Instead of taking the road back to Trefoille, Lyonesse convinced Trystan to head down the southern road toward the cliffside ruins of the Shadar Tor. “Much of the magic we learn in the academies of Dweomar is rooted in the ancient philosophies and practices originally established by the civilizations that came before our current societies,” the mage said rather proudly, though the wayfarer had a difficult time accepting that she’d be able to glean anything from a set of ruins. Then again, she had a way of surprising Hector since they met.
On their second day on the road, carriage and patrol traffic didn’t increase. However, there were more than the average number of passersby on the road. Refugees from Trefoille had set up tents and lean-tos along the side of the road, creating a small shanty town. When the pair stopped and chatted with several of the refugees, they learned that Marlock City was too hostile and expensive for them to attempt to start anew. “But Trefoille is being rebuilt,” Lyonesse explained with Trystan backing up her claims, “We spent the month clearing out the debris and helping to reestablish the roads so the structures, agriculture, and economy could be rebuilt. There’s still plenty of work to be done, and any able-bodied person is more than welcome to help.”
“So long as you’re willing to side with the general and his men,” one spiteful man stated, spitting at their feet. Both companions frowned as the irate man went on a rant about how the city had been pillaged by General Marlock’s army, and he would soon be imposing taxes on everything much like he did in the capital. Neither one of them tried to argue against his suspicions, knowing full well how terrible the taxes were in Marlock City. Not wanting to cause any trouble, they quietly excused themselves and continued on their way.
ROLL 1 DIE.
Score: 5 – Find a Lantern.
The following day, they reached the windswept cliffs that looked out upon the open sea. Lyonesse’s senses were overwhelmed by the ever-shifting air currents that mimicked those of the waves below, which she could hear crashing against the rocks. Seagulls called from the heights above, and her heart pounded in her chest when the mage had a difficult time gauging her surroundings through her usual heightened senses. So much so that she nearly tripped over a lantern that appeared to have been abandoned by the tor. Trystan could see the ancient pillar with its worn carvings of the language of the Shadar. “Are you sure you’ll be able to focus on these?” Trystan asked as the blind woman looked severely fatigued. “I can do this,” she whispered faintly as she placed her hands on the stone, her fingers tracing along the runic indentations. As she did so, he made sure to move the lantern out of his way, eventually attaching it to his gear.
MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11
The following day, they reached the windswept cliffs that looked out upon the open sea. Lyonesse’s senses were overwhelmed by the ever-shifting air currents that mimicked those of the waves below, which she could hear crashing against the rocks. Seagulls called from the heights above, and her heart pounded in her chest when the mage had a difficult time gauging her surroundings through her usual heightened senses. So much so that she nearly tripped over a lantern that appeared to have been abandoned by the tor. Trystan could see the ancient pillar with its worn carvings of the language of the Shadar. “Are you sure you’ll be able to focus on these?” Trystan asked as the blind woman looked severely fatigued. “I can do this,” she whispered faintly as she placed her hands on the stone, her fingers tracing along the runic indentations. As she did so, he made sure to move the lantern out of his way, eventually attaching it to his gear.
MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11
Lyonesse’s Magic Score: 6 + 3 + 1 = 10 – FAILED!
Lyonesse’s fingers danced along the runes for over an hour, but the wind currents that caused her robes and veil to billow about her, combined with the sound vibrations rising up from the ocean below, kept her from being able to focus. “There’s something here, I jus-” she shuddered before collapsing to the ground. Trystan quickly crouched down and checked her brow with the back of his hand. While she did not have a fever, she murmured that her senses were swimming, which made her feel dizzy. “Let’s get you out of here,” he suggested, pulling her arm over his shoulder and supporting her weight as the mage leaned against him.
While the road would have continued onto Trefoille, Trystan veered their journey away from the sounds of the craftsmen caravans and militia patrols. He felt this was the best way to help reset Lyonesse’s keen senses back to a state of neutrality after being so overwhelmed by the day spent at the Shadar Tor. As much as the ground was uneven and a little difficult for her to navigate at first, the blind mage appreciated his efforts to help her regain her focus and senses of the world around her. Each day they traveled off the road was a step closer to Lyonesse experiencing the wilderness in a way that a book could not fully describe.
This had been just a fraction of what she wanted to understand about the world, and Trystan’s guidance helped a lot.
They were roughly a day away from arriving at the gates of the rancid city known as Yellowport, based on what the blind mage’s keen sense of smell picked up on the wind. At Lyonesse’s request, they had returned to the cobbled road, mostly so they wouldn’t need to skirt along the walls of the city looking for the entrance. Trystan chuckled at the notion, though he supposed she’d rather look like the average commoner than a vagabond or wayfarer.
However, both heard the distinct sound of battle ahead. Trystan prepared his bow while Lyonesse drew her sword as they approached at a wary pace. As they drew closer, they caught sight of a lone man set upon by several bandits who had ambushed him. The tabard he wore over his chainmail bore no royal house or military emblem. His helmet crowned and encased his head, yet exposed his face for ease of sight. His sword’s blade was long, and the mage could sense that the runes inscribed upon it were enchanted. The young ranger could see that the warrior was not only skilled but far faster than what he expected of a normal mortal. The only other time he saw someone move with such speed was up on the top of Devil’s Peak.
Leaning in, he whispered into Lyonesse’s ear, “We may be in the presence of a demigod.” This caused her to gasp, for she could only vaguely sense the movements of the battle before them. The bandits fell before the veteran’s blade, and before long, another figure approached him. This time, it was a woman who had been traveling the road from the opposite direction. She had trimmed platinum-blonde hair and was dressed in crimson and black garments, accented by the golden gleam of her polished armor. “Your skills are undeniable,” she said, her tone impressed how blown away she had been to witness such a sight. “It is true, I have learned much about the arts of war in my time,” the grizzled man said as his steely grey eyes locked with her dark hues, one of which was framed by a knotted, ornate tattoo.
“I am anything but a squire back home, but I will don the title once more if it means you will take me on and train me in your ways,” the warrior woman said earnestly, determined to win over the battle-worn man’s favor. Just at a glance, Trystan, who was still at a safe enough distance away, could see that her sword held a bit of heft to it, yet there was no doubt that she could hold her own in a battle. The veteran war-campaigner could see it in her as well as his eyes steadily examined her form.
The air around them fell silent, and after the older warrior sized up the younger woman, he turned to acknowledge the wayfarer and mage’s presence. He stared at them for a time, causing the other warrior to adjust her stance so that she could see what, or more accurately who, her possible mentor was looking at. “Perhaps, if you can prove yourself worthy,” he finally stated as he returned his attention to the pale fighter. “Anything,” she agreed without thinking, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword as if ready to attack Trystan and Lyonesse if the man so wished it.
Thankfully, he didn’t. “There is a man of great evil, known as the Black Dragon Knight. Bring me his black dragon shield as proof of his valor, and I will train you,” he said resolutely before he started to walk away from the road, heading north. The woman looked at the duo, then back at the grim warrior walking away. “Where would I find him?” she said before calling after him, “Where do I find you?!” The older warrior smirked and snorted. “Should I kill him for you?” he retorted from over his shoulder. “Ask for Yanryt the Son at the Blue Griffon Tavern of Caran Baru,” he then responded to her second inquiry. Dark grey eyes widened in disbelief, for the younger fighter was an initiate of Tyrnai. Yanryt’s father and the god of war!
Lyonesse’s fingers danced along the runes for over an hour, but the wind currents that caused her robes and veil to billow about her, combined with the sound vibrations rising up from the ocean below, kept her from being able to focus. “There’s something here, I jus-” she shuddered before collapsing to the ground. Trystan quickly crouched down and checked her brow with the back of his hand. While she did not have a fever, she murmured that her senses were swimming, which made her feel dizzy. “Let’s get you out of here,” he suggested, pulling her arm over his shoulder and supporting her weight as the mage leaned against him.
While the road would have continued onto Trefoille, Trystan veered their journey away from the sounds of the craftsmen caravans and militia patrols. He felt this was the best way to help reset Lyonesse’s keen senses back to a state of neutrality after being so overwhelmed by the day spent at the Shadar Tor. As much as the ground was uneven and a little difficult for her to navigate at first, the blind mage appreciated his efforts to help her regain her focus and senses of the world around her. Each day they traveled off the road was a step closer to Lyonesse experiencing the wilderness in a way that a book could not fully describe.
This had been just a fraction of what she wanted to understand about the world, and Trystan’s guidance helped a lot.
They were roughly a day away from arriving at the gates of the rancid city known as Yellowport, based on what the blind mage’s keen sense of smell picked up on the wind. At Lyonesse’s request, they had returned to the cobbled road, mostly so they wouldn’t need to skirt along the walls of the city looking for the entrance. Trystan chuckled at the notion, though he supposed she’d rather look like the average commoner than a vagabond or wayfarer.
However, both heard the distinct sound of battle ahead. Trystan prepared his bow while Lyonesse drew her sword as they approached at a wary pace. As they drew closer, they caught sight of a lone man set upon by several bandits who had ambushed him. The tabard he wore over his chainmail bore no royal house or military emblem. His helmet crowned and encased his head, yet exposed his face for ease of sight. His sword’s blade was long, and the mage could sense that the runes inscribed upon it were enchanted. The young ranger could see that the warrior was not only skilled but far faster than what he expected of a normal mortal. The only other time he saw someone move with such speed was up on the top of Devil’s Peak.
Leaning in, he whispered into Lyonesse’s ear, “We may be in the presence of a demigod.” This caused her to gasp, for she could only vaguely sense the movements of the battle before them. The bandits fell before the veteran’s blade, and before long, another figure approached him. This time, it was a woman who had been traveling the road from the opposite direction. She had trimmed platinum-blonde hair and was dressed in crimson and black garments, accented by the golden gleam of her polished armor. “Your skills are undeniable,” she said, her tone impressed how blown away she had been to witness such a sight. “It is true, I have learned much about the arts of war in my time,” the grizzled man said as his steely grey eyes locked with her dark hues, one of which was framed by a knotted, ornate tattoo.
“I am anything but a squire back home, but I will don the title once more if it means you will take me on and train me in your ways,” the warrior woman said earnestly, determined to win over the battle-worn man’s favor. Just at a glance, Trystan, who was still at a safe enough distance away, could see that her sword held a bit of heft to it, yet there was no doubt that she could hold her own in a battle. The veteran war-campaigner could see it in her as well as his eyes steadily examined her form.
The air around them fell silent, and after the older warrior sized up the younger woman, he turned to acknowledge the wayfarer and mage’s presence. He stared at them for a time, causing the other warrior to adjust her stance so that she could see what, or more accurately who, her possible mentor was looking at. “Perhaps, if you can prove yourself worthy,” he finally stated as he returned his attention to the pale fighter. “Anything,” she agreed without thinking, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword as if ready to attack Trystan and Lyonesse if the man so wished it.
Thankfully, he didn’t. “There is a man of great evil, known as the Black Dragon Knight. Bring me his black dragon shield as proof of his valor, and I will train you,” he said resolutely before he started to walk away from the road, heading north. The woman looked at the duo, then back at the grim warrior walking away. “Where would I find him?” she said before calling after him, “Where do I find you?!” The older warrior smirked and snorted. “Should I kill him for you?” he retorted from over his shoulder. “Ask for Yanryt the Son at the Blue Griffon Tavern of Caran Baru,” he then responded to her second inquiry. Dark grey eyes widened in disbelief, for the younger fighter was an initiate of Tyrnai. Yanryt’s father and the god of war!
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