Storyboards: Kyldena

The History of Kyldena
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Long past midnight The days roll on Memories...

Author's note: Sections that are not titled "The History of Kyldena" are present day stories.

Being the first part of "The History of Kyldena"
It was a bright morning. One of those crystal clear autumn days which reminds you of summer, but without the heat.
It was my eighteenth birthday, and my family’s funeral.
The previous summer had been bad. There was a heat wave across Drasnia which brought out the flies and gnats in their droves. With them came the pestilence, and people started dying.
There was no avoiding it. Though others did try to flee, we stayed, and we died. Well, they died, I just felt like I had.
We were five. My Mother, My Father, My brothers and me. Just a normal family living a normal life. Nothing special at all. Dad fished for the shops in town, mum baked for the cafe, my brothers ran wild and I, I kept track of them all.
I was due to be married at midsummer, when we started to fall sick my father wrote to my fiancée to postpone the wedding. He agreed, and we rescheduled it to fall.
As summer progressed we all fell ill. As it turned out in the end as my family got sicker, I got better. Finally, three days before my birthday, they died. After laying them out I searched for a priest, and in Mrin I found one. He came back to our cottage and performed the rites. I dug the graves, and they were gone.
Grief overtook me in the days afterward. I wandered the moors blindly gathering food. Eating mechanically, not tasting anything. Waiting for I don’t know what. Then a letter came. I fed the poor messenger, who'd had to travel a land of the dead and dying, and bade him sleep. My heart lifted, for the letter was from my beloved.
It didn't lift for long though. The words are now engraved on my mind.

"Kyldena,
I regret that I am unable to attend the funeral of your family,
they were good to me. I sympathise with your loss.
I regret also that I must call off our wedding. You are aware of
my position in Boktor and your recent disfigurement renders me
unable to consider you as my wife.
Be Well Kyldena, Goodbye."

Grief was banished. Rage took over. He was going to pay.

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Being the second part of "The History of Kyldena"

Though only just eighteen I was not without any skill to look after myself. Before marrying my mother, Father was a ranger who travelled far and wide across all the lands of the West and the East. He taught both my brothers and me to track, hunt, and to protect ourselves.
I took a few days to prepare myself and gather the kit I would need to travel alone in the land. I was once again grateful for my slight form as it made disguise much easier.
I guess, looking back, I still had quite a bit of rage in me. Amongst the kit I packed I included was the heirloom letter opener I had used to open his last letter to me. It was inlaid with emeralds and had a very long and sharp steel blade. Oh yes, I had plans for that letter opener, and none of them very nice.
I grabbed a large water skin, and filled it with milk from one of our last remaining cows before I turned her loose. I grabbed eggs from the chickens, and broke the necks of a couple to take with me. My fathers tent, though patched, was still sound and was another essential. The food went into an Enormous Cooking pot, the rest into large bag.
After one last night in the house in which I grew up and had spent most of my life, I dressed in my hardiest clothes and set out on the road to Sendar. There I would find one of my fathers old guildmasters to refresh my training.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena"

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Being the Third part of "The History of Kyldena"

It was definitely Autumn. Bright and sunny during the day, I was often overheated and had to carry most of my clothes. At night though the temperature dropped significantly and everything had to go back on. It had been a while since I had travelled any distance so I took things easy. The roads were quiet now that the harvest - what there was of it - had been brought in. I was mostly travelling on my own, no one in sight, just the way I wanted it.
Bitter thoughts filled my head, I made plans on where to go and what to do, and how I was going to kill him. Plan after plan, I wavered between humiliate, disfigure and kill but gradually settled on kill.
Three days into my journey I detoured towards Boktor. My ultimate destination was still Sendar, but I wanted to visit my fathers banker first. I would eventually need supplies, but most in mind was the cost of the training I would need.
I had been travelling south, the sun making its path through the sky over my left shoulder, when I reached the North Caravan route. I turned right, towards Boktor. I had expected it to be busier with merchants travelling towards Yar Nadrak - you know us Drasnians, one last deal before winter set it - but the road was still quiet. It was starting to look like the pestilance has spread further than I had expected.
The endless walking was starting to wear me down, when finally the city came into sight. The pikemen on the gate were subdued, waving me in. I asked for directions, and not long after found myself stumbling through the doors of the Weary Traveller Inn.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena"

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Being the fourth part of "The History of Kyldena"
As I stumbled through the doors, I was greeted by a grubby little man as he wandered around serving ale to his customers. He quickly reeled off a list of what was available, and not wanting to travel much further I settled for a handful of soft beernuts and a cheap ale.
Whilst resting my feet I cursed the guard at the gate, he must have been some kind of kickback to be willing send anyone to this inn. After feeling had started to return, I gathered my things and wandered back out into the now dark streets hoping to find another inn. I was lucky, and very quickly found the Emaciated Adventurer. I settled down for a plate of fine food and a mug of tasty Nadrak ale. The inn had no rooms available, but the barkeep allowed me to settle down to one side of the fireplace to sleep.
I woke early, and though hungry, had to forego breakfast. I needed funds before I could eat again. I gave my thanks to the barkeeper, and walked out into the quiet streets. I wandered for a while, asking directions when I could find people, and eventually found the bank on Dagger Street. After proving who I was, they transferred my fathers accounts into my name, I withdrew some funds, and set out in search of a meal.
I found a bean store, and stocked up on supplies for my travelling, before heading into the market square. I stayed well clear of both the palace and the academy, I didn't want to run into him before I was ready.
I drifted into the Soaring Eagle just in time to secure a room for the night; I’m no stranger to sleeping on floors or the ground, but I definitely prefer a bed! I stashed my gear, and after looking at the menu, headed out for dinner - and gossip.
Keeping away from the Academy, I headed back towards the market square and wandered through the streets. After dropping in at two or three inn's I ended back at the Wilting Rose, on the market square. I found a seat at the edge of the room, well placed to be half hidden in shadows yet still watch the exit. It wasn't until I sat down that I noticed another person sitting there, but they gestured me to stay. Not knowing quite why, I did.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena”

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Being the fifth part of "The History of Kyldena"
I found a seat at the edge of the room, well placed to be half hidden in shadows yet still watch the exit. It wasn't until I sat down that I noticed another person sitting there, but they gestured me to stay. Not knowing quite why, I did. As my eyes got used to the shadows in the corner, I discovered my companion was a stunning Nadrak woman. She introduced herself as Vylena. After checking with her, I called over the waiter and ordered food and drink for us both.
We ate steadily, with no conversation. Once our meal had finished though I discovered that Vylena had been watching me. She had seen me in the city earlier in the day, and made her way here only minutes ahead of me. Supping my beer and watching the crowd I barley noticed the inquisition which followed, but very quickly she had my whole story in her hands. Time moved slowly that evening, but as the night drew to a close and the tavern began to empty, Vylena rose to leave. As she walked away from the table she said
"You really should think about joining the Wanderers Kyldena, you'd be welcome."
With a final swirl of her cloak she was gone. I left soon after wandering slowly back to my room at the Soaring Eagle, grateful that it wasn't too far away. The next day I made my way out of the city. I headed south on the Great North Road. It was heading towards lunchtime when a cart trundled past me.
A few minutes later I saw that it had pulled to a halt. There was an old man at the reins, just sitting there as I approached. I was about to ask if he needed any help, when he looked up. He caught me direct in the eye, still have no idea what he saw there, but it felt like hours later when he gestured that I should board the cart. Wanting to know more about this man, and his obvious power, I did.
The few days after that are hard to remember. Almost like I am not supposed to. It physically drains me to think too much about them. We travelled slowly, and we talked. Well, He talked. I mostly just listened. He was the kind of person you just listen too, no question asked. Authority poured off him in waves. I learnt much, and also heard much that I did not understand, I did have this feeling that I would understand in time - now of course, years later, I do.
I guess the clearest thing I can say is that I was taught. He called it 'the Will and the Word', It felt - and still does sometimes - like, well, magic.
Apparently though, Magic is something completely different. This was more like the ultimate power of the universe. See - I still find it hard to explain. I suppose the clearest thing I remember about those days was Destroy, and be Destroyed. You really have to watch what you are saying with this.
We had just reached Aldurford when he rather unceremoniously kicked me off the cart. “We had different ways to go,” he said. Turning the cart around, he trundled off into the distance. Surprised, and not a little disconcerted, I stood there until the final dust had settled and his was no longer visible on the horizon. With nothing else left to do, I picked up my gear and wandered into the town.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena”

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Being the sixth part of "The History of Kyldena"
I don’t know if you've ever been to Aldurford. It's more of a crossroads than a town. Somewhere where you really have to watch where you are stepping. There's far more livestock there than people. I wandered into the town from the north, and fetched up in the centre by a fountain. The day was warming up rapidly, so I looked for somewhere in the shade to rest a while. I hadn't been walking for long, but the cart I'd been travelling in wasn't the most comfortable of conveyances. I grabbed some fresh bread from the bakery and wandered through the town to the church.
I waited out the heat of the day chatting to the healer. Catching up on the events of the world and discussing ways to travel to Sendar and my fathers old Guildhall. After healing my bruises, Urious bid me a safe journey.
Leaving the town behind, I walked down the great north road and headed southwest towards Muros. The heat of the day was fading at last, and after my long restful afternoon, I felt like walking all night. I didn't quite make it all night though the stars had been long in the sky before I stopped and made my bed at the side of the road. Using my newly learnt skills, and thanking the old man in my heart, I cloaked myself in invisibility and settled down to sleep.
The sun’s advance across the sky woke me early the next day and I rose from my blankets much refreshed. After breaking my fast on some more bread and a little water, I rolled up my blankets and continued down the road. After a couple of hours a train of wagons passed me, and the wagon master offered me a lift on the tail of one of his wagons. They were on their way to Muros, travelling empty, and moving far faster than I could hope to walk. I agreed. After a few days uneventful travelling, the train arrived in Muros. I was getting closer. If things carried on this way I would be in Sendar before I knew it.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena”

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Being the seventh part of "The History of Kyldena"
Muros. If there was a guidebook of the city it would, much like Aldurford, say watch your step. Not quite for the same reasons though. I hadn't actually seen a Murgo before, but as I drifted through the market square, it was obvious who they were.
Several big and burly mercenaries walked the town and I did my best to avoid them. I had been walking a lot, but my fighting muscles were out of shape and I didn't want to attract attention by stepping into a fight. There was lots of hustle and bustle around the centre of the town. Merchants selling virtually everything you can thing of - including, sadly, people.
I headed toward the ever-practical Sendars' section of the town, hoping for a place to stay. The next day I wandered a little more, exploring the various parts of the town, and stocked up my supplies yet again.
It was as I was meandering through the crowds, towards the western gates to carry on my journey, that my worst fears came true as a mercenary jumped out of one of the buildings and with a loud yell kicked dirt into my eyes blinding me. My fighting muscles may have been out of shape, but thankfully my reflexes were just fine.
I managed to dodge the first few attacks, even landing a few of my own, before finally being hit and taking a cut which deadened my left arm. With my arm hanging loose by my side, I struggled on in the endless dance of strike, dodge, batter and parry until, finally, I found myself staggering to a halt, panting heavily over the corpse of a very dead Murgo.
Looking round, I found the street was totally empty. Obviously the locals wanted no part of my misfortune. I quickly rifled the clothing of my foe, and came up with a purse full of silver, I was relieved that it wasn't any of the red gold I had heard so much about. I bound my arm as best I could and gathering my pack, I headed once more towards - and then out of – the Western gate. Leaving Muros behind, I was headed for the coast and the city of Camaar.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena”

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Being the eight part of "The History of Kyldena"
On the road between Camaar and Muros the Great North Road skirts the edge of the forests of Asturia. The weather was pleasant for walking. The sun was out, shining brightly, but not too hotly, and a gentle breeze from the south cooled me nicely as I walked. I generally walked sunrise to sunset.
Camping in the evening, trapping the occasional rabbit or squirrel for supper, I spent the time before sleep practicing my Will. The road was quiet, the other travellers I did see were mounted and travelling fast. I ducked off the road when I saw them coming, to avoid having to choke on their dust.
It took about a week I guess, to get to the city. I entered through the east gate and found myself in a park. I had grown used to my solitude, and found myself a quiet corner to rest. Before settling down on the green grass, I created myself a spring. Barely a trickle, but it was sweet, cool and refreshing. My Will was growing stronger. I decided to rest up in Camaar for a few days, before heading onto Sendar. After buying a map of the city, I headed for the hostel and took a room. I wandered the streets in the evening, and settled in at one of the taverns and diced until the early hours.
Staggering back to my room I managed to trip over a large rock in the road, gashing my arm as I landed.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena”

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Long past midnight
I looked up from the page before me, my quill scratching raggedly at the paper. It was very late in the clan hall and most of the residents were fast asleep. I had been startled by a loud banging noise, and then realised that it was just one of the others, coming back from the taverns a tad worse for wear. I chuckled ruefully. There would be no partying for me until I had gotten this wretched history finished. Our great and wise leader had decided that she wanted to know more about my travels, so that I could be better placed within the clan. I felt like I had been writing for weeks. My life had contracted to one room, a pot of ink, and a pile of blank paper.
I reread the last few pages, squinting over the past few. I really do have to remember to stop when I’m tired, my normally difficult scrawl becomes almost impossible to decipher. I would have to rewrite the last couple of pages, I could see what would happen if I handed in my report and it was partially unreadable. Another spell cleaning the drains was -not- in any plan for my near future. Just what was in that plan, was as yet undecided.
Yawning deeply, I restoppered my inkpot and cleaned my quill. Crawling into my cot, I slept.

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The days roll on
Time was rolling on, days were passing swiftly, and the seasons were changing, as they unerringly do. My world was still restricted to ink pot and paper as I struggled with my memories. Writing in such detail was a new and difficult experience. A sudden need for fresh air came over me and I decided to venture out into the city streets. Dusk was falling and the local thieves were placing themselves to take advantage of the poor light. I wrapped a cloak of invisibility around me, using my will, and strode amongst the crowds.
There seemed to be more strangers in town that was usual for this time of year. Most had usually moved on by now, hoping to escape the coming snows and be home well before winter truly set in. I followed the paths of the town, blindly really, and found myself outside Grebe's. Eschewing the company of drunks and thieves, I carried on a bit and went to the Rivers Bend instead.
It's always quiet in the Rivers Bend. Visitors to the city rarely venture this far south into the city, so it makes a good stopping place for us locals to congregate. Too early yet for most of them to be out, I settled down to a bowl of pretzels and a mug of mead whilst Chere bustled around cleaning tables and setting the fire.
I couldn't work out why writing my history should be so painful or difficult. I guess my early years had been deeply scarred by the various things which had happened, but now, so many years on, why....
Well, I thought, only time will answer that one.
Finishing my mead, I left the tavern just as the place was filling up. As much as I was loathing the constant writing, I knew it had to be done and done soon. Once again wrapping invisibility around myself, I returned back to my room in the hall. I picked up my pen, and started to write.

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Being the ninth part of "The History of Kyldena"
I awoke late the next day, my head ringing with bells. There had been a couple Nadraks at the tavern the night before, and Maewin had been serving Othlass in their honour. That truly is one thing I doubt I’ll ever be drunk enough to try again. I only remembered falling as I pulled my tunic off to change. The blood from my arm had dried overnight, gluing my sleeve to the gash. The blood was once again running freely down my arm. After washing, then roughly bandaging it with a strip of linen, I made my way back into the town in search of a healer. I was directed to a temple situated, as oddly as it sounds, in a lighthouse. The citizens on the street mostly shied away from my disease ravaged face, they were obviously not used to such horrors around here. After the healer had fixed my arm, with an awful lot of what felt like unnecessary poking and prodding, and a long and involved lecture on the evils of drinking, I left the lighthouse and headed back to the park. I was lying on the greenest patch of grass I had seen in a long while when a figure materialised beside me. I couldn't tell you to this day what they looked like, or even whether male or female, shrouded as they were in an illusion my truest sight could not pierce. One sentence they spoke, before vanishing once again before me, and as best I recall now it was 'This is not Sendar, complete your journey'. Needless to say, this shook me up somewhat, and despite this mornings suffering, I headed back to Maewins, just to see if there was any of that Othlass left.

Extract taken from "The History of Kyldena”

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Memories....
Hindsight is a wonderful thing. It makes me chuckle sometimes to think of the mistakes I've made, and the nights I've wasted.
I guess back then I had gotten a little tired of travelling, of being on the road, of being on my own so much. My training with the Will had also started to get me down, progress made so fast initially, had slowed right down.
Isolation is a strong feeling now as well. I've been writing these historys for weeks now, and yet it seems I'm barley even begun. They tell me that the past must be firmly behind me before I can truly begin again, yet it's just taking so long. The clan is changing daily, I barley know anyone around me anymore.
I hate it so much, but there's this feeling that I must get this done. Get everythin out onto this wretched paper, using this rotten quill and this vile stinking ink. A feeling that, well, I guess it's time to finish for today. I cannot properly place what I'm thinking about here in the present, let alone everything that was going on in the past.
Wipe clean the quill, not rotten at all, but the finest goose feather you could hope to find. Stopper the ink, not vile or stinking at all; and stack the paper, as smooth and wrinkle free as the finest parchment or vellum.
I guess I’ll have to turn in the latest instalment in the morning, but for now, sleep. Once more to sleep, and to sleep perchance to dream. Snuggling down into the blankets on my cot, I roll over and wonder where it was that I first heard that.

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