First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player:
Hi, my name is Raphael. I've recently got back into WoW, been playing on a few private servers over the last year, looking but unfortunately failing to find any active RP, then I came across this wonderful place. I'm a musician and songwriter and keen on a little amateur writing on the side.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I'm from Ireland, home of the leprechauns. I speak English as a first language.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
Played from it's release until Wrath, then took a break. The newer expansions have not really appealed to me that much and my old RP clan are lost to the winds so I no longer play retail. I do play on a private vanilla server but alas it has no roleplay community which is really what makes me want to log on.
How did you find us? Did anything in particular draw you to the server?:
Google. I have been searching for a few months for a dedicated RP community but could not seem to find one. Suddenly this place came up on top of my latest google search.
Reading a little on the forums, peoples stories and so fourth, has given me a desire to join and be a part of the community here.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I enjoy it to varying degrees in all directions, at different times. A relaxing tavern/parkbench setting, overall story-arcs and one off craziness, RP-PvP events (when they are nicely organised and everyones in the spirit of the event). But mainly interaction with others regardless of setting.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
I have a fondness for hunter's and druids, not strictly the game classes. More I like characters that fend for themselves, take on the hunt and have an affinity with animals. As an extension of this I do like the big taurens but I have no particular race preferences.
What are your expectations of this server?:
Enjoyment. I look forward to both creating and being a part of other peoples stories and character development and having somewhere to hang out and spin tales.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
"Conquest of the Horde is a tightly-knit community, and we actively promote respect". I was pretty much sold when I read that.
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!:
He never did understand himself. Wren had always been good at his job, it was just about the only thing he was ever really good at. That eased his mind. For not everyone has the stomach to go on the hunt for terrible things.
Wren had arrived in Estlin not long before dawn and already, at barely noon, news of the arrival of a stranger wandering in through the west gate had become common knowledge.
'Dressed in odd clothes he is!' whispered old Tamar to the visitors that had joined him at his post at the west gate.
'At first I had half a mind to ring the old warning bell, but I thought better of it as he approached. A dark figure at a distance, he had his cloak all gathered about him. Then I caught sight the bow slung at his back and began to panic. But as soon as he had reached the gate he made no move, he simply waited!'
'What did you do then?' asked one of his visitors, it was farmer Grach who lived not far from the gate and had joined the inquisition, leaving his son to tend to the crops.
'Well, I got curious didn't I, what with him not even so much as looking for someone to let him in,' replied Tamar, 'so I simply asked what he wanted.'
'I'd have rang the bell, you never know what sort are on the west roads these days!' said Tess Fallows, voicing the opinion of the older women, as she always did.
'What did he say?!' cried a few of the younger ones, obviously getting impatient with the old guard.
'All he said was, 'Bounty hunter' and I let him in...'
Bounty hunters were not well loved beyond the walls of the capital cities. They are considered, to put it lightly, bad news. But it would be more correct in saying that they followed bad news. Outside the safety of the big cities and the keeps, in the villages and towns throughout the land of Teralin, small groups of men would uphold the law. They would rally together at need to catch a local petty thief or hold back the wild beasts that ventured into their lands when hunger drove them. But sometimes this local militia aren't enough. There are many strange and dark things that live among the men in Teralin. There are goblins, dire beasts and any number of evil things that, for the most part, are nothing more than fairytale and legend. But every once in a while they venture out from their secret haunts. And for the past few decades they have been coming out of legend, out of old wives tales, and into local news.
Wren sat in the corner of the Scarecrow's Lot, a large inn considering the size of the village. Estlin was by no means a grand place, it had perhaps two dozen families living scattered within its meager walls. But most were farmers and herders, and they supplied quite a lot of produce to the neighboring towns and markets. It's own market was actually quite popular and most of the families could make do on the weekly visitors at week's end and rarely needed to bring their wares to other towns. Many of these visitors would stay till morning after storing their new purchases in the barn behind Scarecrow's Lot, sampling a few of its ales before bidding Ted Gayne, the landlord, many blessings and a goodnight.
He was reading a bill that had been posted on a crude notice board at the end of the bar. The Scarecrow was often visited by travelers making their way east thought the Flathian Forest. It was the last hospitable place before reaching Tolla, a strange little outpost built within the forest itself roughly ten miles from its western edge, and almost another fifteen until its end in the east. Beyond that road out of the forest, across the Tawny River and past Harlot and Vengil, lay Myric. Capitol of the South.
It was in taverns and inns that weary journeymen found and brought news. And anything of pressing urgency would be posted up for all to see, lest it be overlooked in drunken conversation or wary avoidance of strangers.
Gayne brought over a tankard to the newcomer, now sat a little off from the content fire opposite the bar. He sat it down and hesitated for a moment. His new guest seemed unaware of his presence.
'Perhaps not the finest ale west of the river,' he said, hoping for a response, 'but it's cold and I allow myself a little pride in it nonetheless.'
The hunter took himself away from his reading material to acknowledge his host. 'And fair I'm sure it is master Gayne, if Estlin is famous for nothing then the world forgets your hospitality at least.'
The old man smiled, clearly pleased with the compliment from a new face before he composed himself.
'Very kind you are indeed sire. It seems you know my name but I fear I cannot say the same of yours. And if I may be bold, how do you know it?'. He was by no means offended. As with many who stay within the confines of their birthplace, curiosity is hard to hide.
'I am Wren, Nycolai Wren. A hunter as you have probably guessed,' he gestured with the parchment in his hand, ' and as to how I know yours, I have come from Joko, three days journey west of here. Olad Crae spoke highly of your tavern as I was leaving his.'
'Olad Crae! Now there is a name and a face I almost forgot!' exclaimed Gayne. 'He used to stay here a whiles after collecting barley and the like for his brews from the Grachs' farm. I prefer young Tallin's crop these days but Olad still sends a boy every few weeks to pick up from Grach and his lad. Not that I've anything against his crop but you have to keep things fresh before your bar-flys begin to buzz around somewhere else, like Michs little pub down the road.'
Not wanting a history of his recipes and techniques on brewing, Wren raised a hand to the innkeep before he got going.
'Yes the very same. Not to be rude and interrupt the master in his own house, but I wouldn't mind a little time to look over things,' he said nodding to the page in front of him.
'Of course! I'll leave you in peace. I seem to be forgetting my own customers now.' He looked over at the bar where two men now stood looking at the pair by the fire, exchanging whispers and guesses.
With that the innkeep left Wren to his business. The hunter had thought well of the old man and was rather surprised by him. It was rare for anyone to speak so to a stranger traveling through such a close-knit community. Rarer still when, as Wren was sure of, the whole village was aware of his trade. But Gayne was about as pleasant a man as you could meet, which served him well in his line of work. Wren didn't give much weight to his own thoughts that the rest of the villagers would be as warm to him. He'd leave Estlin as soon as he could, he wasn't used to the ease with which he had talked to Gayne, he had even gave his name. He turned back to his new assignment.
What he gathered from the roughly scrawled writing seemed fairly straightforward. Three wagons bound from Estlin to the South Capitol had been waylaid not far into the forest. The men had been spared it seems, save for one of the boys who had gathered his mettle and attempted to fend his fathers wagon. He was rewarded with a broken leg and bruises from a beating he'd long remember. The bandits, at least five it said, had made off with two of the wagons carrying a harvest from three of the families of Estlin; cloth, various clothing and the horses that drew them. The third wagon was set on fire, most likely out of malice and to instill a little fear Wren thought. The families got together and offered a reward for the demise of the criminals. And a little extra depending on what could be returned. All said, 30 gold for the culprits, 4 for each wagon and horse returned.
It was hardly a spectacular reward. In fact the risk involved was quite high, for the price at least; 5 men (at least) and then the return of the goods. But work was scarce the past few moons, besides he was getting restless with nothing to hunt.
He mused for a while over another tankard, brought to him long before he had thought to ask for another, Gayne really knew how to treat his guests. With a final drain of his draught, Wren stood, folding the parchment away in a pouch on his belt, leaving a few coins and a tip for old Gayne as he left.
One of the men at the bar leaned over to the other, 'I guess he's taking the bounty then.'
Wren left out of the east gate of Estlin an hour after the noon sun. He was glad to find it open as he passed through, no need to make a spectacle of his departure. But many eyes followed him as he stocked up on a few dried meats and filled his water-skin at a small out-store not far from the Scarecrow. He wasn't so sure what remained of the outpost at Tolla, it had been many years since he passed that way through the forest, so he stocked up on enough to allow him to get to Harlot if needs be.
The forest was the fastest and most direct route that led from Harlot to Estlin, a road that was fairly well maintained because of this. But it had in the last few years become dangerous due to the increase of bandits and other dark things in Flathian forest. It was much safer to travel around it to the south where there were quite a few stops that can be made at villages and the Ungrod Keep which guarded the south west under the eaves of the forest and the mountain at its south. Tolla was little more than a hastily built fort that served as a way point for travelers and wagons. More importantly it was an attempt to keep the vagabonds out of the forest. But what good are heavily armed men from the South Capital tripping over roots should they go chasing thieves off the trail.
After leaving the eyes of the east gate's guard squinting behind him in the distance, Wren marched on the road at a fair pace. He had no use for a horse since he expected to find himself far into the forest's tangle at some stage in his journey. He had guessed that he most likely will find his bounty in the forest, but of that he was not certain. He could easily pick up the trail of horses being led off the main road, and the wagons' trail would be hard to disguise if they had managed to drag them through the trees. He'd keep an eye for them but he wished first to visit Tolla and learn what he can of the forest these days.
The road out of Estlin kept true east until the forests edge. There were few paths that led off the main road, most to farmlands that were in use still by the more hardy farmers of Estlin who had dared keep livestock beyond the second wall. There were even some who lived out in their own lands and came to the village when they felt like company or one of Gayne's cold ales. After two hours on the road these off shoots had became more and more of a rarity. Trees began to line the road on either side, sparsely at first, until slender trees twice the height of a man stood in watch over the road. The land became less tame and stony fields rolled back from the road and crashed into gray hills in the haze before the horizon. Ahead on the road the entrance to the forest could be seen, the door to Flathian. The leaves sharply drew over the open air between the soldiers that lined the road and inside only darkness loomed.
It was almost sundown by the time he had entered the forest. The road looked well tended, at least the little he had traveled into it. In the growing dark little could be seen beyond the roads edge, but Wren found that on the southern side it fell rather quickly down into a thicket of thorns and tall grasses. Not long after he had entered it he took north off the road and found a spot under a strong tree. The grass and moss beneath it was soft and pleasantly dry, so he started to make a camp for the night. He planned to reach Tolla not long after sunset the next day to see what was to be found.
Not having to search far, he gathered fallen dry wood and lit a fire. He ate with no great haste, the dry meats he had purchased before he left Estlin were filling if nothing more. He had also nibbled on what little berries and nuts he had in his belt pouch which he hoped to refill on his journey through Flathian. Though its presence was somewhat harrowing and its dark inhabitants rather unwholesome, the plants and bushes have no thought or desire of evil things and be it fruit, berry or nut; their spoils were as good as any to be found in the wider world.
With his meal finished, he unfurled out his bedroll and cast to one side his weapons, tucking his short knife under his head as he lay to sleep.
After a quick breakfast he made his way back to the road, which seemed to be further off than he had remembered it being. It was a few hours since dawn when he had set done the road, eager to make the Tolla outpost before nightfall. He was confident that that wouldn't be an issue, but many things may interrupt even the shortest of journeys so he pressed his feet onward. The forest wasn't as unpleasant as its reputation had been in recent years. The trees were not as dense yet as they would become deeper in the heart of the wood and the morning light eased in through the broken canopy above, settling a delicate amber glow over the road. The early dew still clung to the tall grass and the il`wen flowers that lined the road.
Fair in morning, never mourning,
Robed in starlight through the dawning
Red fair skies; taken back with painful cost
Lasting memory from our Il`wen lost
Wren remembered the tale of Il`wen as it was told to him in a tavern years ago. Kairne, a dwarf from the Assailed Mountain had had more than his share of drink in the Footman's Retreat back in Wren's hometown of Glithe and had been singing loudly and proud of his heritage and the glory of the dwarves before the Long Night. He sung of the il`wen flower that grew in the forests touched by the Won`ri who once had dwelt in the First Garden with the Elfin, far west of Teralin. They took the seed of the flower over the Poliko mountains from their great city of Il`wen to the forests of Teralin at the beginning of the Long Night when the Garden had fallen into darkness and the Elfin had disappeared. It is said that the Won`ri lived for a time in Flathian Forest, and that they planted seeds they carried from the Garden along the road they took. But in the Night nothing grew, so they tunneled beneath the earth and there it is said they remain, grieving the loss of their fair city.
And so it is now that the il`wen flowers line the road through Flathian, but the path the dwarves took deep in the wood before they buried themselves has never been found, no one has ever seen the ruby flower beyond the road.
Wren's thoughts were interupted by the sound of hooves up ahead on the road. He couldn't quite make out the number but he was sure it was more than one horse. The road bent sharply 300 yards ahead around an old oak tree and was obscured by the surrounding trees. He took quickly off the road up a steep hill on its north side. He struggled with his feet sinking deep in soft wet moss as he steadied himself on low hanging branches until he had made it over the top of the rise. He lowered himself between two trees with a clear view of the road as it wound in from behind the towering oak.
He suddenly felt he was being overly worried about an approaching sound coming from the road. Sure there were plenty of reasons a lone traveler should keep his wits sharp, especially in a forest where he was hunting a group of active criminals, but he couldn't imagine even they would be so bold as to travel on the road. With that thought, the tension in his body eased, and he watched with more interest than wariness as a wagon, pulled at a trotting pace by two silvery steeds, emerged with subtle grace into his view.
An odd sight for an odd time he thought. For the horses were clearly that of the Vespires; home to the Scholars of Hafar, the mages of Teralin. They bred these great gray steeds in the northern fields in the realm of Surij and like all things they coveted them only for themselves.
The wagon was stunning to behold. It was crafted from a pale ash wood, engraved into spiraling posts at its corners and along it panels were intricate designs and runes studded with delicate jewels that seemed to radiate more light than that which shone on them. Velvet drapes concealed its windows and the grand beasts that drew it did so without any aid, pulling along this precious thing, like a ghostly visage whispering through the wood. Though the wagon was ushered by no driver, a rear guard followed. I single rider upon a pinto horse. The rider followed almost 5 lenghts behind and seemed little interested in the wagon, looking around with curiosity. Often the rider would notice the growing distance from the wagon and start after it lightly, closing the gap. The rider was shod in leather, but their face was hidden under a light hood.
Wren began to relax, almost he felt an urge to get a closer look and give up the safety of the wood. But even as the desire to see more grew the small company had passed out of the forest, disappearing into the sun as it beamed through the forsest door.
Wren had relaxed at the sight just before he was grabbed from behind and felt a cold blade reach for his throat.
'Pretty prize for a thief, eh?' said a soft voice breathing into his ear. 'It might cost you more than you bargained for.'
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Forgive the length of the story, I hope it was worth the read and forgive it for not being in the Warcraft lore, I can write another it that suits better.
Hi, my name is Raphael. I've recently got back into WoW, been playing on a few private servers over the last year, looking but unfortunately failing to find any active RP, then I came across this wonderful place. I'm a musician and songwriter and keen on a little amateur writing on the side.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I'm from Ireland, home of the leprechauns. I speak English as a first language.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
Played from it's release until Wrath, then took a break. The newer expansions have not really appealed to me that much and my old RP clan are lost to the winds so I no longer play retail. I do play on a private vanilla server but alas it has no roleplay community which is really what makes me want to log on.
How did you find us? Did anything in particular draw you to the server?:
Google. I have been searching for a few months for a dedicated RP community but could not seem to find one. Suddenly this place came up on top of my latest google search.
Reading a little on the forums, peoples stories and so fourth, has given me a desire to join and be a part of the community here.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I enjoy it to varying degrees in all directions, at different times. A relaxing tavern/parkbench setting, overall story-arcs and one off craziness, RP-PvP events (when they are nicely organised and everyones in the spirit of the event). But mainly interaction with others regardless of setting.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
I have a fondness for hunter's and druids, not strictly the game classes. More I like characters that fend for themselves, take on the hunt and have an affinity with animals. As an extension of this I do like the big taurens but I have no particular race preferences.
What are your expectations of this server?:
Enjoyment. I look forward to both creating and being a part of other peoples stories and character development and having somewhere to hang out and spin tales.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
"Conquest of the Horde is a tightly-knit community, and we actively promote respect". I was pretty much sold when I read that.
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!:
He never did understand himself. Wren had always been good at his job, it was just about the only thing he was ever really good at. That eased his mind. For not everyone has the stomach to go on the hunt for terrible things.
Wren had arrived in Estlin not long before dawn and already, at barely noon, news of the arrival of a stranger wandering in through the west gate had become common knowledge.
'Dressed in odd clothes he is!' whispered old Tamar to the visitors that had joined him at his post at the west gate.
'At first I had half a mind to ring the old warning bell, but I thought better of it as he approached. A dark figure at a distance, he had his cloak all gathered about him. Then I caught sight the bow slung at his back and began to panic. But as soon as he had reached the gate he made no move, he simply waited!'
'What did you do then?' asked one of his visitors, it was farmer Grach who lived not far from the gate and had joined the inquisition, leaving his son to tend to the crops.
'Well, I got curious didn't I, what with him not even so much as looking for someone to let him in,' replied Tamar, 'so I simply asked what he wanted.'
'I'd have rang the bell, you never know what sort are on the west roads these days!' said Tess Fallows, voicing the opinion of the older women, as she always did.
'What did he say?!' cried a few of the younger ones, obviously getting impatient with the old guard.
'All he said was, 'Bounty hunter' and I let him in...'
Bounty hunters were not well loved beyond the walls of the capital cities. They are considered, to put it lightly, bad news. But it would be more correct in saying that they followed bad news. Outside the safety of the big cities and the keeps, in the villages and towns throughout the land of Teralin, small groups of men would uphold the law. They would rally together at need to catch a local petty thief or hold back the wild beasts that ventured into their lands when hunger drove them. But sometimes this local militia aren't enough. There are many strange and dark things that live among the men in Teralin. There are goblins, dire beasts and any number of evil things that, for the most part, are nothing more than fairytale and legend. But every once in a while they venture out from their secret haunts. And for the past few decades they have been coming out of legend, out of old wives tales, and into local news.
Wren sat in the corner of the Scarecrow's Lot, a large inn considering the size of the village. Estlin was by no means a grand place, it had perhaps two dozen families living scattered within its meager walls. But most were farmers and herders, and they supplied quite a lot of produce to the neighboring towns and markets. It's own market was actually quite popular and most of the families could make do on the weekly visitors at week's end and rarely needed to bring their wares to other towns. Many of these visitors would stay till morning after storing their new purchases in the barn behind Scarecrow's Lot, sampling a few of its ales before bidding Ted Gayne, the landlord, many blessings and a goodnight.
He was reading a bill that had been posted on a crude notice board at the end of the bar. The Scarecrow was often visited by travelers making their way east thought the Flathian Forest. It was the last hospitable place before reaching Tolla, a strange little outpost built within the forest itself roughly ten miles from its western edge, and almost another fifteen until its end in the east. Beyond that road out of the forest, across the Tawny River and past Harlot and Vengil, lay Myric. Capitol of the South.
It was in taverns and inns that weary journeymen found and brought news. And anything of pressing urgency would be posted up for all to see, lest it be overlooked in drunken conversation or wary avoidance of strangers.
Gayne brought over a tankard to the newcomer, now sat a little off from the content fire opposite the bar. He sat it down and hesitated for a moment. His new guest seemed unaware of his presence.
'Perhaps not the finest ale west of the river,' he said, hoping for a response, 'but it's cold and I allow myself a little pride in it nonetheless.'
The hunter took himself away from his reading material to acknowledge his host. 'And fair I'm sure it is master Gayne, if Estlin is famous for nothing then the world forgets your hospitality at least.'
The old man smiled, clearly pleased with the compliment from a new face before he composed himself.
'Very kind you are indeed sire. It seems you know my name but I fear I cannot say the same of yours. And if I may be bold, how do you know it?'. He was by no means offended. As with many who stay within the confines of their birthplace, curiosity is hard to hide.
'I am Wren, Nycolai Wren. A hunter as you have probably guessed,' he gestured with the parchment in his hand, ' and as to how I know yours, I have come from Joko, three days journey west of here. Olad Crae spoke highly of your tavern as I was leaving his.'
'Olad Crae! Now there is a name and a face I almost forgot!' exclaimed Gayne. 'He used to stay here a whiles after collecting barley and the like for his brews from the Grachs' farm. I prefer young Tallin's crop these days but Olad still sends a boy every few weeks to pick up from Grach and his lad. Not that I've anything against his crop but you have to keep things fresh before your bar-flys begin to buzz around somewhere else, like Michs little pub down the road.'
Not wanting a history of his recipes and techniques on brewing, Wren raised a hand to the innkeep before he got going.
'Yes the very same. Not to be rude and interrupt the master in his own house, but I wouldn't mind a little time to look over things,' he said nodding to the page in front of him.
'Of course! I'll leave you in peace. I seem to be forgetting my own customers now.' He looked over at the bar where two men now stood looking at the pair by the fire, exchanging whispers and guesses.
With that the innkeep left Wren to his business. The hunter had thought well of the old man and was rather surprised by him. It was rare for anyone to speak so to a stranger traveling through such a close-knit community. Rarer still when, as Wren was sure of, the whole village was aware of his trade. But Gayne was about as pleasant a man as you could meet, which served him well in his line of work. Wren didn't give much weight to his own thoughts that the rest of the villagers would be as warm to him. He'd leave Estlin as soon as he could, he wasn't used to the ease with which he had talked to Gayne, he had even gave his name. He turned back to his new assignment.
What he gathered from the roughly scrawled writing seemed fairly straightforward. Three wagons bound from Estlin to the South Capitol had been waylaid not far into the forest. The men had been spared it seems, save for one of the boys who had gathered his mettle and attempted to fend his fathers wagon. He was rewarded with a broken leg and bruises from a beating he'd long remember. The bandits, at least five it said, had made off with two of the wagons carrying a harvest from three of the families of Estlin; cloth, various clothing and the horses that drew them. The third wagon was set on fire, most likely out of malice and to instill a little fear Wren thought. The families got together and offered a reward for the demise of the criminals. And a little extra depending on what could be returned. All said, 30 gold for the culprits, 4 for each wagon and horse returned.
It was hardly a spectacular reward. In fact the risk involved was quite high, for the price at least; 5 men (at least) and then the return of the goods. But work was scarce the past few moons, besides he was getting restless with nothing to hunt.
He mused for a while over another tankard, brought to him long before he had thought to ask for another, Gayne really knew how to treat his guests. With a final drain of his draught, Wren stood, folding the parchment away in a pouch on his belt, leaving a few coins and a tip for old Gayne as he left.
One of the men at the bar leaned over to the other, 'I guess he's taking the bounty then.'
Wren left out of the east gate of Estlin an hour after the noon sun. He was glad to find it open as he passed through, no need to make a spectacle of his departure. But many eyes followed him as he stocked up on a few dried meats and filled his water-skin at a small out-store not far from the Scarecrow. He wasn't so sure what remained of the outpost at Tolla, it had been many years since he passed that way through the forest, so he stocked up on enough to allow him to get to Harlot if needs be.
The forest was the fastest and most direct route that led from Harlot to Estlin, a road that was fairly well maintained because of this. But it had in the last few years become dangerous due to the increase of bandits and other dark things in Flathian forest. It was much safer to travel around it to the south where there were quite a few stops that can be made at villages and the Ungrod Keep which guarded the south west under the eaves of the forest and the mountain at its south. Tolla was little more than a hastily built fort that served as a way point for travelers and wagons. More importantly it was an attempt to keep the vagabonds out of the forest. But what good are heavily armed men from the South Capital tripping over roots should they go chasing thieves off the trail.
After leaving the eyes of the east gate's guard squinting behind him in the distance, Wren marched on the road at a fair pace. He had no use for a horse since he expected to find himself far into the forest's tangle at some stage in his journey. He had guessed that he most likely will find his bounty in the forest, but of that he was not certain. He could easily pick up the trail of horses being led off the main road, and the wagons' trail would be hard to disguise if they had managed to drag them through the trees. He'd keep an eye for them but he wished first to visit Tolla and learn what he can of the forest these days.
The road out of Estlin kept true east until the forests edge. There were few paths that led off the main road, most to farmlands that were in use still by the more hardy farmers of Estlin who had dared keep livestock beyond the second wall. There were even some who lived out in their own lands and came to the village when they felt like company or one of Gayne's cold ales. After two hours on the road these off shoots had became more and more of a rarity. Trees began to line the road on either side, sparsely at first, until slender trees twice the height of a man stood in watch over the road. The land became less tame and stony fields rolled back from the road and crashed into gray hills in the haze before the horizon. Ahead on the road the entrance to the forest could be seen, the door to Flathian. The leaves sharply drew over the open air between the soldiers that lined the road and inside only darkness loomed.
It was almost sundown by the time he had entered the forest. The road looked well tended, at least the little he had traveled into it. In the growing dark little could be seen beyond the roads edge, but Wren found that on the southern side it fell rather quickly down into a thicket of thorns and tall grasses. Not long after he had entered it he took north off the road and found a spot under a strong tree. The grass and moss beneath it was soft and pleasantly dry, so he started to make a camp for the night. He planned to reach Tolla not long after sunset the next day to see what was to be found.
Not having to search far, he gathered fallen dry wood and lit a fire. He ate with no great haste, the dry meats he had purchased before he left Estlin were filling if nothing more. He had also nibbled on what little berries and nuts he had in his belt pouch which he hoped to refill on his journey through Flathian. Though its presence was somewhat harrowing and its dark inhabitants rather unwholesome, the plants and bushes have no thought or desire of evil things and be it fruit, berry or nut; their spoils were as good as any to be found in the wider world.
With his meal finished, he unfurled out his bedroll and cast to one side his weapons, tucking his short knife under his head as he lay to sleep.
***
The morning came at its own pace. The spring flora were still shaking of the night when Wren awoke. He had slept well, feeling rested when he rose, but a dream had troubled him. A fleeting memory of wandering in a dark place slipped through his thoughts as he tried to remember more, but nothing else sharpened in his mind. He let it fade, taking comfort from the fact that the forest and its inhabitants had left him in peace.After a quick breakfast he made his way back to the road, which seemed to be further off than he had remembered it being. It was a few hours since dawn when he had set done the road, eager to make the Tolla outpost before nightfall. He was confident that that wouldn't be an issue, but many things may interrupt even the shortest of journeys so he pressed his feet onward. The forest wasn't as unpleasant as its reputation had been in recent years. The trees were not as dense yet as they would become deeper in the heart of the wood and the morning light eased in through the broken canopy above, settling a delicate amber glow over the road. The early dew still clung to the tall grass and the il`wen flowers that lined the road.
Fair in morning, never mourning,
Robed in starlight through the dawning
Red fair skies; taken back with painful cost
Lasting memory from our Il`wen lost
Wren remembered the tale of Il`wen as it was told to him in a tavern years ago. Kairne, a dwarf from the Assailed Mountain had had more than his share of drink in the Footman's Retreat back in Wren's hometown of Glithe and had been singing loudly and proud of his heritage and the glory of the dwarves before the Long Night. He sung of the il`wen flower that grew in the forests touched by the Won`ri who once had dwelt in the First Garden with the Elfin, far west of Teralin. They took the seed of the flower over the Poliko mountains from their great city of Il`wen to the forests of Teralin at the beginning of the Long Night when the Garden had fallen into darkness and the Elfin had disappeared. It is said that the Won`ri lived for a time in Flathian Forest, and that they planted seeds they carried from the Garden along the road they took. But in the Night nothing grew, so they tunneled beneath the earth and there it is said they remain, grieving the loss of their fair city.
And so it is now that the il`wen flowers line the road through Flathian, but the path the dwarves took deep in the wood before they buried themselves has never been found, no one has ever seen the ruby flower beyond the road.
Wren's thoughts were interupted by the sound of hooves up ahead on the road. He couldn't quite make out the number but he was sure it was more than one horse. The road bent sharply 300 yards ahead around an old oak tree and was obscured by the surrounding trees. He took quickly off the road up a steep hill on its north side. He struggled with his feet sinking deep in soft wet moss as he steadied himself on low hanging branches until he had made it over the top of the rise. He lowered himself between two trees with a clear view of the road as it wound in from behind the towering oak.
He suddenly felt he was being overly worried about an approaching sound coming from the road. Sure there were plenty of reasons a lone traveler should keep his wits sharp, especially in a forest where he was hunting a group of active criminals, but he couldn't imagine even they would be so bold as to travel on the road. With that thought, the tension in his body eased, and he watched with more interest than wariness as a wagon, pulled at a trotting pace by two silvery steeds, emerged with subtle grace into his view.
An odd sight for an odd time he thought. For the horses were clearly that of the Vespires; home to the Scholars of Hafar, the mages of Teralin. They bred these great gray steeds in the northern fields in the realm of Surij and like all things they coveted them only for themselves.
The wagon was stunning to behold. It was crafted from a pale ash wood, engraved into spiraling posts at its corners and along it panels were intricate designs and runes studded with delicate jewels that seemed to radiate more light than that which shone on them. Velvet drapes concealed its windows and the grand beasts that drew it did so without any aid, pulling along this precious thing, like a ghostly visage whispering through the wood. Though the wagon was ushered by no driver, a rear guard followed. I single rider upon a pinto horse. The rider followed almost 5 lenghts behind and seemed little interested in the wagon, looking around with curiosity. Often the rider would notice the growing distance from the wagon and start after it lightly, closing the gap. The rider was shod in leather, but their face was hidden under a light hood.
Wren began to relax, almost he felt an urge to get a closer look and give up the safety of the wood. But even as the desire to see more grew the small company had passed out of the forest, disappearing into the sun as it beamed through the forsest door.
Wren had relaxed at the sight just before he was grabbed from behind and felt a cold blade reach for his throat.
'Pretty prize for a thief, eh?' said a soft voice breathing into his ear. 'It might cost you more than you bargained for.'
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Forgive the length of the story, I hope it was worth the read and forgive it for not being in the Warcraft lore, I can write another it that suits better.
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