A Land Far Away

Waterdeep, present day:

Fireside Chats

A blazing fire burns in the hearth of the small dockside Waterdhavian tavern where a large man sits on worn oak bench. His hair is long but thinning with some gray, as is his beard. The flecks of salt interspersed with the red hair and the lines around his eyes tell of both the onset of middle years and time spent in the weather.

A backpack and bedroll, worn from the trail, are propped behind him, supporting his back against the wall. A large sword is propped up nearby.

On nights where the spirit (both literal and metaphoric) took him, the big man could gather a group about him for stories, tall tales, or local gossip. Tonight was one such night. An old local dock hand, a halfling merchant from Neverwinter, a pair of the tavernkeeper’s teen sons, and a cobbler, all sat around the fire enjoying tales. Even the comely (by Wayfarer’s standards) barmaid came by and risked a moment off her feet to listen and laugh with the others.

So … you want to be hearing the story of Wayfarer do you? Well, fellow, I have a lot to tell you of …if you’re willing to listen while I yammer on a bit. Pull yourself up a chair after ye fetch me an ale from the bar……we might be here a spell. *laughs heartily*


Whole thing starts a lot o’ years back in a nothing farm and mining village called Nashkel. None of these folks around here know of it. Hells! Most of the only a few leagues up the road in Baldur’s Gate know it either. *laughs a bit* It ain’t much more than a thousand folks altogether… and simple folk the most of us.

My pater, Rulik Krast, had himself 6 sons with my ma, all of them as big, but I were the biggest. I was born smack in the middle o’ the litter. Anyhow, we were good simple farming folk, working a fair plot land just outside the village walls along the River that grew arnica, barley, and some darkpeas. We had ourselves plenty of pigs and sheep too.


It was a fine life I suppose … but as a youngster I always thought there was something missing somehow. I would always find myself running off to the top o’ Hogsback Hill to look out as far my eyes could. I’d feel the wind in my face and shut my eyes and, well … just let the wind take me. *shuts his eyes as he tells the tale and gives off a smile*.


Anyhows……I’ll tell you more on that line later.

When I got to my sixteenth Summer it was time to go in for the militia. All the men in Nashkel had to do a season every third year and my age came up. This wasn’t like the regular army mind you, mostly just farmers and such like myself. Most times the militia get called to help with simple things and heavy lifting.... *laughs* I be fit for both! Ye know, raise up a barn, fight fires and rebuild after storms or floods and the like, with trouble not that often coming about.

That be most times…. *pauses dramatically*…..



But that winter of ’56 was as cold an’ snowy as any of the old men could recall and it drove the orcs out to the walls of the village from the mountains. The Lord brought all the families inside the walls and had every fellow that could hold a blade do so. *chuckles* Hells! Back then I could barely even tell the sharp end from a dog’s arse!........But I weren’t gonna let that stop me. I took a spot on a wall when the orcs come with torches an' wooden ladders and the whole lot. ..

Well. long and short of it …..I felled me my first orc within four rides of my sixteenth birthday. *smiling proudly* And I got to keep the sword I used as a gift o’ thanks from the Lord… *lowers his voice and leans in* You see, most militia don’t keep their blades but just turn them in to the armory after they’re done serving.

*he finishes a tankard of ale and sets it down heavily aside him*

Now! Let me use the jakes and I’ll come back an’ tell ye how I got from being a militia farmboy to being here where I am now.

*right knee creaks a bit and he grunts as he rises out of his chair to use the head*

The Riders


Trailyn returns shaking a bit of dribble on his woolen pantleg but smiling happily

Alright now. That bit of ‘business’ is done.

Now! Where was I? Oh aye! The Nashkel Militia and felling that orc in '56.

Three years went by past that orc winter, mostly quiet. Farming and all that. But.... it about to get interesting......

So one day near highsummer me and my brother Pollik, and my other brothers Droky, n’ Frool, and a few of the other boys…well I suppose we were men but….. *chuckles and shakes his head as if recalling some foolish deed* Anyhow, we were drinking ales in the Flagon n Dragon when this elvish fellow comes walking in. *eyes grow a bit wistful*

It was like the wind was in his hair even though it weren’t …hard to put a finger on it...if you take my meaning. I tell you what, Lothellian Caervian just had to start his talking and he had all us simple farm lads on bench’s edge.

He starts telling us about a fellow called the “Trailblazer” ...it were only later I learned the name "Shaundakul". Lothellian tells us that the winds were calling all of us to go out and leave Nashkel on account of there were amazing things to be discovered and Lothellian needed our help to do it. He said "our", but while he said it I could tell he were peerin' right into my eyes. Right into my SOUL! He Needed MY help!

Right then I could feel sumthin' the like of which I never felt before. He talked about places I never heard of an’ sights I ne’er seen. I was raptured I tell ya’ …. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him.

the big man takes another long drink. He leans back in the chair and adjusts his weight to extend his right knee for comfort.


After near the whole night talking he tells us that we all should come with him seeing as how his caravan was pulling out the day after next. Well us lads stayed around an’ we all made a pact. We say we’ll all meet at the caravan camp. We’ll come all together just afore dawn that day.

So I went back to the farm. I didn’t tell my parents. My brother Pollik said they’d stop us if we told them our plans.

Come the next day I was packed with whatever I could think of needing. The wind was blowing like I hardly seen it afore, pulling leaves off trees and branches down and such. I went to wake Pollik. He were awake and cryin’ soft. He said ……”I’m not going, Trailyn. I’ll tell pater where you've gone.” I knew there was no changin’ his mind on it so I set out to the caravan station ……….. funny thing…….none of the other village lads were there.

Not a single one. Just Trailyn Krast showing up at dawn to run off from the farm with a bunch of strangers.


But Lothellian was there. And I knew there was something to it all. And also gathered were all his followers all who pledged to the Trailblazer I was to learn. There were hin, and men , and two more elvish folks, and a dwarf .... and it were.....amazing!

Lothellian looked at me and said: “I knew you would be the one to come, Trailyn. I feel the wind in your spirit… It is time.”

And with that he laid a hand on my shoulder and…..off we were away from Nashkel. We were down the road and into the wilds, squinting into the morning sun as the west wind blew.

...

And I was happy and ready for the life that was about to unfold.

Gulthmere Forest, 40 leagues southwest of Starmantle, 1374 DR


Portals and Gates and Auras


The Riders of the West Wind had left their mounts stabled in the city of Starmantle knowing that the trek into the Gulthmere Forest was through dense woods and over terrain too steep for horses.

Having camped rough the first night along a small creek, the band of 3 elves, 7 men, 1 dwarf, and two halflings, led by Lothellian Caervian, made their way deeper into wilds. The forest floor was thick with leaves and moss and had a loamy scent that made Trailyn smile with every breath.

Every few miles they would pass a set of stone cairns, very subtle, often only a few flat river rocks stacked atop each other.

"Those are the marks of the Trailblazer's followers," said Lothellian. "We are on the proper trail."

It was late in the day, with the sun westering the troupe crested a rise that afforded a view into a small river valley. The sound of running water from a falls lightly flowing into a pool was all that broke the silence.


Trailyn, who had recently been given the nickname "Wayfarer", stood at Lothellian's side as the leader spoke in hushed but excited tones.

"There! Do you see it, Wayfarer? The waters of the pool...."





Many of the group members gasped with awe at the sight. It was beautiful and even Wayfarer could "feel" the magic emanating from the shimmering rings of water that flowed in impossible concentric rings on the surface of the pool.

Trailyn stood with a dumb smile, quietly gazing on the beautiful scene.... until he was snapped back to alertness with an elbow to his ribs.

Lothellian admonished him. "Do not just gaze upon it, Wayfarer. Study it. Do you see the colors? Can you mark them?"

Trailyn grimaced and tightened his eyes, thinking hard. After a long while he spoke tentatively ... "A bit of yellow ... and .... mayhaps .... some pink?"

"Yes!" Lothellian was pleased. "Flaxen and rose are the auras. Those are the auras of the 'Crossroads'. It leads to the Feywild, Wayfarer. It is an "echo" plane. Much like the Sahdowfell... but different."

Trailyn nodded.


"This portal will allow us passage to the Feywild." Lothellian paused then added "If we are allowed passage."

"Allowed?," questioned Trailyn.

The leader of the Riders of the West Wind nodded to Wayfarer, gestured for the others to stay back, and walked forward, slowly wading into the water of the shimmering pool.



As Lothellian entered the pool another creature rose out from the water. Coming into view was the form of what looked to Trailyn to be a beautiful elven woman, clothed in a silvered sheer robe.

"Fey", whispered Mordrik Cragbiter, the only dwarven Rider. "Dryad", spoke another.

Quickly, Lothellian and the fey woman struck up a conversation in strange language that Trailyn did not understand. Although the words were strange, it was clear that a negotiation was underway. It went on for only a few moments, but was at times tense. In the end though, the dryad opened her arms in a welcoming gestured and Lothellian bowed deeply in return. As quickly as she had appeared, the dryad disappeared from sight.


Rider Lothellian Caervian turned to the group. "We are welcomed to pass to the Feywild. ... It is time"

Mordrik the dwarf came forward as did Li'Teriel and Bowdin. The three remained silent.

Lothellian was the only one who spoke. "You know your task. Your map will guide you to Mag Tureah. Complete your work. I will see you in Urmlaspyr by Midsummer."

Rider Lothellian then spoke a prayer blessing each of the chosen gate travelers before the trio waded out into the pool, stepped into the shimmering rings, and in a flash disappeared from view.



_________________________________________

Night had fallen, and a waxing half Selune showed on the waters of the magical portal pool. The remaining men of the Riders of the West Wind had a light meal at the water's edge, conversation turning to more mundane topics as the awe of the day's event wore off.

Trailyn 'Wayfarer' Krast stayed quiet though. We watched the waters, now seeing the flaxen and rose colored auras more clearly despite the low light.

Lothellian nearly had to drag him away as the group made its way back toward Starmantle.

It was Wayfarer's first portal..... an experience he would never forget.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KPplYp7K7M

She rollin', rollin', rollin'
Though the streams are swollen
Keep them doggies rollin', rawhide

ayergo wrote:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KPplYp7K7M

She rollin', rollin', rollin'
Though the streams are swollen
Keep them doggies rollin', rawhide

That is so funny... and so very close to what I was thinking for Wayfarer's theme song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ov4epAJRPMw

I've been working on A Faerunian version for a few weeks now.

I was toting my pack along the long dusty Trade Way road
When along came a draft cart with a high canvas covered load
If your goin' to Boarsekyr Bridge, Mack with me you can ride
And so I climbed into the front and then I settled down inside
He asked me if I'd seen a road with so much dust and sand
And I said, "Listen! I've traveled every road in this here land!"

I've been everywhere, man
I've been everywhere, man
Crossed the deserts bare, man
I've breatherd the mountain air, man
Travel, I've had my share, man
I've been everywhere


I've been to ...

Urmlaspyr,
Dragonspear,
Mulsantir,
Soubar
Uthmere,
Ironspur
Reddansyr
and Hluthar
Koltar,
Arrabar,
Voonlar
Daerloon
Yartar
Adbar
Soubar
and Saerloon

Scardale
Shadowdale
Harrowdale
Featherdale
Channagate
Baldur's Gate
Hardcastle
Tethyr Castle

I've been everywhere, man.

dergon darkhelm wrote:

ayergo wrote:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KPplYp7K7M

I've been to ...

Urmlaspyr,
Dragonspear,
Mulsantir,
Soubar
Uthmere,
Ironspur
Reddansyr
and Hluthar
Koltar,
Arrabar,
Voonlar
Daerloon
Yartar
Adbar
Soubar
and Saerloon

Scardale
Shadowdale
Harrowdale
Featherdale
Channagate
Baldur's Gate
Hardcastle
Tethyr Castle

I've been everywhere, man.[/i]

Hmmm.... no Undermountain on that list.

The Troll Mountains, near to Three Trees Pass, The Vast, 1378 DR


A Gate into Darkness

The Riders of the West Wind had arrived by ship landing in Calaunt just after midsummer. They quickly made their way up the River Vesper using dug-out war canoes that were commonly used to ferry goods and people from the prospecting village of King’s Reach, near the headwaters that spilled from the wild Earthspur mountains.

Lothellian Caevian led a score of the Riders out from King’s Reach on foot with some haste. While encamped at Selgaunt in the Spring, the leader of the Riders had been secretly passed papers detailing some disturbance in a portal in the Troll Mountains of the Vast.

The portal was supposedly controlled by an ancient fey being who would only consult passage when Selune waxed. But now, according to the intelligence obtained by the Riders, the safe-keepers of gates and portals, the passage had gone dead. Lothellian suspected that perhaps the feywarden had been captured or, as rarely occurred, abandoned its post or had died. The group would need to investigate and learn of the situation.

Even in summer, the winds were chill as they climbed toward The Trees Pass. Following a map, and with Lothellian’s knack for divining the location of gates and other planar disturbances, the group turned south and into a misty valley, thick with woods, seemingly undisturbed for ages.

They made their forward through the dense woods of the valley as the shadows grew in the late afternoon. As evening approached the mist rolled in and a gloom set to the woods. Mordrik Cragbiter, their dwarven scout, raised a hand for all to come to a halt. He pointed ahead to a moss covered smooth stone wall with a simple door cut in.




As night fell and Selune cast dappled light onto the forest floor, Li’Teriel spoke a number of chants using a dozen or more strange languages, hoping to coax out the Feywarden. An hour passed. Then two. But still nothing. Thinking the Gate now abandoned Lothellian began to work magic to divine its nature. He would slowly analyze the dweomer of the portal to determine the place (or plane) to which it led, its activation words or items.

It was almost middle night and Lothellian was uncharacteristically agitated. He had attempted everything but his efforts yielded no knowledge. The gate could not be opened. It did not even register more than the faintest of magics. It was as if it had gone cold …. Dark.

Lothellian Caervian sat down heavily. Some of the Riders nipped at flasks. Others began to doze off.

Almost unnoticeably slowly, a thick band of cloud began to pass overhead. Selune’s light diminished almost imperceptibly.

It was Mordrik who first noticed something was not well. He struck a flint to light his pipe and … the flame gave off no light! Just at that same moment the clouds coalesced overhead into a black mass. All light was snuffed out in absolute darkness.

“Ware!” The dwarf called out, but not quickly enough.

The temperature dropped suddenly as pouring out of the portal came a flow of shade creatures, bringing the chill of night with them. From the edges of the woods a few shuriken came hurtling in.

It was chaos. The Riders of the West Wind were caught wholly off guard. Screams were coming from all about as Riders fell. Li’Teriel was able to chant and bring enough light to counter the darkness, but by that time a dozen Riders had already fallen. Wayfarer saw a woman in dark robes standing near the gate, a purple and black disc adorned on her chest.




The battle was going poorly. It would be the end of them all if creatures continued through the gates.

Lothellian, already wounded, seemingly rended by an unseen maw, forced himself forward into the threshold of the portal. The Priestess began a chant waving her arms toward the leader of the Riders, but she would be too late. From a small pouch, Lothellian pulled forth a silver globe.

For Wayfarer time seemed to slow for just that moment. He met eyes with his mentor as the elf raised the silver globe over his head.

“Sunder!” Lothellian through the globe to the ground.

Wayafarer saw a great eruption of white light. He could see the blast wave pulverize the portal. He could see the shadow creatures burn in flameless heat. Then, as if he had been kicked in the chest by a dozen horses at once he went flying backwards, his head cracking against a the trunk of darkwood tree.


And everything went black.

Very nice!

1 Marpenoth, 1379 DR, Khelb Village, Nether Mountain foothills


A Long Road Travelled






Wayfarer sat on the back of the cart, his knees dangling over and his back propped up against the duskwood casket that had been his cargo for over a year.

Revelers were still sleeping in the town square, the Highharvestide festival having gone from early morning the prior day through the night. Many casks of ale had been tapped and no fewer than 10 wild boars had been put to the spit for roasting.

It had been a night of celebration. The harvest had been good this year, boding well for the long winter in the North. Already a chill was in the air and light frost coated the ground in the dawn hours. Wayfarer however, had mostly watched the festival from afar, preferring quiet contemplation to the excitement of the crowd and games and minstrels.

The now long-bearded big man, unkept from many months on the trail, was mostly lost in his own dark thoughts.

__________

The last year had been long and trying for Trailyn Krast. The Riders of the West Wind had been sundered in a vicious attack by agents of the Night Maiden back near the Earthspurs. There had been only 5 survivors out of nearly three score who served as Shaundakul’s portal guards. In order to save those few, their leader, Lothellian Caervian, had perished, falling through a portal to some dark place beyond, but destroying both the gate and the Sharrans in the process.

Wayfarer would be both haunted and amazed by visions of that final selfless act by his friend and mentor that gifted him his life. Decades into the future, the big warrior would close his eyes and see Lothellian’s last deed, meeting his eyes one last time before he passed into the abyss.

But it hadn’t been all rumination. There had been much work to do as well. It had taken more than a month to recover the fallen Riders and bring their bodies back down the to the port of Calaunt. The 5 survivors decided that they would complete the ritual of “Blazing the Final Trail” with each of the fallen, taking them to their desired last resting place if known, or a fitting place of tribute if such hadn’t been specified in life. They spent most of their coin to have the bodies salted and placed in repose by a priest in Calaunt. The remainder was used booking passage on multiple ships bound for various ports on the Sea of Stars and then beyond.

For months, the five Riders travelled together along with the fallen, bearing them one by one to the places of their births; small villages and big cities, forest glades and riverside cottages. There were those that wished to be burnt on pyres and set down rivers, or to have their ashes tossed to the wind from atop a high hill, or be set under a great tree in the depths of a forest where no man’s foot had fallen.

They pressed their luck into 1379 running westward through the Dragonmere to Suzail after Midwinter’s winds had turned fierce and the Sea roiled with great rolling waves. They crossed the Stormhorns in winter, having to dig out from snow banks as tall as giants, still with over two dozen of the fallen yet to make it to their final rest.

Finally the five made Scornubel as the month of Tarsakh began. The River Chionthar was swollen with melt water and the caravans were already coming and going in great numbers along the trading routes. It was here that the Riders of the West Wind would finally go their separate ways. From this crossroads one survivor would head along the road to take the last of the fallen. Some were bound for Amn, others for Calimsham. One had wished to join his Helmite father, from whom he had been estranged, in the jungles of Maztica. Malzeprop Flazebloop would return to Lantan with his gnomish kin. Each drew lots.

Wayfarer, it was determined, would go north with just one of the fallen. Mordrick Cragbiter, the dwarven scout, would be taken to Citadel Adbar to rest forever in the halls of his kin. His was the furthest path, but Trailyn took the task willingly. He would bear the casket north along the Trade Way, joining various drovers and caravaneers along the way.

He boarded a riverboat to make Yartar on the Dessarin. He joined a travelling troupe of tinkers making the long road onward to Silverymoon, arriving just after the Autumnal equinox. Then it was just a short few days to Khelb at Highharvestide.

It had been a journey longer than the roads most men travelled in a lifetime. And it was not completed yet.


Wayfarer shook himself out his introspection and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that simmered on the smoky wood fire. The village was awakening. The soldiers of the Confederation Fourth Phalanx were mustering, readying for their trek north and east.

Snow was already flying in Silverymoon Pass. The giants would soon come out of from the remote high peaks. Wayfarer was glad to be travelling with the heavy military escort and was happy to make a fast pace to Sundabar.

It had already been more than a year on trail and there was yet more to be done.

Trailyn Wayfarer Krast finished his coffee, splashed a bit of cold water on his face and made himself ready for the trail. The Riders may be no more, but he had learned much in this last year about being a servant of Shaundakul, the Traveler’s Friend.

Mama likes.

Very cool!

You should consider interposing some of the current events with the past reminiscing. Would be interesting to see Wayfarers thoughts on current goings on.

I'm sorry I never met this PC. Please come back!

Waterdeep, The Safehaven Inn, present day.

The big man ambled through the door letting in a crisp strong wind from the outside that turned the heads of the patrons and stirred up the embers in the fireplaces.

He smiled a bit as he looked about the common room, the wind still seeming blow his thick hair and long beard even after the door closed.


"Yep. It been an interesting journey this last year," he said to no one in particular, sitting down heavily into a chair near the fire.

"It's a real good story .... and I'm happy to tell ye all about it."