The Quest of Varda

As I stood silently on the crest of Vishnar hill and gazed across the blackened, blighted ruins of the keep of Eridu, I could not help but breathe a sigh of relief that I was leaving that unholy place of ancient sorcery and decay forever, even though the memory of the events that had transpired there would no doubt linger with me for just as long...

I gripped my staff, shrugged my shoulders to settle my long robe more comfortably around my body, turned and headed towards the moss-thick, overgrown remains of road that would eventually take me back to St. Arngrim´s Bay and from there to the balmy shores of my homeland of Thracis. I had been away too long and needed to return for some much needed rest and study, not to mention reporting my findings to the Circle of Chancellors.

I glanced at the horizon, noting the darkening sky. No doubt a rainstorm would be dampening my spirits by nightfall. Another sigh, followed by an shake of the head, then I set upon the road with nary a final glance back at Eridu.

Several hours later, the sky had darkened considerably and, feeling the first drops of water splashing upon my face, I drew up my hood and wrapped my cloak more tightly about me. The air was heavy with the coming rainfall and silent purple lightning arked across the bruise-coloured skyscape above.

I moved off the road, hoping to get more protective cover from the overhanging branches overhead. It wouldn't be much, but it would have do until I could find a more suitable spot to take shelter. The forest was dark and menacing, the thick trunks of mighty pines pressing together, black against the even deeper black of the gloamy depths beyond. The tips of the trees, higher than any of the graceful palms and olive trees of my native land jutted against the diseased expanse of the sky, like the hateful, rusted lances of some vengeful barbarian horde. Cursing under my breath, I silently lamented finding myself so far north, in this unruly, uncivilised expanse of uncharted forests and unchartable swamps.

What I wouldn´t do for a plate of smoked fish and a nice, soothing water-pipe on one of the perfumed, and more importantly dry, seaside terraces of Al-Firist...

Lightning suddenly flashed above me, thunder cracking. I started up, not quite expecting such a quick show of elemental . This would not do. The storm looked to be more than a simple rainscall. The clouds churned and boiled with strange energy. The aetherometer at my hip was spinning out of control, signalling that this was a tempest of supernatural origin - one of the great spellstorms generated far beyond the forests up in the Unknown North.

I pressed on through the forest, glancing here and there until I suddenly spotted a thin column of smoke, rising up off to my right. Following it, I found myself overlooking a rocky valley. Far below, I could make out a small, dilapidated hut covered in moss, built into a hillock next to a pond. I was about to go and knock on the door, when I paused. This was no simple forest, no lord owned this land, no poachers roamed these craggy hills and the people of the valleys and fjords to the south would have to fall on hard times indeed to venture this deep into this cursed earth. No normal human would be living this deep in the wooded mountains. Anyone living here, would have to be at least as dangerous as the savage gloam around them.

At that moment, I heard a voice, soft and sweet, coming from the between the trees, ringing out from the darkening forest, like fresh water bubbling out from a rock. Despite its gentle, whispering tones it was somehow still audible over the howling wind and crashing thunder. Straining my eyes to see into the darkness, I spied a faint, floating light, far off in the distance.

Unsure which choice to make, I paused to consider my options. The hut, or the voice? Either one was suspicious, as indeed was everything in those forsaken woods, but trying to outlast a spellstorm, even one weakened from its long journey south, was an even more dangerous idea...