Whispers of the Past

 

Interlude
Ranald & Soren
18 Aurel 1317

"I recently saw some gnolls camping in this area here, maybe 20 or so," Ranald pointed to an area of the map. Soren penned in the location and added a brief description. The terrain, once crudely and inaccurately drawn, began to take on a more familiar and beneficial shape.

"I don't know what was done to that scout's mind, but I can't make heads or tails of this. What's this supposed to be?" Ranald indicated an area on the west side of the map with his dagger. "It looks like a melted dwarf."

"I believe that it is sssome sssort of outcropping," uttered Soren in response.

Ranald stood up and in a deep voice breathed out, "Well, I think we've done all we can with this map."

Just then a small female wood elf stepped into the area. She held a cup of tea up to Ranald. "I thought you could use this General Stalworth."

Ranald glared at her and lowered his brow. "I told you, it is not necessary to refer to me as General." The delicate elf bowed her head and left the glass of tea on a nearby table before retreating back into the darkness.

Soren looked over at the latest adventurers. "What do you think of the othersss?"

"I don't know yet. Olwyn seems honorable to me, but I'm not sure yet about the halfling," Ranald said honestly.

"Well, we have sssome time yet... care to ssspar?" With lightning speed Soren took a swing at Ranald. Ranald attempted to dodge him but the monk still managed to strike a glancing blow. Wiping the blood from his face Ranald lifted up his sword and smiled, "Try that now."

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"I think we ssshould trust them all," Soren confided to Ranald as they finished their sparring. Both of them had a few more bruises than before, but neither were worse for the wear. "A cleric of the Dawnbringer is one whom we should ssstand behind. Her sssun rises upon the mountain ssstronghold of my brothers, and is what keeps the darkness of Aluvia from consuming the land altogether. If the priest travels with a sssorcerer, then there is good reason. Given that he is one of the little folk, I am not disposed to worry."

"If you think they are worth trusting, then I shall defer to your judgement. I am more concerned with the dangers we shall face starting on the morrow. I do not fear what shall come, but I am wary and should like to be as prepared as possible for whatever denizens this foul swamp can heap upon us," spoke Ranald as he sat down and began to sharpen his sword.

Soren noticed Ranald seemed to treat the sword like one would an old pair of bracers, gently polishing and examining every nick, remembering each mark as a lesson in life and battle. After watching for a short time, Soren began to unwrap the bandages around his left arm, slowly revealing a recent tattoo in the shape of a dragon, and began to clean it with a damp cloth.

"Interesting markings there," pointed out Ranald as he looked up from his work. "I've seen such things before in the orcs of the wilderlands, but they are crude and not much more than branding or scarring. That's of a method and detail I have not before seen. Is that common among your people?"

Soren did not look up and began to apply some sort of salve to the raw skin. "It is common only among the Monks of Karth. My people do not partake in the ritual ssscarring and branding that is common among the goblin-kin of the Borderlands and the sssteppes north of the Hammerheads. The Tattooed Monks of the Order of Karth are the only ones that I know of to do sssuch artful tattooing, using natural pigments, and it is a meticulous and quite ssstrange thing to undertake. I received this tattoo to indicate that I have completed my apprenticeship, and upon completion of my First Journey it will completely heal, and I ssshall become a full member of the Order."

"This First Journey... where does it end?" Ranald began to oil his blade and polished it to a mirror sheen.

Soren finished applying the salve and began to wrap the tattoo with clean bandages. "I will only know once I have reached the destination. It is not a place in the world-at-large, but a place within myself." Soren secured the bandages tightly around his arm, and stood. "I am going to ssspeak with the others before retiring for the evening. We ssshould be up and moving by first light. Goodnight." He bowed slightly and moved off to find the cleric and his companions.

Ranald looked at his sword with satisfaction, stood up and slid it into its scabbard. "Good night friend," he muttered to himself as he stared up at the Sea of Stars and the silver-faced Lyr that illuminated the camp. For a moment he was lost in the spell of the moon goddess, but quickly snapped back to the task at hand and headed for his tent to get some much needed rest.