NAME: Pan
AGE: 20
RACE: Syndar-Feral
GENDER: Female
BIRTHDAY: June 24
RACIAL DISTINCTIONS: Moon Ears, horns of the ram, fangs
FAMILY
Mother: Maragrimm-Seer
Father: Vilmus-Warrior
Siblings: Aragel; Oldest Brother 1
Savira; Oldest Sister 2
Gisella; Older Sister 3
Herself; 4
Myrta; Youngest Sibling 5
We’ve been told of the hordes many a time. How they swept over the land, turning all those it touched into grotesque creatures of rot. Of the chains once binding freed by my ancestor. Oh do they talk so, of all the woes and infuriating desires that they wish us to hold. As my people of the mountain left for the sea, leaving our homes behind. For in the Mountains we came from the soil, and to the soil we had always returned. The birth of our essence came from those rocks that provided so much solace. Maragrimm talked so much.
Crawling over the land towards sea, we boarded the ships with the rest who called these lands home. I hardly remember pulling my small head above the raft to watch the Army of the Fifth walking out to battle again. My small arms could not hold me up long, the sight of them slipped from view as my horns smacked the wooden hull. Weeks passed by, the churning of the ocean made me sick, the water outside looked like a frightful plateau ready to drag me down by my little ankles. I’d never see the light of Solar again if the water had its way with me. We occupied ourselves, stole from the thoughts that we could be going nowhere. After more weeks passed, this fear was looked at as a reality, then the call came down. Land, sweet and real peeked the horizon, as the crimson light wisped away into blue, my favorite time of the day had just passed us by.
Lanterns lit all around us as we set anchor, it seemed celebration would be in order. The humans we were traveling with became more uplifted, yet Vilmus made us go below deck. The shouting continued a long while, I fell asleep to them curled up next to Myrta. Bells, clanging against one another, the bells seemed to be coming from all over, as sleepy eyes opened to the world we never knew. The wood hanging above our heads would finally be taken away, the brighter skies above us loomed like a misty plane. Maragrimm’s mood soured. The closer we came to shore, the more she seemed to be worrying. As the sight grew closer, Vilmus picked us up, one at a time to see better. Like a welcoming sight of the sun in a storm, people waved, some jumped up and down, arms waving to us from the other ships. The excitement seemed to be contagious, as Gisella and Savira danced in circles, even the stern Aragel was laughing with little Myrta.
Settling on this new land took its time, building up homes to sleep in, farms for food, and walls for security. When word reached our ears that others were fighting our new friends upon this land, Maragrimm had us prepare. I now understood why she had worried so, we could destroy our new home even more quickly here. As we settled in, she started to teach us. Gisella and Savira took naturally to Lunara’s healing abilities. As she taught, our magic slowly came out. I took to the arcane like a horse to water. But even the water froze as winter hit us.
One hundred and eighty five is the span she left upon this world. As we wept, the month went on, until the corruption returned. Her drum had ceased its tune, but her body moved, rot filling the air around her. Our curse had followed us, we feared it would take us from this land as well. Unable to turn my head, I watched Vilmus sever hers from her body. The flowered vines that had turned into crown toppled along with her head. Vilmus wept, her body wrapped in his arms, the brown of his armor staining a deep crimson.
The years left us by, Vilmus kept our small village together as we planted the ground anew. The Ulven wished us to burn our people instead of bury. The soil around us often kicked up ash as we walked, the essence of our lives didn’t return like it used to. We moved, our village followed, as winter months racked us til our bones cracked. We dreaded these areas. Our mountain home called us, even from so far away. The next summer brought new life, as Lunas deep light gave us a new hope. Passed on, I received a pendant of Luna, Maragrimm’s old one.
Time flew past us. Aragel grew older and he soon left us, to Myrtas despair. Having her little fist around his horn, she had tried to make him stay, but our older brother left us that night. We haven’t seen him since, yet our ears stayed open for tales of a spiral horned boy living in the wilds. As we convened once again, a decision arose. Vilmus was combining the tribe, our bloodline numbers had dwindled, but our brothers and sisters still existed. The Nomads Of Soon dispersed. Each caravan its own name and path, we spread over the safest parts of Mardrun.
Gisella lead the Caravan of Song.
Savira, the Caravan of Passion.
And little Myrta, the Caravan of Wisps.
We made our goodbyes and set up the rendezvous for summer’s end. Hawks and runners to spread word of the paths and perils ahead divvied up between us all. Only each caravan would know where the other was stopped.
Mine, we vanished into the countryside.