George Longcloak - In search of a legend

[WouldBeBard]

The same familiar scene. The young man behind his table, the burning incense before the lares, his freshly oiled and polished sword in the corner, his cloak and hat over the hook. There's a snazzy new leather jacket to add to it now, though.
And a blanket.
He sits there, quietly writing away, far more determined this night.

If it is indeed luck, I begin to suspect it's of the sort the Smiling Lady has a hand in.

I started my day as I said. Running through my drills again and again. I must not have been a fearful sight, though, as even something as low as a bunch of feral cats felt like I was prey. They were wrong, of course. I have to admit it was something else, however, fighting cats. And I do believe I learned at least some little things. I pray I need not apply it to these man eating tigers I heard about any time soon.

The damnable weather and cold eventually gained the upper hand, though. This land can be so dreary and desolate. Being cold and wet doesn't exactly help. So, south I went, in search of new sights and people. I eventually made Norwick, and saw a new face.

A pale elf, clad all in silver armour, the symbol of one of their gods on his belt, an ornate sword in an ornate scabbard. He held himself with grace and dignity, and showed the signs of age, so rare in his kind, that I'm unsure how ancient he must be. I greeted him as master elf, and he challenged me on that perception in a mild mannered way, asking how I figured he was a master of anything. He had a strange sense of humour, and it was at my expense, though there was no malice there as far as I could tell. Still, eventually he seemed satisfied or even amused at my explanation, and we introduced one another. It was Raryldor, the famed elf I was told to seek out by Kaitlyn, just the day before. The only friendly face I'd seen all day, and it was a living legend. No, I no longer think it was just happenstance that I chance upon these people.
For good or ill, I turned this way at the earliest opportunity, and fortuitous meetings have been thrown at my feet since I arrived. I think I shall see what else this fate has in store for me, and rent this room a while longer.

On old glories, however, he wasn't too talkative. A part of me understands. A life as long and filled with conflict as his must eat at him more than I can imagine. He felt it better not to speak unless I had a specific question, which I admittedly did not have yet, and instead look forward in life. He did explain the lay of the land to me, where what creatures dwelled, and which would or would not likely get me killed. I thanked him and moved on. The lessons taken from past conflicts will have to wait.

Instead, I set out to find my own conflict. I have scoured the restless dead, exorcised possessed swine, cleaved through goblins, but I learned little. I decided to ferry across the crater, to see this Jiyyd with my own eyes, Now, I have seen the wholesale slaughter of a pitched battle, the merciless culling in ambushes and the brutal reality and cruelty of siege warfare. I have yet to see something quite as oppressive as Jiyyd, however.

It is dark, day and night. The ruins lay as they lay when whatever cataclysm happened, happened. The restless dead roam, along with carrion crawlers and all manner of pests, and bodies as broken as the weapons they wielded lay strewn about. When I see the old battlements of Norwick and destroyed towers in the Nars Pass, I see the beauty of nature, even if it is desolate and unforgiving, I see heroism and bravery, even if it failed.
No such thing around Jiyyd. The area reeks of despair and fear, so thick that you could feel it creeping into your soul if you stayed long enough. The destroyed natural beauty, the crumbling defensive structures, the roaming scavengers, the rumours of demons. The entire area weeps one sentence. "Here, the heroes failed." Perhaps that is why the overlooking hill is called 'Heroes Bluff'.
That is unfair of me. I know not the odds, nor the enemy they faced. Given the result and the might of some of these fine people, I think I will hold my tongue, lest my hubris is the end of me.

I was beset by a group of these scavengers when I could stomach no more and returned. What desperation drove them to assault me, I do not know, but they did not have much time to regret it.
I took the leather jacket one of them wore. There was a lesson learned in Jiyyd, on the price of failure, and I aim to keep it with me.
It looked ghastly, though.

As a sidenote, if I died a pauper, it is because of the accursed Vanity Plates.
Avenge me.

[WouldBeBard]

The young man sits at his table once more. The incense he lit has smoldered to dark ashes, still giving off scent and a faint trail smoke. Even his candle burned a quarter of the way, dripping its wax on his table. In the right hand, he has his quill, tapping it gently against the wood, the ink long wasted on random spots of table. In the left, he holds one of his small figures. A fully armoured knight, sword and shield up in a defensive position. He twists it around and lets it catch the light this way and that. Given the right angle, one could see a worn engravement on the knight's breastplate, depicting a knight's chess piece.
There's no real saying how long he sat there, staring at the piece, but eventually he sets it down at the top of the pattern, next to three others, dipping his quill in fresh ink, and finally sets to writing.

I tried to collect my thoughts before writing. For my own sake, as well as posterity's. No such luck.
Luck. That might be a good word to start on. Luck. Good Fortune. Serendipity? Providence? Fate? Possibly irony.

I've spent a good few nights in the commons of Peltarch now. Seen many faces and listened to many people. I've kept myself to the background for now, however, difficult as that may be.
Everyone here seems genuinly friendly. Genuinly kind. Genuinly interested. Genuinly helpful. It is as if everyone that knows anyone is on the same team as everyone else. I suppose it's natural for a country this dangerous and plagued by war. You very quickly come to know those you can rely on in a fight, and bonds created on a battlefield rarely break.

And oh yes, it is plagued by war and dangerous, having heard and read more tales. What was I saying about luck? Ah yes. I've made my first acquaintance today. Her name is Kaitlyn, a pretty girl not much younger than myself. Don't get the wrong idea, while I own she is a looker, she's… Shy. Timid. Kind, sweet and gentle, no doubt, and probably responsible and dependable, but there seemed to be no real fire, there.

Either way, here I am, in this strange land, rumoured in the outside world to be dangerous beyond belief, trying to dig up knowledge and relics of its countless wars, and the great deeds they inspired, ready to throw myself onto the anvil and join the fabled names this place has spawned, and there she sat.
By a stray strand of fate, she was on my path.
A historian and lorekeeper. A swordsman, her manners and speech leaving no doubt that she was under the tutelage of some of the best this city has to offer. A faithful of the Red Knight Herself. Born from a soldier who she claims ascended to a celestial being in the Grandmaster's service. This, I cannot call coincidence.
We spoke of wars past, of Eastland marauders, red dragons and more. The libraries contain countless tomes, she says, but there are those who lived the wars, still here.
Aelthas, Raryldor, Thaeon. Names I should remember. People I should speak to if I want to know.

Excited as I am, I have neglected other duties. I have gone around the city to see the sights, as though it were my first campaign in a foreign land. More interested in stacked stones and pretty girls than training. And while I'm happy to have found the Ferret and have stared in awe at the temple of the Triad, I will do these kind people no good if my swordarm tires the next time some ungodly creature comes to tear down these walls.

He looks up from his writing, to where a strangely elegant two handed sword stood in the corner, then nods to himself.

At first light, I will take my montante to this land's cold hills, and I will drill, drill, and drill again, until I am warm enough to wade into the Icelace.