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.