The Tragic Tale of Valantas of Leaflight
played by Atilla

 

Where do Journeys begin?

I was born in the thirteen hundredth and ninety-fifth year of the Throal Calendar.

The kaer I was born in was of the Northern Kingdoms, once under the rule of the Court Of the Wyrm Wood. Our ancestors objected to the foolish demands of Queen Alachia, and instead aligned themselves with the Dwarven Court at Throal. It proved to be our survival, short lived as it was.

We had hollowed out a series of hills for our use, and named our little refuge Fivehills. There our elementalists, working in conjunction with our wizards and elders, fashioned our wards and protections, weaving True Earth with True Air and True Water. True Fire was interjected as a layer, in the hope that it would prove even more of a deterrant than the weavings of the Elements. Dwarven advisors provided us with their own expertise in the tunneling and shoring, and above all provided us with a copy of the Book Of Tomorrow.

The underground kaer however took a heavy toll on the inhabitants. Mostly Elves, with some of the other races thrown in, began to suffer from devastating lethargy and depression as the long years wound on.

Keen eyes watched the results of the ritual outlined in the Book Of Tomorrow, watching the balls slow and painstaking fall.

We had not suffered the horrendous attacks perpetrated by the horrors during this time. Our suffering came when we thought our salvation was at hand.


My name is Valantas. I took up the Gauntlet in the year of 1413. My Swordmaster was my uncle, twice removed, Baraith Highedge. He had more than once told me, in that disparaging tone of his, that I was the best out of a poor lot. Rather than the intended barb, I took it in good grace, smiling whenever he sought to taunt me so. Only once did I ever respond with a quip of my own, and that earned me several bruises and ignomity of a bruised ego, for my I had thought my wit at least equal to his at that stage. He disabused me of that notion rather quickly. That was one year before the ball of magic stopped falling.

The elders of Fivehills, rather than rush out into the world, and back into the arms of the waiting Therans of the Court of the Wyrm Wood, decided to bide their time, seeing if this lack of activity portended anything further.

It did not, and my tutelage continued. As I reached my majority at the age of 21, it was finally decided to open the protections of our kaer, and once more stand on the surface of our world. It was the same year that Baraith presented me with my Sword. He advised me that I had reached the first circle and that the path I was on was not finished here. I did not let my elevation go to my head, rather, I promised further diligence in attaining the perfection of our form.

I stood beside Baraith when the gates were unlocked, and the air from the outside stirred our clothes and hair. Jubilant cries and exultant words of triumph echoed loudly through the Kaer.

It was then that the Horror struck.

It had been cunning. Rather than sapping its strength to break through our Kaer, it had simply proven patient, and waited for the Kaer to open.

It caught everyone by surprise. Many sought to flee the Horror as it stormed into the Kaer, reaving with its talons and magic. The guards, at first caught off guard by the unexpected attack, rallied in futile hope. They were struck down, many of my friends among them.

Baraith himself pushed me back and sought to fight the creature. All for naught. Magic barely touched it, and few blades got close enough to draw its foul life's blood.

With terror unimagined, he people fled for their homes, I among them. My last glimpse of Baraith was as he was flung many feet away, to smack into a wall with a bone-breaking thud. His blood and brains made a fan and long smear as his dead body slid down the wall. I ran to my home for all I was worth.

Already, my mother and father had begun to gather needful essentials, and they pressed bundles into my arms. My elder sister, Elenmir, cried constantly, but continued on. Outside, the screams of pain and the death cries of the slain made a horrid cacophony. My family and I scrambled outside, running for the secrets passages, built along with the kaer in case flight became necessity.

Along the way, we saw the true horror of the creatures. It had raised our own dead to hunt us down, and vile cadavermen, holding the faces of those we knew, put to the sword any they could find or get their hands on.


My parents and sister were pulled down around me, as were many others. The gods know why I was spared, but I continued running, until I thought my lungs would burst. I heard the harsh laughter as the Horror slaughtered us echo behind me.

Only seven of us made it to the secret passage, among them Ghatan Weal, a mage of some power. With his magic, he sealed the passage behind us, for it was clear that the rest were either dead or dying.


We left our bloodstained home behind, seven poorly provisioned souls, trying to escape the horrors of a day that should have been our triumph.

The eldest, Maeve and Helosthenes, withered away, never recovering from the shock of the sudden invasion. A friend of mine, Galen, disappeared one night, taking most of our silver and food with him.

To this day, I still hope to find him, and call due that debt his treachery had caused. We traveled south, losing the youngest of us, a slip of a girl called Juliana. She simply did not wake up one morning.

The last of us, Kominos, who was three years older than I, and Aerina, who was my own age, reached Throal, and there we learned that the Horrors had ravaged all parts of Barsaive, and that our story was one among hundreds.


There we used what Silver we had left to outfit us. Aerina and I had a brief liaison, but the pain of our experience drove us apart, as it did the three of us altogether. We could no longer spend time together without being reminded of the screams of our families and friends.

We did not discuss it, but one day, we met for the last time. We did not speak, but our eyes said it all. The experience that should have brought us closer together had broken us apart. Even now the Horror reached out from Fivehills to twist our lives.

I have not seen either since.


I simply traveled away from Throal, away to lose myself. But instead I found myself. I vowed to improve my skills, and to one day return to Fivehills, and lay the ghosts of my dead people to rest. Only then can I lay the fears that haunt me to rest.

Perhaps I have drunk too much this night. Farewell stranger, perhaps I shall see you again, further down the path that leads me to my destiny.

---- Told in a small tavern, recorded by Balthazar Keo, Windling Troubadour Extrordinaire


A Description of Valantas of Leaflight

Valantas stands 6'3" tall. Blue eyes, which glitter like dark sapphires, look out from a handsome face. His hair, which is shoulderlength and snow white, not only falls from the top of his head, but also springs forth in a well trimmed goatee. The goatee itself has a blue bead plaited into it. His pointed ears each have a silver hoop ear ring. His skin is a deep tan colour. His hands are tattoed with with intricate swirling patterns and star shapes, which reach halfway up his forearm.

He wears soft travelling boots, breeches of dark read wool, and a light or dark blue shirt with simple elven embroidery. In addition to this, he wears a coat of Elven style, with high colar, and embroidery of vines along the arms. His cloaks are both a unifrom shade of grey. He wears plain leather armour when the need arises. His hands are almost constantly covered with his leather gloves.

A peculiarity of his is that he often carries his broadsword sheathed in his hand, rather than threaded into his belt as his shortsword is. Only when travelling do both swords rest at his hips.

 

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