Prologue - Chronicles
Cold. It felt eternally cold to the man walking down the muddy path, guided only by a light in the distance and his own weakening lantern. The sound of mud squelching underneath his boots was the only sound piercing his ears through the rain and thunder.
Ravnere groaned to himself as he struggled along, cursing himself for choosing to walk. “It’s only half a day I told myself, I didn’t need a horse I told myself,” he chastised himself for his choice.
“By Hel’gin’s balls that damned Gnome better have not have swindled me or I’ll be going back to-” his voice cut short as he chose to not finish the sentence to himself, he was not much of a fighter and knew saying it out aloud to himself held no credibility. He gritted his teeth and marched on, tightening his cloak around himself.
The wind howled against him, providing no rest as it sought the gaps in his clothing. It was as if it held a soul of its own and that soul’s existence wanted him to feel naught but cold. He staggered for a second before muttering to himself, “and I should have bought a God’s forsaken enchanted cloak before leaving the fucking capital.”
The light shone brighter as he approached and he breathed a sigh of relief as a single thought came to his mind, ‘t least the Gnome wasn’t lying about where the Tavern was. His hand reached out towards the door, leaning against it for a second to rest as he felt the journey’s toll over the last hours washing over him.
He sighed and took a second to gain his composure before slamming his first into the door, feeling it give none. He pounded it again before shouting, “open up, I’m a traveller in need of respite, I have coin to pay!” Waiting a few moments, it felt like hours within the storm, before feeling movement behind from the door being unlocked. It opened, light peeking out from within the building and a gruff voice sounded to him through the storm “get in, fire’s freshly stoked and the mulled wine is on the stove.”
The opening widened and Ravnere hurried inside, not stopping to look at the one holding the door. He dropped the hood of his cloak down revealing short red hair and a freckled face, his sharp green eyes looking around the room he’d entered. A standard affair for a tavern, he thought to himself, warmer than Hel’gin’s domain out there at least.
A shiver ran down his body and he moved to the fireplace that was to the right of the counter, stripping his cloak from his body to hang on the drying line beside it. The smell of stewing meat and warmed wine filled his nostrils as he took a closer look around the room. A very basic tavern, he bemused. A modest entrance that lead to the bar counter with a stove and kitchen utilities, a fireplace to the right of it with a large tapestry hanging above it. Seating for around thirty people at most between the two areas. Modest, Ravnere thought to himself.
He noticed a few people sitting alone, a group of four patrolmen sitting near the entrance as well as a group of two larger humanoids and a slender figure hunched over speaking in hushed tones. Not a busy day, he thought to himself. But then again, why would it be, with this storm.
“Here,” Ravnere was pulled from his thoughts as a large tray was presented to him, a large hand half the size of the tray holding it. The gruff voice of the owner spoke again, “food will help you warm yourself, we can discuss price after you don’t look like an ice troll’s next meal.”
A bowl of stew, fresh bread and a cup of warm spiced wine. Ravnere could only nod and take the tray before sitting in a chair in front of the fire and opposite the counter as he heard a voice call out, “Levi’s got the best bread ‘round, you’d best be enjoying that luxury brother!” followed by a chuckle from the group of four patrolmen. The fatigue from the journey set in as he enjoyed his meal and he found himself leaning back against the chair with only a single thought, yeah… This bread is pretty good.
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His rest was interrupted, a crash woke him up followed by a shout, “you’d best be doing what we tell you, keep. We can play this the easy way or you can bleed all over your counter.”
His eyes shot open, his years training drills in the military kicking in as his hand reached for the knife on his belt only to find emptiness. As he looked around Ravnere met eyes with one of the large humanoids, standing roughly seven feet tall and with a slight blue tone to his skin, a northern half-orc?
His eyes travelled down and saw the massive weapon in his hand, an orcish axe, a small handle with roughly four feet of questionably sharp iron in the shape of an axe head - designed more for battering your opponents to death. A traditional weapon among the northern tribes of orcs. He then noticed on the half-orc’s belt his own knife, damn it all, Tohr’on have I not paid enough tithe? Invoking the name of the Goddess of War in his lamentations.
The blue tinted half-orc regarded him simply before his lips split apart revealing his sharper than regular human teeth as a single finger came to his lips motioning at the man to hush. “Grogdin, how’s our new friend?”
“Awake,” he answered simply with a thick accent as footsteps approached from behind the man now trapped in his seat. The figure came around in an almost gentle saunter before dropping down in a low squat in front of him. Green eyes rose up to meet pure black pupils, a common trait of the half-elves of the north, a Fellspin?
“Now, now my new found friend, you have truly gone and chosen the worst day you could to visit this here place, haven’t you?” the man with black pupils looked him over before asking, “name, now.”
“Ravnere, I’m just a simple chronicler.”
“A chronicler, hm?” he responded in a low husky voice. “Licence, now.”
Ravnere slowly moved his hand to his breast pocket, maintaining eye contact with the Northerner the entire time before unbuttoning the pocket and pulling out his Chronicler’s Slate. A singular piece of carved umbrite with his chronicler’s insignia on it, he handed it to the northerner who looked over it closely.
“No family name?” The two men met eyes and Ravnere nodded. He was orphaned after The Ascension War with the Fellspins, people of The Fellsp. The northerner regarded him before standing straight and giving him a simple command, “stand, turn and walk towards the bar.”
Ravnere wasted no time doing what he was told, looking around he could see the four patrolmen being watched over by another large red tinted half-orc with a weapon known as a hullcrusher at his side. A hunk of iron that is used for breaking down fortifications or tearing apart buildings, a less than savoury way of going out if I say so, Ravnere thought to himself.
The tavernkeep’s eyes met Ravnere’s and he could swear he saw a small smile curled at the corner of his lips hidden betwixt his thick black and grey tipped facial hair. His blue eyes shone with a small mirth as Ravnere walked up and joined him behind the counter, “both hands on the bar or you’ll be having no hands soon.”
Ravnere did as instructed and put his hands on the counter beside the tavernkeep. He noticed the difference in the size of their hands and a number of small scars accumulated from what looked like years of fighting. Well a lot of the old soldiers did retire to more peaceful lives after the war, he thought to himself. He looked around and saw two smaller men at the door, both holding loaded crossbows pointed at the counter.
The tavernkeep spoke quietly, “boy, just do as they say and we’ll be fine.” Ravnere could only nod in a small acknowledgement before the large man again spoke in a much louder and deeper tone. “What is it that you northborn one’s want? Money? You can take it all. Blood? You can have mine but leave the rest alone.”
His words were measured and Ravnere felt a calm reassurance from the man’s presence. The Fellspin in charge of the northern one’s slowly stepped in front of them with a look of glee across his face before staring into Ravnere’s eyes and saying one word, “slaves.”
Slaves? Ravnere’s thoughts circled, we’re barely a half day walk from the capital and they came this close to look for slaves? Are they desperate? Stupid? I… his thoughts trailed off and his eyes met with the half-elf’s. The look of confusion across Ravnere’s face made the half-elf in front of him only chuckle before he spoke again in an almost sinister tone.
“Slaves, yes, peculiar isn’t it for we’re right beside the capital are we not?” he held up a dagger with a slight blue tint to it before slamming it down into the counter, barely missing the tavernkeep’s hand. “I’ll say only this, you capital folk sure do sell for a lot more than the regular ones on the border towns, a prized commodity for the war chiefs of The Fellsp! And you, keep!” his eyes regarded the large man up and down, “yes you will be one of our greatest prizes yet, a man who can rival nearly an orcling in size!”
Ravnere recognised the phrase Orcling as one the Fellspins use to denote half-orcs from true Orcs. Oft looked down upon they make for great slavers in other lands due to their ability to fit in with most humanoid races.
“And you, Chronicler, will be sold to the highest bidder to tell the stories of war chiefs and alike, that is if they don’t take one look at you and use your bones for toothpicks,” the northerner laughed to himself as he stepped back and looked over at the patrolmen. “Sadly, we can’t move with too many of you, so we’ll be killing two.”
He nodded to the half-orc standing over them as he reached for his hullcrusher before a roar of laughter erupted from beside Ravnere, the tavernkeep’s mouth wide open as his laugh thundered almost in rhythm with the storm outside. The half-orc’s movement stopped midway and he looked at the half-elf with confusion.
Ravnere became acutely aware of the man he was standing beside as all eyes in the room focused in their direction. A man standing over six feet tall, dwarfing Ravnere in both height and stature. He could see the hint of muscle underneath his clothing and apron, small scars on his face and neck told a story of a man who’d seen a thousand battles. He hadn’t even flinched or moved when the dagger was struck a hair's breadth away from his hand. No, thought Ravnere, this man is’n-
His thoughts were soon cut off as the northerner quickly stepped back towards them and in a single motion pulled the knife from the counter and made to slash across the larger man’s chest. The knife never made contact. In an instant the tavernkeep’s hand reached out and grabbed the northerner’s collar before pulling him forward slamming his face into the counter and crushing his jaw, the room filled with a sickening crunching noise as it broke. In the same movement as releasing him the keep grabbed the knife now dropping from the northerner’s hand and threw it at the man to the left of the entrance, hitting him hard enough to slam his body back into the wall before slumping down.
The second crossbow holder panicked and loosed his shot at the tavernkeep, the bolt travelling not towards him but off course towards Ravnere. He didn’t even have time to react as the keep’s hand flung out and caught the bolt. He spun slightly and angled towards the blue half-orc standing by the fireplace before pulling back and launching it at him, hitting him in the left shoulder. A shout of rage filled the room as the half-orc lost his footing for a second to the pain.
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He pulled his orcish axe from resting on the ground and charged at the keep, ignoring Ravnere in the way, who felt himself lifted and moved aside with a “out of the way!” as the keep grabbed a butchers knife from the bench behind him and threw it with pinpoint accuracy at the half-orc’s chest, piercing directly into his heart. His voice shut off almost instantly as he slumped to the ground dead.
The red tinted half-orc watching over the patrolmen by the entrance screamed in rage and pulled his hullcrusher from his side, preparing to swing it across the four people in front of him before looking up and stopping mid swing. A look of terror crossed his face and the dull thud of his heavy weapon hitting the floor could be heard. Ravnere looked up at the tavernkeep and saw him staring directly at half-orc, teeth bared and his eyes ablaze with what Ravnere could only surmise to be power.
The half-orc fell to the floor, froth forming at the corners of his mouth as he fell unconscious. The sound of the door shutting cut through the silence after the half-orc dropped and Ravnere looked up to see the second crossbowman had escaped out the front door.
The sound of a sigh broke the silence as Ravnere looked up at the tavernkeep, not even a single sweat was broken by him in the entire ordeal, his eyes looked around the room as he collected himself before he addressed the patrolmen, “when the storm breaks, go tell Captain Valgar that Levi needs help disposing of some slavers for me, would ya?”
They could only nod as the Keep turned to Ravnere and simply said, “if you help me clean up, I won’t charge you meal or stay.”
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Ravnere has spent his fair share of time in taverns over the years, even offering to help clean up after numerous brawls in exchange for a free night's rest… This was the first time he’d had to clean up multiple dead in one night. The half-elf and half-orc with the hullcrusher still yet lived and were currently tied and awaiting pickup from the local militia captain. They spoke not a word after waking and only offered glares, the half-elf’s face a mess of blood from his mouth.
It had been over in less than fifteen seconds, Ravnere had estimated. From the moment the knife was swung at the Keep to the moment the door shut behind the running crossbowman, it had taken a single man fifteen seconds to take down two half-orcs and three other men. Ravnere’s curiosity was piqued.
He chose to say nothing and instead look around the tavern as he cleaned, ruminating on the name he heard earlier, Levin. He couldn’t be sure but he felt something scratching at the back of his mind telling him he’d heard this name before. As he shifted turned over chairs back to their original spacing he looked around the walls for any sort of hint, only seeing small pieces of war memorabilia around, a sword on the wall, a suit of armour in the corner, a tapestry above the fireplace. In hindsight, he thought to himself, they were fools for not doing their research.
Ravenere looked around and saw a tapestry above the fireplace. Seven people woven into its intricate details, Ravnere had now assumed to be old war buddies of the keep. He looked closer at the tapestry, something about it further scratched the itch in the back of his head, the seeking of knowledge his entire life had come to be, he felt he was close to something. Levin.
He stood now focusing the tapestry and taking in all of its details, he saw the tavernkeep standing with a proud smile to the left of centre, adorned in jet black armour with a crest of a wolf across his chest, a large sword hung from his back. To his right stood a man slightly shorter in stature but standing just as firmly in silverish armour, a crest of a raven across his chest. His sandy blonde hair hung just above his eyes and his smile beamed bright even through the piece of art. A shield and spear could be seen mounted on his back.
To the blonde haired man’s right stood two women, one with red hair down to her waist in a green tunic befitting an adventuring party, a white bow slung over her shoulder and a small smile crossing her lips. She was a slender petite figure, her pale skin nearly reflective in the sunlight. To her left stood another woman with black hair cut in a bob, her hands on her hips as a magnificent staff with an orange gem stood in the ground beside her, a flowing black dress more fitting of a royal gala hugging tight to her darker skin.
To the keep’s left stood two people, one towering over even the keep himself with arms outstretched behind the group, reaching nearly across the two men to his right. Ravnere recognised this person as one of the race of Krugg, a person said to be born of the stone of mountains. Their smile beamed almost as wide as the blonde man in the centre, their only facial feature being the blackened cracks against their pale skin normal to the race.
To the left of the krugg stood a man about half his height with a small sheepish smile, black hair tied back into a neat ponytail, a grey cloak covering most of his white tunic. A small sword rested on his waist barely revealed with his arms crossed in front of him. His skin was of a slightly blue tint, common of certain types of half-orcs.
Kneeling on the ground in front of all of them was a man not wearing any armour but instead a royal coat and a majestic crown on his head. Large red eyes regarded the artist with mirth. His brown hair hung loose on the sides of his face as he held onto an almost impossibly beautiful black sword, tip placed in the ground. His sunkissed bronzed skin showing his heritage to be that of the southern nations. Ravnere noticed the background of the tapestry was the front of Lakealm Palace and his lips curled into a smile.
Turns out the gnome wasn’t lying after all. He thought to himself.
The sound of footsteps approaching him brought him out of his thoughts as he heard the tavernkeep’s voice, “that there as you may know is former King Thav’in Lakealm, heir to the Empire of Solun to the south.” His voice rang deep as he spoke, “his brother Toma was the one who painted the original that hangs in the palace today.”
“You’re referring to the Brother Kings of Lakealm?” Ravnere’s question was met with a nod as he turned to look at the man towering above him. “You refer to them awfully casually, don’t you? Thav’in passed nearly fourty years past.”
The tavernkeep chuckled as he grabbed a cup that was pushed over in the commotion and set it on a nearby table before saying, “aye, that he did.”
Ravnere regarded the man and asked, “then if I’m not mistaken that makes you Levin the Black Wolf of Hintarias?” His voice almost shook as he said the words, realising that standing in front of him was what most would call a living legend of the past era.
“Aye, that I am, chronicler.”
“It is an honour to meet you, sir.” Ravnere bowed deeply to the man before saying, “I am chronicler Ravnere, I have come here to mee-” his words were cut off as the door to the tavern suddenly opened and a figure in full plate walked in, a feminine voice shouting “Levi! We got word about some slavers?”
“Aye, Valgar! Some alive and some not so alive,” he spoke and pointed at the two tied up near the counter. “The half-elf’s the leader but I don’t think he’s in much of a speaking mood. One of them escaped but judging by how unprepared they were dealing with just one old tavernkeep I’d suggest you’ll catch him on the road sooner rather than later.”
The half-elf’s head snapped around to Levin as he tried to speak but only a pained muffling came from him trying to speak through his broken jaw. He scowled at the Black Wolf before slumping in defeat.
Valgar gave orders to her patrol unit and they set about removing the bodies as she walked up to Levin, “and what about this one?” she pointed at Ravnere as she took her helmet off and set it on the counter.
“A chronicler, caught in the crossfire.”
“Licence?” she asked as she turned to Ravnere who produced it for her. She pulled a piece of umbrite from her waist satchel and held it over the licence, a faint blue light produced between the two stones. “What brings you here, chronicler Ravnere?”
“The pursuit of knowledge of eras past, I want to learn all I can about The Ruined King,” he answered honestly. At this point I have nothing to lose, he thought to himself. “The historical records we have of him in the Great Library of Consin are incomplete and I’d gotten a tip off about someone who may have more information about those times,” he indicated to Levin.
Valgar handed his licence back to him after checking its authenticity and nodded. “A most noble reason, be careful getting back on the road.” Putting her helmet back on she walked to the door with her patrol before looking back, “hopefully that’s all for your troubles today, Levi.”
“Aye, come by next time you’re off patrol and I’ll have a drink and feed ready for you Valgar,” Levin gave a gentle wave before turning to Ravnere. “The Ruined King?”
Ravnere nodded, “yes, the records from that time are… incomplete at best and outright wrong at worst. I’m currently seeking to fix that.” Levin’s gaze held against him as he continued speaking, “I didn’t know where to start but had a tip about a former adventurer turned tavernkeep who might know something.”
Levin turned to look back at the tapestry, crossing his arms as he did. Ravnere spoke again, “if you’d rather not speak of those times, I understand. However, I believe you might know something of the eras of the past and I want to make sure that the history we have is accurate.”
“Ravnere, yes?” the younger man nodded affirmatively. “How would you feel about helping out around here in exchange for a free room and food?”
The younger man was taken aback by the question, “with all due respect sir Levin, may I ask why?” His face moulded into a quizzical expression.
“You’re earnest and honest, more than you can ask of most people. My partner will be on a trip for at least another three months and I could use another pair of hands around here. I can’t promise any gold for payment but I can pay you with stories of ages past, how useful they’d be to you I can’t say.”
Ravnere composed himself before next speaking, wanting nothing more than to cheer in victory. “Sir Levin, I would be honoured to chronicle your adventures, if you would allow me.” His words could barely hide the joy he felt in this moment, all the efforts he’d put in had finally paid off. He’d finally found his first lead.
“Well first off let’s write this down then,” Levin turned, put his hand on Ravnere’s shoulder and with a smile said, “my friends call me Levi.”
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Ravnere sat at the counter opposite Levin. He pulled parchment and a chronicler’s quill from inside his cloak and set his licence on top of the counter. He placed his quill over the licence and incanted a small enchantment, a faint blue light radiating from his licence to his quill indicating he’d cast correctly before he placed the quill on the parchment and sat back.
“So you channel through the licence to enchant your quill, I take it?” Levin looked bemused at Ravnere before pulling up a stool and sitting. “Quite a bit different from how chronicler’s worked back then.”
“It’s a fairly basic enchantment that allows me to inscribe words immediately from thought into my licence to transpose later to a chronicler’s keepsake. The paper is for note taking.”
“Never was one for magic myself,” Levin grinned slightly as he poured himself a drink. “One for you?”
“No thank you, sir. I’d like to keep a clear mind during this, with respect.”
Levin nodded, taking a deep drink from his mug. It had taken them a couple of hours to clean up the mess caused by the slavers' attempt on them and no other customers had shown up due to the storm outside and they decided to take this time to begin the process. He let out a sigh of satisfaction after finishing the cup before turning to Ravnere and saying, “where would you like to start then, boy?”
“Your name, age and any other pertinent information about you,” Ravnere took a sip of his tea, “smolderleaf tea?”
“Aye, a friend comes through once a year to deliver it. Nothing quite beats the taste of Solun smolderleaf,” he spoke as Ravnere nodded to him. “My name is Levin the Black Wolf of House Sheersea. This coming solstice I will be sixty and eight years of age. I own The Lupine and Rabbit Tavern and was accompaniment to King Thav’in during his time of rule. Is that fine?”
Ravnere nodded, “yes, thank you.” He jotted down some notes on his parchment before continuing, “would you be able to tell me the first time you and your companions heard rumours of the Second Coming of Ruination?”
“Ah, someone’s done their research haven’t they,” Levin smirked at Ravnere before continuing, “that would be… Yes, that would be on the border of Fellsp and Hintarias in the Black Stone Valley when we uncovered the first Whispers of Vordis. This was five years before Vordis’s Ascension.”
“Could you go into more detail on this first incident?” Ravnere jotted down another note then looked up at Levin, excitement barely hidden on his face. Levin merely chuckled lightly to himself before continuing.
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