closer. You'd ride faster, but there are...complications. It must have been at least an hour, anyway.

You can see the last vestiges of flames licking at a blackened char of a house through the trees, but what catches your attention first is the armored body of a stranger pinned by the neck to a pine on your right as you galloped in. The armor is heavy chain-links over boiled leather, the whole ensemble painted black. Crimson blood pours slowly from the wound over the mail, still steaming when the occasional drop hits the snow. A loaded crossbow lies on the ground next to his right hand.

You proceed cautiously towards your house, bow readied, arrow nocked. Your senses on overdrive, your head is on a swivel looking for anything to move, but although you keep thinking you see something out of the corner of your eye, essentially nothing moves (aside from smoke). You pass another slaughtered anonymous stranger, similarly dressed, an arrow pierced to the shaft protruding from his right eye. The other eye is still wide open in shock, making for a ghastly visage.

Closer to the house, you see that fires have completely destroyed the easily ignitable hay of the stable and burned the entire roof down. The ultra-thick support timbers of the wall are still smoldering -- for how much longer you have no idea -- but patches of the walls between them are falling inwards. Ironically, the front door is still the least fiery aperture to the house.

Scattered about ten feet from the entrance radially are three more bodies, these showing deep bloody furrows that speak to the sort of weaponry they themselves carry -- swords. You step gingerly over their bodies to look peer inside the house, but although you see another body, it is clearly not your father's.

"Ari..." You hear call weakly to you from behind. Twenty paces back from you, your father is clutching his left side with his right arm, his left hanging limp at his side. You rush over, and you can see the crossbow bolt sticking clear through his shoulder. Smiling grimly at you, he coughs up blood before getting out a few words.

"One...got away..." he pauses and inhales shallowly, the breath labored. "Took a dagger in the side...wasn't being careful..." He breathes deeply again, his face and neck muscles contracting involuntarily against the pain. "Listen..." he says as you try to interrupt, "listen! The blade didn't go deep, but it was poisoned. Luckily, i killed him and found more of the poison on him, so i know what it is. There's a Templar camp in the mountains, not far from where you'll be going, or at least there ought to be. Find their Knight Hospitaller..." he coughs again, but continues, the fire in his eyes frighteningly intense. "You tell him you need hidden spikemoss. It doesn't grow here, but he should have some anyway. Then bring it back within a month. There's no hurry until the last week. Braeden might be able to tell you more. Now, i could use your hands to bandage this up. And...keep your eyes open."

Ari helps his injured father to wrap his wounds. While wrapping the wound, he tells his father about the new horse. He asks his father if there is anything immediate that he needs and also if he could point out more or less where the camp is on his map. He promptly brings the desired bottle of wine and a cup, while his father marks his map. "Stay strong, father, I will return as soon as I have the antidote. I shan't be long, I promise." He moves outside, and looks at the two horses. Déchaîné's nostrils, flaring and retracting quickly and powerfully, immediately inform Ari of his father's horse's condition. The old stallion is quit tired. Alezan, on the other hand, seems unphased. Perhaps he has underestimated you, my new friend. Ari thinks to himself. "All right, Déchaîné, you are going to have to sit this adventure out. I am sorry for pushing you so hard. Have a rest, friend. Alezan and I are going to find that antidote." He rubs the great beast's nose, Déchaîné bows his head and rumbles with pleasure. Ari feeds him some oats and takes him to the stable. "Alright Alezan, it is time for us to go." Before leaving he looks at the dead men on the ground. With a dark look on his face, he walks to one of the fallen assailants. "You may be dead, but whoever sent you will pay. I swear to you." He takes one of the blades lying on the ground and a scabbard. His father had taught him a bit of sword play, but he was no master. He figured it'd be better to have it, than to try to fight with his bow up close. He sheathes the sword and slings the scabbard over his shoulder. With that, Ari hops onto his young steed's back and trots down the trail towards the Templar camp.

"And where do ye think you're goin', lad?" Bellows a voice from behind you. You swing around in the saddle, surprising your green mount, who rears as he spins, nearly throwing you. One foot in the stirrup, the saddle cants lazily to the side from your weight, and you struggle to clamor back up to assess the sound.
Fortunately, the owner of the thunderous voice is the grizzled huntman, Braeden. For a moment, as you sit awkwardly on the loose saddle, you feel incredibly young and embarrassed, but Braeden is clearly not interested in your ego.
"What in the blazes happened here?" He kicks one of the dead bodies. A shiver runs down your spine, and you notice the hunter stiffen as well. You take bizarre notice of the features on the dead thug -- dessicated almost beyond recognition -- as the head topples clean off. There is no blood whatsoever, despite the dark, still wet stains covering his clothes and the ground.

In the distance, you see three men on foot, one leading a horse.

The thread Chapter 1: So where's the tavern? now applies to you.

You've some experience with dead things before, albeit never human. This slain stranger appears months old, at the freshest -- years more likely. But that can't be...you saw him bleeding when you approached. His clothes -- though bloodstained -- appear newly made. The blade in his crumbling hand is similarly razor sharp and glinting in the filtered sunlight.

Ari watches Morgan carefully, as he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't blurt out anything, because he wants to be polite, but he's a little suspicious. He also tries to read Rev. Jacobs' response to Morgan's seemingly random-ass question. After answering Rev. Jacobs' question, he looks at everyone in the area and says "So... what now?" He turns to Braeden, "I have to go retrieve an antidote for my father..."