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After the siege of Davens Reach, I was trudging through a thunderstorm on my way home after giving away the last of my silver to bandits that had lost their way. After my extended life, I’ve seen humans do far worse things to put food on the table. But this story isn’t about Davens Reach or what happened on the way home. Those stories are for a different day.
As I returned to my homestead in Darkport, I immediately began drawing myself a bath, as I had been drenched by the downpour and had no way of getting clean until I got home. I had talked to the Sailors Tribunal and announced to them of my wish to officially become a diplomat of Darkport since it’ll take me some time to fully become their leader. The Syndar leader, Nathaniel, was not present and they informed me of their decision when he returns. I returned to my homestead to prepare for the next big adventure. The next day is where the magic will begin and when I will assume the highest title in my tribe. It’s a title that very few members of the Wolfgang tribe had attained in the lifetime of this tribe. It is one of the highest honors to receive and it is something not given out lightly. Only Syndar that have not only proven their worth for their people, but also make grave sacrifices, gain this title.
I arise from slumber like a normal day. I wake up, make some breakfast for me and my daughter, and do some meditation. However, instead of a cheery child like normal, I am greeted by a sad and gloomy girl that only looks like my child. I had thought nothing of it as it could just be her time of the month or something. The rest of this story will be told as if it was happening in real time.

Naxala, “Father? What are your plans for today?”
Dad, “I don’t know hun. Probably some light meditation and I might go out to the Spire and talk with Vazra.”
N, “Oh..I see… well for today can you stay in Darkport? Some of the members of the tribe have a gift for you.”
“Ok. I’ll stay for today only because you asked. You also seem sad. Is something wrong?
“No, nothing’s wrong…I’m fine, just my time of the month I suppose”
I then finish my breakfast and clean up the plates. I spend part of the day talking to some Syndar from Fawyth about some old projects that were left on the old world and how it’ll be nice to go back there and reclaim them.

I am then approached by my Adviser, Allon Bowstar. “Meister Talonflame. A word in private”
“Certainly, Bowstar. What is it?”
“I need you to come to my home here in Darkport. The members of Wolfgang have set up something special for you since you were away on your birthday. “
“I’ll gladly go even though there is no need to celebrate my birth. It’s quite unnecessary. What time should I show up?”
“Arrive when the sun and the moon are both present in the sky”
I then return to my home to prepare for the night’s festivities as I know that when my tribe plans something, it’s usually going to be big. I decide to put on my tribal attire as I know some members of my tribe aren’t as regal as I am.

Later that evening, I arrive to Bowstar’s place. The candlelight is quite dim for it to be a party. I walk in and immediately I am knocked out, bagged, and dragged to some unknown place. I am then awoken by a rush of water hitting my face. The first thing I notice is that I am bound like an offering. Arms and legs spread apart on a stone slab. I later realize this to be some sort of altar, but it was destroyed after the ritual, so I had no time to study it. Around me I see 15 dimmed out candles and I smell the burning of lavender and sage.
“Is this some kind of ritual?!!? Unbind me! Let me free!”
A robbed figure came up to me. “Calm down father. What we offer to you is a gift for what you have done and for what you face on our behalf.”
“Why must I be bound like some sacrifice?
“Because what we offer you, your body will reject even though your mind may be willing. You are much too powerful for us to test your connection to your body’s will to control it.”
She then utters a few words that initiates the ritual. All members in that room began chanting.

“The mouth of the Just shall meditate wisdom,
And His tongue shall declare judgment.
Blessed is he who endureth temptation,
For once and twice he hath been tested, he shall receive the crown of life.
Oh Kuriki, Lord of Darkness,
Oh Eagle , Watcher of the sky.
Oh how holy, how serene,
How generous, how pleasant this man who believeth.
Oh Pure Azureal. Protect us from all threats and let your will be heard”
Show us the will of, The Guardian of the Blue Flame”

It has been over a century since I’ve heard of these words and I have never once heard them. To have them spoken about me is an honor, although I wonder. Where on Earth did they receive such words. That was believed to be lost in time since the move to the sea. They were chanting those words so much that the walls began to shake and those words began to burrow in my mind.
Then a change in the drowning vocals, my child comes up to me.
“Father… I would like you to meditate into this and channel your energy to its core” she places on top of my stomach my black orb of nothingness and I began channeling my energy into it as instructed. I can’t turn down my own child when she looks sad, call it a weakness.
As my mana has depleted into this orb, my child removes the orb from my stomach and begins to channel a bit of mana into me as she is reciting the chant. Then one by one, each member of my tribe comes to me and channels some mana. At first it didn’t feel too bad, but then my mind began to lose connection with my body as I am now becoming connected to each remaining member of the Wolfgang tribe. I watch as my body begins to contort and I appear as if I am in pain. It’s like my body is rejecting the mana that is being poured within and I am looking at myself as the man on the altar is not me. We then drain my mana again with the orb and the process continues until every member of my tribe has had their mana depleted into my now not moving body.
It felt like a dream but what happened was true and I may be a bit sedated on foreign mana and drugs as I wrote this but it would appear that I have become a guardian to my people. I will cherish this gift for as long as my mortal body lives. The orb I now carry represents what I was and my body represents what I am.
I know I am a man of many titles but the title of Guardian supersedes all others.

Guardian Azureal Talonflame, of the Blue Flame

With Newhope’s grand road being constructed, many cheap inns and taverns have popped up all over the country side. Although many were hastily made, most of them have all the comforts of home. However, this story doesn’t take place in one of these new, freshly painted inns. This one finds its start just outside of an older inn. This inn has seen far better days. Its paint was chipped, its windows didn’t close all the way, its door creaked loudly when someone walked in, as did its floor. Hell, the list goes on and on. However, even with its laundry list of problems, it boasted fair prices for a room and meals. It was these prices that caught the attention of Wren Duncan.
Wren Duncan, a younger female human with long amber hair. She was dressed in well-worn traveling clothes, a short sword on her side, and a bag on her back that was weighed down with something that jingled with every step. She also was wearing a large cloak to hide all the cuts and bruises she had. Within her coin pouch she had a modest amount of silver. She was paid this “modest amount” for her help at Riverhead. Sadly for her, in doing so she shredded her armor, a lighter chainmail she had bought only the month before. It now had missing rings and long rips making it unusable. It weighed her bag down on her back. She could fix it, if she could find a forge to make new rings for it.

She had many new battle wounds as well. Every painful step was a reminder of what had happened. As she thought about it, flashes of the battle would come and go. She would see a smaller, heavily armored Mordok from time to time. This one, and the others that looked like it, destroyed her armor and gave her many deep cuts on her arms and one deep gash on her left leg. Other times it was the Mordok Shaman. This one did nothing to her while it blew up other shields and went after the others in the shield line. However, during its last moments, it singled her out and threw a death bolt at her leg. She had almost jumped it, but sadly it struck her in the foot. This bolt almost blew her foot right off. Thankfully she was pulled from the line and healed. Well, enough to get back on the line.

Even after the shaman, she wasn’t done getting hurt. She tried to play it a bit safer and help the rear line; it was there that another Mordok gave her another wound. The Mordok shot her with its bow and without a shield she had little chance to block. With all her already inflicted wounds, she couldn’t move like she normally could. Otherwise, she was sure she could have dodged it. This one went into her other, still hurting, arm. After that last wound, the battle lasted a bit longer and the Mordok were pushed back. All in all, not that great of a battle for her. She was then paid and sent on her way. Even worse for her was that this “fair pay” wasn’t enough to repair her armor, patch her up, and put a temporary roof over her head. She was only paid enough for one of these things. Armor could be patched up later and wounds would heal. But sleeping outside, even close to the road could lead to getting robbed or worse–death. So she found her way to one of the cheaper inns close to Newhope.
This inn was an older looking one, it had a rundown look to it. The windows were a bit drafty, the roof had a leak near the back corner of the bar, and whole place had a faint musty smell to it, most likely from the leak. However, even with its faults, its food was pretty good, and its rooms were warm. The owner of the inn was an older human male named James Banding. He had short gray hair with gray stubble. He gave her a good deal for a week’s stay. The cost also included food and drink, but not alcoholic drinks. All he asked was she didn’t cause any trouble. She knew this was going to be easy, as she didn’t want to interact with anyone. So long as they left her alone, she knew she would be fine.
She paid to stay in this inn for the week, in that week she stayed to herself. Most of her time was spent nursing her wounds, as well as watching the inn’s travelers come and go. The travelers were a mix of humans and ulven, most of them workers hired to work on Newhope’s grand road. They kept to themselves and most of them didn’t try to talk to her. The few that did were drunk and as they tried to talk her up, they were met with an emotionless stare, little (if any) words, and under the table she would quarter draw her short sword. From there they would leave and she would sheath her blade. She didn’t want to talk to any of them. She was in pain from her wounds and had no desire to be picked up by any of these drunks. James took note of this and made sure to keep the workers away from her. It wasn’t until the last day of her week that anything of note happened.
The day began like any other. She changed her bandages, washed up, came down from her room, and ordered breakfast from James. From there she watched the many groups leave to work on the road. About mid-day, a heavy downpour began. This downpour halted the work on the road. The workers were sent home with the day off. They used this “day off” to get an early start to drinking. Wren left her seat at the bar and moved to a table in the far corner of the inn’s bar, hoping the leak in the roof would deter the drunks from trying to chat with her. About an hour into the drinking, the door to the inn opened and a thin man wearing a heavy traveling cloak walked in. He took a few steps in, lowered the hood of his cloak, and looked around the inn’s bar. With the hood off, she could tell that the man was a Syndar. His short brown hair was mostly dry, despite the heavy rains. His green eyes looked around the tavern, as if he was looking for someone. After a few seconds of looking around the tavern, his eyes found her, and a few moments later he began to walk to her table. As he did, her hand went straight to her sword at her side. When he made it to her table he asked, “Miss Duncan?”
She looked up at him and nodded. She wondered how he knew her name and why he was looking for her, all the while, not taking her eyes off him. The Syndar then reached for his pouch and pulled out a single letter.

“Miss Duncan, I have a letter for you from The Commander of The Rangers,” he said. He put the letter down in front of her, turned, and walked out. On his way out, Wren swore she heard him mutter, “What the hell’s wrong with that human?” under his breath, but she could have misheard him. It wasn’t long after he had left that she took her hand off her sword. She then slowly opened the letter. It was a simple folded parchment closed with green wax. The wax was sealed with the letter “R”. She opened it with a small knife, inside was a short message:

To Wren Duncan,

I was told you were one of the defenders at the battle for Riverhead. I was also informed that you are not with any of the known factions that were there to defend them. I’m curious as to why you were there. If it is something as simple as coin, if you are trying to make a name for yourself, or maybe you don’t even know yourself.
I could help you with one of these or more. If you’re interested, then make your way to Crow’s Landing and we can speak more on this matter.

Tobias Del’Green, Commander of the Rangers

She read the letter a few times, not really knowing what to think. She knew why she had gone to Riverhead. They needed help and she could use the coin, it was as simple as that. The offer, however, did interest her. She had heard a few things about the Rangers. People had been talking about the hooded men and women of the Crow’s Landing settlement. Things like; their talent for finding lost things in the woods, their willingness to help where they could, and also their hatred for bandits. She had also heard a few bad things about them as well, but she didn’t have a lot of other options at the moment. Her leg and side weren’t getting any better and she had no way to pay for the wounds. At the very least, she might be able to get some paid work from this Ranger. That and she no longer had enough silver to stay in this inn.

She gathered her things from her room and dropped off the key to James. Pulling her cloak closer around her, she made her way out into the rain. Before she made it all the way out the door, James was at her side with a small bag. He handed it to her saying, “Here’s some food for the road and something for your wounds.” she thanked him and began again. Every step she took was a painful one. Her leg was badly infected as was her side. However, lucky for her, Crow’s Landing was only two days away from the inn she was staying at. Also, the road from her to it was already done, so at least it should be an easy walk, she thought.
It was about midday when she started to realize she needed a walking stick. However, she was in a wide open plain without any trees in site.

A few hours later as the sun started to set, she saw a forest off in the distance. This forest meant she was about a fourth of the way to Crow’s Landing. Her wounds had slowed her down a lot more than she had first thought they would. She walked a few yards into the now much darker looking forest. With one hand on her sword, she looked for a young enough sapling that she could use. A few more yards and she found a young ash sapling that would do the job. She drew her sword and with a few hard swings she had her stick. She cut off the branches and eyed her work. It was about this time when she heard a snap off in the darker parts of the forest. Holding her sword out in front of herself, she spun around trying to see where the sound came from. All the while, cursing herself for coming into the woods without armor or a light.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she muttered under her breath, not seeing where the sound came from. With one hand tightly gripping her sword and the other holding her new walking stick, as fast as her wounds would allow her to, she made her way out of the forest and away from the ensuing danger. All the while not seeing or hearing whatever made the noise. A few panicked minutes went by as she got back to the road. Once on the road and with a few miles between her and the forest, she finally put her sword away.

Breathing heavily, she pulled her cloak closer to her body in attempt to keep warm. Night was getting closer and she was dead tired. She found a decent opening a few yards off the path and was starting to find the driest spot she could. After a bit of shifting around rocks, sticks, and leaves, she made a small shelter. Leaning her walking stick against the side of the shelter and setting her bag of broken armor down; she lied down to rest. Even with the storm raging on, her eyes felt heavy and it wasn’t long before she fell into an uneasy sleep.
She awoke a while later to immense pain from her leg. With much care, she moved her leg up so she could see the bandage. She saw the bandage was now a dark brown and was giving off a bad smell. She slowly removed the bandage to put on another. The act of pulling the old one off hurt more than when she first got it. With the bandage now off, she was able to easily see how infected it had gotten. Looking down at her cut she wondered what she could do. She still had over a day’s walk on the road and there was no way she was going to make it with her leg this bad. Biting down on her lip, she reached for her bag and felt around for another bandage. She then felt the bag that James gave her. She had forgotten all about it until now. Pulling it out and looking through what he had gifted her with. She found thicker bandages with some kind of grease on it, some hard tack, and a small bottle of something. Judging by the smell, it was something hard. Painfully smiling to herself, she knew what she had to do. She arranged her “healers kit” and using her knife, she cut into her wound. The pain was too much and she had to stop. Breathing hard, she knew things would only get worse. She drank a bit of the bottle (it was rancid), bit down on a bit of her cloak, and cut away at it again. Sweat dripped off her forehead. She managed to get most of the (in her mind) infected bits off. Putting her knife back, she poured the rest of the bottle onto the now open wound. Even through the thick cloak, an audible scream could be heard. Working through the pain, she wrapped the cut with the new bandages. With this done, she went limp.
Breathing hard, she waited for the pain to go away or at least lessen. A few moments went by and the pain did start to subside. She didn’t know if it was from getting cleaned or the rancid drink, but that didn’t matter. She needed to get to Crow’s Landing. With the help of her walking stick, she began to head out again. She couldn’t move her leg at all and it was only because of her stick that she was able to walk at all. Her speed was minuscule. Thankfully the storm was letting up a bit. The rain was still falling, but it was no longer obstructing her view of the road. She still felt dead tired and wanted nothing more than to fall into a warm bed. She limped on and a few more hours went by. Sweat kept dripping from her and she knew normally she wouldn’t have been this exhausted. She looked to her bandaged leg and saw that it was red with her blood. Breathing heavily, she limped ever faster. A few more hours of pain and a red tunnel soon took over her vision. She got a few more steps before falling. Hitting the ground hard, she tried to crawl, but her body had given her more than it had. Soon the red vision turned black.

When she came to, she was no longer out on the road. She was in a mostly white room full of beds. As she looked around she saw two humans, one male the other female, and an ulven. The female had a white shirt with a green vest over it. She was shorter with shoulder length dark brown hair. The human male was of average height with short light brown hair. He was wearing a short sleeve hooded tunic. The male ulven was also of average height, had short dark brown hair, and a scar going down his left eye. He was wearing a long leather sleeveless coat with a green hooded tunic. The two humans were quietly meditating, the ulven was just standing nearby as if he was watching over them. Her movement didn’t go unnoticed and the ulven shifted his gaze from the two meditating to herself.

“Good afternoon Miss Duncan, I trust you are feeling better?” Before she could reply, the two humans got up. The female spoke first.

“She is all healed up, as are we. I’ll help Puckerman back to his house.” The other human, she was guessing Puckerman, replied clearly annoyed.

“I don’t need help Kathena, I can make it home just fine.” After he said this he started to limp away. She could tell there was something really wrong with his leg, but before she could get a good look at it, Kathena got up next to him and forcefully helped him to his house. With them gone, it was just her and the ulven. For a few moments he just looked out in the direction that Puckerman and Kathena went.
After a bit he spoke again. “Miss Duncan, how are you feeling?” As he said this he looked at her. And seeing his eyes she began to glare at him.
After a bit he seemed to notice and spoke again, “I know my eyes are a bit strange, but they only just started to change colors.” She then looked away, realizing he wasn’t a threat.
“I got your letter,” she finally replied.
“And on the way here you got attacked by?” he asked.
“No, these are from the battle back in Riverhead.” she replied.
“Really, so that’s why they were so infected. Why didn’t you get them healed?” he said.
She didn’t reply to that and simply looked around for her things. He picked up on that and said, “If you don’t want to stay, your things are in front of this bed. However, I hope you would give my offer some thought.”
“What’s your offer?” she asked.
“You would have died out on the road were it not for my guards, they found you while patrolling, and we’ve also healed you up full. I know you are kind of a mercenary. So, what would you say this is worth to you? And know that we would keep doing this for you. You would have a home and people to fight alongside you.” he said
She thought on it for a bit and said, “As payment for what you’ve done, I’ll stay on as a Ranger Merc for 6 months, after that we’ll talk again as to if I’ll stay.”
“Sounds good. Your belt flag is in your bag next to your armor. You should stop by Uncle Ishvan’s, he’s our blacksmith. After that, when you feel up to it, I’ll show you to Guthrum. He is the Merc Elder. He’ll be the one to show you the ropes. Also, next month we will be storming Davin’s Reach. Welcome to the Rangers and welcome to Crow’s Landing.” He said this as he turned and walked out.
Not long after he left, she looked under the covers at where her wounds were. She was shocked to see not even scars. All she found was fresh pink skin. The healers did a great job and soon after she tried standing. As she got out of bed, she walked around to the other side to see her bag. She then saw her clothes from the road. Someone had washed them clean of the road and her blood. Grabbing them, she found an empty room and changed back into her clothes. Her mind kept thinking about how things had changed and if this was going to be the right choice. Picking up her broken chainmail again, she made her way out of the hospital. Once outside she was greeted to a bustling town. Everywhere she looked there were people moving around and they all seemed to be in a great mood. She then headed off into town. She had a new place to explore and armor to fix.

Read more: http://lasthopelarp.proboards.com/thread/1809/tim-story-posted-wiki#ixzz5BBI7IrHp

Harkov made his way slowly down the southern end of The Hackles. The trails were either covered in snow or too unstable to traverse. He was allowed to return to Starkhaven a month ago, but the heart of winter had been deadly cold making travel difficult, especially in the mountains. He had lost at least ten pounds since he left Starkhaven six months ago for his Eagle Trial. The only reason he had survived was due to the skills he had learned with the Order. His skills as an archer and a healer kept him healthy, and his skills as a laborer kept him slightly more comfortable. The mountains were not empty of predators either; mountain lions and wolves, the occasional bear or Mordok. He had used his sword as much as he used his skills. The last six months had been trying, not only for Harkov as an individual, but also as a member of the Order. There had been numerous other initiates in the mountains at the same time as Harkov. Some were Eagles like Harkov, others were young, soon to be Lions. Each Cleric must do this trial alone. You can help each other for a short while, but each initiate must go his own way. He had seen several of his comrades dead. Some from starvation or sickness, others from being killed. Harkov was happy he didn’t know by what because the scenes were gruesome. The winter was the hardest time for trials to happen, even if you start in the summer. Harkov found a small clearing on a natural ledge and stopped to get his bearing. Beneath him he could see Starkhaven. The mighty fortress looked small, almost dwarfed, next to the massive Yurnai lake. The sight filled him with relief. He remembered this view from six months ago when he first left. The trail was well kept from here on out. Harkov made a signal arrow and started a small fire. Once the fire was stable, He lit the arrow and fired it into the sky. This was the signal to let the settlement know that a cleric had come back, not as a Neophyte, but as a full-fledged Eagle. Harkov waited for a few moments before hearing the long, loud moan of a signal horn. He smiled. They had seen his signal. He turned and ran down the path, mantling fallen trees and slipping and sliding down icy covered pathways. This was it. The day he had dreamed of for so long was finally here. An hour later Harkov came into view of the gate, having fallen a considerable distance of the way down after slipping on a patch of ice. He was sore, and relieved to finally be home. He was excited to see his friends again and to sleep in a real bed. Mostly though, he looked forward to earning his title. They said most cried. Harkov couldnʼt see how, this was too exciting. As he drew near, the rear gate to Starkhaven began to open. Even though it was just one of several secondary gates into the territory of Starkhaven, it was quite impressive. As the gate opened, Harkov slowly saw familiar faces. First were his friends; Ventaris, Basil, SuuNalla, Captain Ree, Oliver, Dom. He smiled as he saw them but was slightly taken aback when he saw his family. His mother was already crying and his brother was getting teary as well. A slight distance behind them, Harkov saw his Father as well, who had a look that gave away only one emotion. Pride. Harkov was swept with emotion, but recollected himself and held his bearing. With a serious demeanor, he walked forward past the gate and to either side of him was a gathering of countless clerics of Arnath. Standing in the center of the half circle formed by the crowd was his mentor and friend, Gryphon Cullen, with his ceremonial sword. The crowd was dead silent as the young warrior before them approached. The ceremony that many of them had witnessed was as old as time itself. To some of those gathered, the importance was not lost on them. He walked confidently, shoulders rolled back, his armor looked well-worn and battle tested. Though his helm cut off a significant amount of his view, he could see his mentor clearly before him, as he stopped about an arm’s reach in front of him. There was a pause for a time, the silence was almost deafening. “Kneel.” The young man’s mentor said in a ceremonial tone. Harkov did as was commanded, drawing his sword and driving it into the ground in front of him. The sound of metal sinking into the earth was beautiful to Harkov. Gryphon Cullen brought his sword down slowly, blade facing his student. First to his right, then twisting the blade so the flat was facing the ground and touching it to each of his pupilʼs shoulders. “For valor in battle. For honor in service. I, James Cullen raise you, stand Warrior of Arnath.” Harkov stood, and for a moment looked at his sword still stuck in the ground. Harkov grasped the hilt and pulled with every ounce of strength he had to brandish his blade high in the air before letting out a scream of victory. The small crowd gave out a cheer and his family rushed to greet him. The next few days were a blur as Harkov and his friends and family celebrated. His lifeʼs ambition had finally come to fruition. He was a warrior, that was everything he wanted. Wasnʼt it?

Harkov set towards the inner keep of Starkhaven walking at his usual brisk pace. The settlement was bustling. Workers and Order members working on various projects, most of them revolving around the refugees that traveled from Newhope. Harkov had been working the last few weeks under his new assignment as an eagle initiate. Suu Nalla was a different teacher than Ventaris, then again, they both follow different paths in their service to Arnath. Harkov was still angered by his reassignment. Everybody he asked said it had nothing to do with Harkov, just somebody up the chain made the decision for them. Oliver said the same thing when he denied Harkov the name of the higher up who gave the transfer order, saying that he was told that all of the answers he was looking for lie in the path of acceptance. Harkov wasn’t even paying attention to where he was going, he was too busy brooding. He almost reached the doors of the library when he felt the recoil of running into another person. Harkov’s release from his anger was almost instant. He turned to see who he had hit and to his embarrassment saw that he had knocked over a young woman.
“By Arnath I am so sorry miss.” Harkov said as he went to help her up.
“No, it’s okay. It was probably just as much my fault.” The girl responded. Harkov reached out and gasped when his hands were suddenly enveloped in a warm silver glow, the same one he had been learning to control.
“ Your hands are really, Oh my god!” The girl exclaimed as she finally looked up and saw Harkov’s hands. Harkov looked down at his hands and focused cutting off the flow of mana. The glow faded slowly, and then all at once. Harkov could feel the heat in his face, he could feel it getting redder. The girl looked at him, she had blonde hair and blue eyes with flecks of green in them. Harkov gave her a quick once over before making eye contact. She looked to be a few years younger than Harkov was, lean but clearly strong, the kind of strength Harkov recognized. He couldn’t quite tell how but he didn’t question it. They looked at each other for a moment in silence before she spoke up.
“I’m Isabella, but my friends and family call me Bella.”
“Well, Isabella I am so sorry for knocking you over.” Harkov replied, still feeling the heat in his cheeks.
“You’re one of the Order clerics?” Bella asked looking back down at his hands.
“Sort of. I’m an initiate set to be an Eagle of the Light.” Harkov replied.
“An Eagle huh?” Bella said, giving him a once over of her own. “You might want to work on your awareness if you want to be an Eagle.” Her smile was a devilish one hinting at challenge. Before Harkov could retort, Bella took off. Harkov watched her go, dumbstruck at how bold she was and how fast she was. Harkov shook himself into focus and continued into the library.
The Library was a vast and grand place filled with scrolls and thickly bound books containing untold amounts of knowledge, still only a fraction of what had been on Faedrun. Harkov wandered aimlessly for a while, building the courage to try and bother one of the many Griffons who were in charge of the collective works. Before he could do so though, one such Griffon beat him to the punch.
“Is there something I can help you with my boy?” Asked a very old man who seemed to carry not a worry in the world. He had a genuine smile, his eyes were mere slits and his lips thin. Harkov doubted if this man was still able enough to understand where he was, let alone help him find the books and scrolls he was searching for, but Harkov gave him the benefit of the doubt.
“Yes actually. I was wondering if you could help me find a few texts.” Harkov responded, doubt obvious in his voice, his tone was almost patronizing. The old man shuffled past Harkov with slow deliberate steps, not once looking back as Harkov stood there awkwardly waiting for a response.
“Well,” the old man said without looking back,“are you coming my boy?” Harkov looked around the atrium trying to find anybody else to help but for some reason all the Griffons except this old man had disappeared. With a sigh and a shake of his head Harkov jogged to catch up with the old Griffon. The path they took was slow going as the two walked up stairs and down hallways. Harkov almost couldn’t comprehend how they fit this many into the keep.
“Don’t you want to know what texts I was looking for? I doubt they’ll be up here.” Harkov asked as they passed fewer and fewer bookshelves. The old man waved a hand at him but didn’t bother with words. Eventually they came to a halt just outside of a door to one the rooms on the top floor of the keep. The area they were in was well lit with windows becoming far more frequent the higher they had gone. The cool air of early spring caused Harkov to shiver. The old man stood at the door rattling a ring of keys, trying several in an attempt to get the door open. Harkov began to bounce in place trying to warm himself, his breath visible in the air like dragon’s breath. Harkov almost let out an audible sigh of relief when he heard the deep clunk of the lock. As they walked into the room, the old man began muttering to himself and started rummaging through an old chest at the foot of what Harkov assumed was his bed. Harkov ignored him and began examining the room, piles of books varying in height filled the room. The room itself had a uniqueness to it. The room formed a half circle with another half circle coming off of it creating a raised platform where a bed sat. Directly to the left of the original half circle was a large fireplace, which was currently void of any fire or fuel. A small stack of logs and a tinderbox sat neatly next to the fireplace. And just to the right of the door was a small balcony that had a full view of Starkhaven. Harkov heard a whistle and turned just in time to stop a small flint block from hitting him in the face, though the catch wasn’t clean and he bobbled it before securing it, glaring at the old man.
“Start a fire lad, it’s freezing in here.” The old man ordered as he sat down, his age showing as he slowly lowered himself into his chair. Harkov set to the fire using a generous amount of tinder. After a little too much effort, a strong fire was burning in the pit. Harkov walked over and sat across from the old man, well past the limit of his patience and glared at his compatriot.
“I hope you didn’t drag me up here to fulfill some sick fantasy old man, because I’m not interested in that sort of thing.” Harkov said in a combination of a snarl and a sneer. He looked closer at the old man and saw a few scars on his time-worn face. The Griffon laughed, much to Harkov’s annoyance.
“Listen son. I’ve seen more war and bedded more women in my prime then you will in your lifetime so you can spare me the tough guy act.” said the old man, opening his eyes wide and staring at Harkov intensely. Harkov recoiled, caught off guard by the bluntness of the response. He laughed without realizing but stopped when the old man didn’t. Harkov grew uncomfortable under the gaze of his elder, it was almost like the man was peering into his very soul.
“My name is James Cullen and I know what you seek.” said James, his gaze unwavering. Harkov laughed again and looked away dramatically before leaning forward in his seat.
“Something funny?” James asked, this time with a much more relaxed tone.
“No, forgive me. Just confused is all.” Harkov answered. Harkov looked at the floor and mulled over his thoughts for a bit before breaking the silence.
“Tell me then James, what is it that I seek?” Harkov asked, not looking up from the floor.
“You are curious about your place as an Eagle,” James answered, adjusting in his seat so he was more comfortable.
“How did you..”
“We’ll get there my boy.” James interrupted with a wave of his hand.
“Let me tell you why you are here son.” James said as his eyes seemed to dim and go somewhere far far away.
“I chose you to revive something The Order has been without for far too long.” Harkov was silent, not sure if he should ask what or just stay silent. The fire now gave the room a comfortable warmth and filled it with a smokey smell that soothed Harkov and allowed him to feel less defensive.
“I am the last of a small sect of the Eagles known as The War Eagles. We fulfilled a role that is much different from the traditional Eagle.” James said, a surprising intensity filling his eyes.
“We were the perfect union of fury and honor. We were heroes. The Great War was our golden age.”
“Brother Cullen, what does this have to do with me?” Harkov interrupted.
“Everything. I want you to be the first of a new generation of War Eagles.” James answered, his tone intense.
“I’ve seen you training. I was the one who requested you to become an Eagle.” James leaned forward and looked deep into Harkov’s eyes again, seeming to look in his soul. Harkov returned the stare in kind, pondering what to say. This was a strange turn of events and Harkov was not sure what to think, let alone say.
“Harkov I want you to become my pupil, to take up the mantel that only a brave few have ever held, and eventually, I want you to replace me as their leader.” Harkov could not hide his shock and his mind raced as he gave out an exasperated breath. Harkov thought back to why he joined the Order. How he wanted to fight for peace and for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. Maybe this was the path Arnath had laid out for him. James began to speak but was cut off by the young Neophyte.
“I accept. I will become a War Eagle.” The room was quiet, but for only a moment. James gave a sigh that sounded as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He stood, moving towards the bed. Harkov looked down at his hands, nervous and unsure of what he had done. Harkov heard James stop in front of him and looked up and saw in James’s hands a plain greatsword.
“Take this my boy. We must begin your training with haste. We only have a week before you deploy to Daven’s Reach.
“Thank you master.” Harkov took his new blade. It was a comfortable weight. The blade felt strong but agile. James made his way towards the door before turning to Harkov and saying.
“Let us begin.”