valen wilds

Midsummer, 374 Foot of the Spine, 2 Days South of Belgrath Rupaka came in the twilit eaves, the fading sun setting red upon his brow. Whispers of rot shifted on the breeze as might leaves under a summer swell, trickling with the peddlers and fairweather folk from Belgrath to deep within the...

Three clicks from the monastery, Isander once again found himself in the Wylds. The precise trajectory that landed him there lay occluded to his gaze; indeed, his shoulders yet writhed with the stiffness of his recent travels, remembered well the hard caress of unpacked dirt and upturned roots...

Early Spring, 373 Valen Wilds, 3 Days from the Tree The mottled gray of falling dusk cleft Isander's brow in shadows. It suited his mood. That dark cast made mirror of him, for he had come on business bleak as it was cold. Poachers this side of the Spine, spilling the blood of babes and...

Amelia Hawthorne Gwinholm, Valen Wilds -Mid Morning- The populace of the small town were on hard times. The landscape showing signs of work atop some sort of event that had torn the very earth from its resting place. Eamon had reached the town to rest. Speaking only when asked as he examined...

Stenfors village, Valen Wilds Second day of the Double Eclipse The days leading to the darkness had been much too easy, on hindsight. The first day of it had come with a crackling, loud and resembling that of thunder or the splitting of mountains, but lacking in both light and landslide. Quiet...

A pair of siblings, ten and thirteen of age, had gone missing. This had been in the midst of a busy yesterday, wherein the actual time of their disappearance eluded everyone. The lone father had come back to an empty home from a day’s work, it already late in the afternoon and with the dark fast...

The Festival of Lights In the city of the moon elves, Illun Serath. The city sits at the source of the Sayve and Bystra rivers, in the foothills of the Spine. The denizens of the city, called moon elves by most, are distant kin to the nocturnal elves of the East, come from the same ancient...

Morning light spilled across the browning fields of Gwinholm, its settlement pocked with the many shadows of laborers toiling to symphony of cockcall and birdsong. Isander worked among them, nails cracked and pores deep with dirt. Having arrived the evening prior with his companion and a wagon...

The sun was bright but not hot. Autumn still hadn’t decided to turn towards winter, even if there were few leaves on trees and the air was colder every passing day. Alouette raised up a tanned hand, blocking the sunlight from her vision as best she could while squinting her eyes to look up into...

Crisp autumn leaves cracked underhoof in the knights' wake as they rode the Valen's length. Leagues out from Svapna, still in the shadow of the Spine and within range of the tributaries trickling down, they made some haste across the Wilds. The hours blurred together as fog burned to afternoon...

Early Winter, 373 In the North Eastern Allir Reach, The town of Viyantil, West of the Grand Lake Brullyrd A silvery curtain of mist swirled about the streets of Viyantil, a cold that clung to a person and sank down into their bones. It was of no help then, that the grey sky seemed near...

Dawn cracked its yolk over the heathland sprawls that sprawled before Isander's eyes. He crouched low in the grass, dew-slick ankles creaking from the strain. Swathed in fitted leathers and padded linen, he made a survey of the land. Leagues separated him from the nearest hamlet, and he would...

As the sun painted a lazy line across the sky, so did Isander approach the hay-roofed hut on the outskirts of Svapna. He carried a saunter in his step, an ease about his crest. Routine, almost, some measure of familiarity guiding him. Svapna sat on the frontier, a town of small layers stitched...

art by Kris Kukko Winter of 373 Astenvale Monastery, Within the Valen Wilds In the Sanctum of Operations "I understand your misgivings, Syr Damir, but Lord Dunstable would have been left in the wind had we sent none to support," Helena's eyes were trained on the map of the Valen before them...

Some time had passed since Roki’s misstep in battle with, as the Knights would soon learn, Rory Bellamy. Syr Noa had felt a twinge of pride that Roki had sorta-kinda-almost outwitted one of the Bloody Bellamy’s that were known to cause more trouble than Roki had. More importantly, she was glad...

A storm blustered, inside and out. But the cool drops of rain that soaked clothes, and clung to curled tresses and warm skin did help damp the fire in her belly. A thing that twisted and turned with doubts, even as the sound of all the cold shower about her filled her ears. What a fool she...

In a puddle of rainwater about two inches deep, was a day-old corpse. And not just any, but that of a knight, an actual titled and landed Lady. It was writ on the garb and features, kempt and unblemished save for a little scar at her cheek from some previous scrap. What had hit her this time...

Deep in the wild's Valen did Ryiek's willowy frame pay grace. Palms uplifted, lips turned in gratitude, he pranced with each limber step; pallid lurch and trickling tumble tossed him to and fro, laughter cooing from his throat. Deigned a merry tenor, it ensconced the wide canopy of trees...

A being of cascading sheepskins, crowned by three pairs of livestock horns and made mountainous by concealed stilts, turned in the firelight in an ominous dance. The wooden visage was carved roughly with a chisel and hammer, and resembled neither man or animal but rather a mix of the two...

They passed down the old path one last time, the Hunter at their backs and the twisting shadow of a lost guardian before them. Softly whispered songs crossed their lips as they went, step by step, into the silent mist of the late evening. They mourned not their fate, only the legacy of...