Meditations, Memories, Recollections - Aden Delaveth's Character Development Journal

[Aphel]

The wood was dry by now, those of the branches which did not show tell-tale signs of cracks or twists rested on his working table. They would become sturdy, simple bows, lacking most of the artistic refinement that for example Sehky's bow had. He was fine with that. The display of craftsmanship would be that they were always there and ready to use, able to take a lot of punishment. Not everything, but a lot. During his travels he had been able to study various bow designs in use, and the display cases and chests of the Angel's Guild proved to be most interesting. He would test each of the bows thoroughly before beginning the long way to enchant them, to prove that his design was practical. They would see a lot of training usage, after all.

 

When he held the first bow in his hands, strung ready for a few test shots, he wondered if it really would be that easy. Maybe I should do the whole training myself. The Rangers won't waste their time with teaching them how to read and write, or the ways of the city.

He tried to find words, names, verbs to describe what he was doing and how. He couldn't explain it, properly. He couldn't even convince himself, or describe the intuitive way to hold and use a bow. Grumbling, he noticed the bad quality of the old string he used, coming apart slowly. Wax. Enchantment. Different quality, maybe. Wasn't dry enough. If I even can't describe the simple things, how to teach the hard things? Well, at least they'll have bows. If they would be up to the task was a whole different matter. He needed armor too, or at least raw hide and how to make it. He should train that, too. But I can't leave everything to the others. Jil might be a better teacher than I am, but can she put up with twelve recruits? We might need more than that, and she has other task as well.

 

After his fingers became numb stumps from the arrows he fletched, he found himself pondering over a sheet of parchment, drawing a line from top to bottom. On one side, he wrote physical training and on the other mental training. During his training, he had been exposed to these two aspects as well.

 

Physical training	Mental training
Endurance & Strength	Discipline & mental strength
Agility & Coordination	Tactics & Strategy
Survival & Weapon Drill	Traditions & Knowledge

 

Interestingly enough, everybody seems to use the same pattern in training, from the Pack to the followers of Toran. He should talk with Elly or another disciple of healing to find out how to train certain things safely, of course. Maybe that would reduce the amount of accidents that caused a paralyzing delay during the training.

Then again …

When he found himself writing too much, noting down training schedules, he tossed the notes away and instead returned to play with his son. That was way more educating and also inspiring than those dry words on parchment. The enchanting of the bow could wait, boxes of red feathered arrows and the right quantities of enchantment oil at the ready and stored away safely.

[Aphel]

~ Creed ~

The folds of realities are my hunting grounds, and this is my pack. I keep the balance of my hunting grounds in order, so that it does not fall apart. To that end, I am free to do as I see fit as a follower of the Great Hunter Folian S'pae. I am silent, unobtrusive and wise in the choice of path and method to keep the hunting ground and its inhabitants, prey and hunters alike, safe from destruction that always lingers.

[Aphel]

Maybe he should have had the smile of his son in his mind, or the embrace of his beloved Breanna on a sunny day in Blackfort, white linen swaying in the warm breeze. Maybe.

But he didn't.

There just was no time for it.

 

The damage to the ship was extensive, the ghouls and drakes had destroyed a large amount of rigging, pulleys, woodwork, tools and so forth. The sails were nothing but torn rags, covered in thin layers of ice. The collision with the iceberg left the vessel in an even sorrier state, but still, the captain and his crew pressed on, insisting that they could make it back to shore. There were many repairs to be made, and they were lacking everything as usual. It was one thing to improvise around lacking materials on land, it was another to be stuck on a ship.

 

Between guard shifts on deck and downtime in the wet and damp and cold below deck, there wasn't much time at all. He didn't trust Nym nor Jay, and for good reason. Not sure how the others could find sleep in such conditions, but they did. Maybe they were so exhausted that they just didn't care anymore. And he felt that he had to protect them, even if he was coming down with a cold or worse. He wasn't so bothered about that. They had Elly on board. That was at least something. He was beginning to feel sick and wanted to get something done before he had to rest.

 

These are harsh lands. I wonder if it would make sense to train pups here, since Erilyn is not that far off. His mind wandered back to the various conflicts on Alindor. Sagewald and Tau'ren, The Sun Kingdom. Morholt. The Wolfswood was the green, beating heart of the continent, and possible the key to its strength. He had heard of the doings of queen Mirikel, and maybe that was something he should see to be copied. He had history to delve into once this was over, mysteries and official business.

 

He could hear the water rage and slosh around them, deep, dark and cold; death that land dwellers could not truly understand. He had hoped to hear the songs of sea mammals reverberating through the ships hull, making their calls audible to the traveler's ear. But there only was silence, the mammals had traveled north or were silent in fear of hungry predators this time of the year.

 

He looked at the others and their doing, realizing that they were locked up in a nutshell, driven by ambitions, the desire to help, greed or whatever else. Maybe they saw the mystery and the wonder around them, looking at the world with amazement. Maybe they saw the danger and the many challenges around them, looking at the world with suspicion and doubt. He wanted to do both, no matter the challenge that came with it.

Curling up in his cloak he slipped into trance, hoping to hear the sound of the ocean in his trance, adding it to his symphony. A new tune. A new complex pattern to be studied and understood, a new patch of cloth to be sewn into the shroud. He hoped the others could find sleep. They would need all the strength they had on the rest of this journey.

[Aphel]

The Ranger's Knife

 

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A RANGER? DO YOU KNOW IT, PUP?”

 

The ranger loomed over the young boy, staring at him with his good eye. Aden could see the boy's thin arms trembling, trying to push himself up from the ground once more. Just once more. He knew it all to well, especially Berik's voice. Or rather, aggressive yell.

 

“DO YOU THINK I LET ANYONE JOIN MY BELOVED PACK? YOU'RE NOT EVEN A WOLF, YOU'RE A DOMESTICATED DOG PUPPY! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!”

 

Aden grinned a bit to himself. He hadn't expected that kind of treatment when he came here, and neither did the young vagabond. Berik was thorough. Every pup who made it this far would make it through this phase of training. It was just a question of how long it took and how much flesh got caught on the hurdle. And it always did - the veteran of the Northern Watch knew what he was doing. And when a pup was ready to face the next phase of ranger training.

 

“GET ON YOUR PAWS, HURRY UP, DO I LOOK LIKE AN ELF TO YOU?! GET MOVING! GET MOVING! RANGERS DON'T DALLY!”

 

Aden supposed that the yelling and the exhaustion were the worst part. Then came the bruises, the sore muscles, the constant lack of food and water. And sleep. That was especially dangerous. Every pup was looked after, of course, but they all had to go through it at least once. It was how it was.

 

When the pups slumped into the barracks, Aden just finished repairing a few pieces of furniture. There were only three pups – Arden the piper, Jane and Jeff. They looked after each other by now.

“Why does he have to be so mean all the time?”, Jeff demanded to know. Aden had the feeling that he might be the one that would try and run away. It happened before, usually with grizzly results. Arden sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Because if we don't get it now, then we'll get us or our friends killed later, I think.”

 

Aden didn't say anything, but left them something to eat. They made it so far. A few more ordeals and they would get their knife as a reward. Sure, nothing special, but to a pup, it meant so much. It means that others deem your worthy enough now to take some responsibility, pup – you're old enough to have your own fang.

 

Aden would forget these words quite so easily. The blade was on his belt even now and had followed him on his travels. It wasn't much, really – just a very sturdy hunting knife, the kind made almost everywhere, a common sight all over Layonara. The kind the rangers gave their new pups once they passed their first trials were nothing special either, in the end they were a bit of metal thoroughly forged into a sturdy, reliable, straight-edged cutting tool. But to a ranger, it was something important. It means you were deemed capable and responsible enough to have your own fang, your own tool – you could hunt, carve, fight, craft with it. Aden knew what Berik would tell them:

 

“To an outsider, this is a simple, straight-edged hunting knife. To a ranger, it is the third most useful tool you have. You can use it to hunt and skin and cook animals, improvise a spear, craft yourself a simple bow. You can make a fire and build simple shelters with it. You must learn to understand how to use it like your own hand. If you lose it, you're in deep trouble because you are down to your body and your mind to defend you and keep you alive and fed. So do not lose it, understood?”

 

And then they would go on a far stalk, leaving the camp behind much further than they ever did before. Still territory regularly patrolled, but dangerous as well for the unwary. Together with more experienced rangers and scouts, they would make their first stalk and put all their skills to the test, hone them, improve them, make them stronger until some where absorbed into instinct.

[Aphel]

His love sat in front of the fireplace, their son in her arms. He could not hear what she was saying, but the drowsy look on Kyreth's face as well as the smile on her lips seemed to tell that she was telling him a bedtime story. Outside, at the window, between the trees, a huge wolf tilted his head, studying them both, the strands of shadows that seemed to make up his fur blending with the falling twilight. It seemed to look directly at him, and past him. On the horizon, dark clouds accumulated into an ominous black wall on the sky. Storm was coming. The wolf looked at Breanna through the windows as she tucked Kyreth in bed, a gentle and warm expression on her face. Sadness and worry mixed in her eyes when she kissed his forehead, and then went to check the warding spells.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and cold wind swept over the land.

 

He saw Jil on one of her stalks, saw her moving shrouded in Al'Noth and silence. He could smell her, even see the fine strands of elegantly woven energy flowing about her and her gear. She seemed in a hurry, on her way to somewhere, following a trail. The wolf vanished into the shadows once more without attracting her attention, glad to know that she took that path – and not the other.

 

He could see Lance and Ell standing on a balcony overlooking a busy plaza, she had her hand on his sides and rested her head against his shoulder, red hair swaying in the breeze. Life carried on as usual while dusk fell red over Hilm Castle. Flickering with the shadows of a bleached and battleworn flag, a huge wolf stood on the roof of the gate, studying the activities in the city and the couple with his watchful glance. The assassin under his paws made wet sounds and died.

 

He could see a caravan stopping at a bridge the rain had swept away. Angry shouts were exchanged from men in glistening oiled coats as they began to turn their carts around. The wolf didn't move at all, watching them, smelling the sharp scent of metal despite the bolts of cloth and bricks. It had taken some time gnawing at the wooden supports before they were weak enough to be swept away by the torrent rushing down from the mountains. It would cost the weapon smugglers six days of detour, and by the time they reached the settlement, the idealistic young lieutenant would be back from his holiday and at his post again.

 

Before the trance began to fade, he could see three of the wolves moving silently through the forest as if looking for something or somebody very methodically. One stopped in his stride, turned his head and looked directly at him. The ranger could feel the harmony and serenity these creatures radiated, like a force old and strong as the bones of the earth -

 

“Wake up. There's something moving outside the camp.”

 

Aden blinked and rubbed his face, then reached for his bow next to his backpack and nodded. A howl echoed through the silent, foggy Wolfswood outside, and it was a haunting sound. But to Aden, it sounded like a calling, or a warning. Maybe it was both. He couldn't identify the pack, or, for that matter, where it came from exactly. He looked around, staring into the fog between the trees for a moment, then looked at Arden.

“What?”, the boy whispered, “heard something?”

 

Aden shook his head.

[Aphel]

When he returned, he was indeed different. The druidess was gone, but he found her tracks and her small camp. She seemed startled and worried when he came back.

“Greyrider” Aden said, “Will continue his watch.” He studied the ageless young face of the druid, the expression in her eyes, and gave her a small, shy but tired smile. “Mind if I join your camp for some rest before I travel south?”

 

She shook her head, and that night, he was too tried to remember his trance-faces when he woke. He had never seen a more beautiful sunrise and just sat there smiling, sharing a meal with her, feeling the touch of the light. It was bright, yes, but he adjusted quickly. She didn't ask him to stay or pleaded that he won't go. She knew he had to, and that he would be back for with reports and knowledge. He gave her a hug and thanked her for the guidance and the acorn before slowly walking away, melting into the twilight only an autumn dawn could cast between the trees.

 

The pack is bigger than each of us, and if we must lay down our life or comfort in order to protect it, then we will find strength in the Longstrider to do so.

Aden smiled a little, jumping from stone to stone to cross a small river. He never would have guessed that it would turn out the way it did. He didn't feel pity for Greyrider's fate, only tremendous respect. The man had walked on the path of the T'eoleflor and carried a big evil to one of their places, destroying it along with the place there. And when he came back, he sealed himself in into darkness, all alone, to protect the pack from HER. Aden didn't want to think about HER. He couldn't, quite. She was but a dark, lurking thing, darkness and void. She was Greyrider's responsibility, and the old man didn't want him to help carry.

If he was Andrew, he would write a song about the Greyrider and his lone watch.

 

Here I am standing, darkness all around,

thinking of the past, the air is cold as ice

I encase us in silent walls of stone.

She! Void and darkness, child of my own creation

She! Bane of my own creation

Oh, but I have to guard and watch,

I have to remember the paths and places I saw so long ago

Now there is but silence and darkness

While dreams and memories fade away

 

It was a story he should share with the bard, a song even. He couldn't fathom how many wolves walked a similar path in ages past, but he would try to remember each of them in the memory of Greyrider.

 

Light and shadows danced over the forest floor; over yesterday's leaves, hopes and dreams and warmth of springs and summers long gone crumbling, becoming earth to nourish a new generation. New hopes and dreams.

 

“You already have it inside you, it's just a matter of unleashing it if you will. Of controlling it. It's all of grasping and controlling it, really.”

 

A week in the darkness with the eternal guardian showed him how much he already knew, and how little he knew about himself. Everything had been there, he just wasn't sure how to put it together. A week in the darkness, listing to the mans mad ramblings, nearly completely blind, had showed him how little he knew of himself. Or of his dreams. They seemed to follow him, those pictures from his trances. They meant something. It really happened, they were real, the shadow wolves. A dream, sent from the Longstrider himself, maybe to search and pick up a legacy and tradition, to seek for them, find their track or at least where they went. A sobering, uplifting feeling. These were the first few steps on the long road ahead of him, maybe the path for the rest of his life, but at least for now.

 

When he left the forest days later, he could have sworn that somebody was watching him, and when he turned around he thought he saw something, for a brief moment, moving in the shadows of the trees. Something large, with the shape of a wolf and old eyes the color of amber. He frowned, and it was gone, the shadows silent and empty. Just a trick of his mind. But there was something new, something that gave him a deep feeling of purpose, a goal. And security.

[Aphel]

“Daddy, daddy!”

Kyreth stumbled, tumbled through the light underbrush towards where his father, clenching his left hand into a fist, balancing himself throught the maze of fallen branches, logs and small bushes. “Guess what me found - ” The boy smirked. His father would never guess what he had found!

Aden turned around with a smile, balancing the collected resin on the piece of bark. His son sniffed, and tilted his head a bit. He knows something's wrong, Aden thought. It was almost impossible to hide something from him, he must have gotten that from his mother.

“A stone.”

Kyreth chuckled and opened his fist, grinning proudly. Usually, he brought back some seashells or other small things when they were at the shore. They had made Breanna a small necklace even, seashells and small stones and the like.

It was a stone again, and Aden carefully placed the bark with the resin on the ground to take a closer look at the find. The stone was of a dark orange color and almost as large as his fingertip. “What's it?”

He carefully turned the stone in his son's palm and smiled. “It's amber. Resin that turned into stone a long, long time ago.” Kyreth turned it between his fingers.

“Mommy or I can polish it for you, then you'll see.”

The boy nodded. “What will it look like?”

“The color of our eyes.”

 

He carefully wrapped the resin in fallen pine needles before putting them into his bag while Kyreth studied the stone.

“So it's forest frozen in past.”

Aden nodded. The sentence reminded him of Galathea, something she said about the color of the eyes of his and his son's – but that was all past now, deep past.

 

Brea was waiting for them with supper, and Kyreth proudly showed her the amber. She smiled, silently, ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss on the cheek. But the way she looked at her husband made clear that she clearly sensed that something was wrong, something troubling him. “Let's eat. I'll polish it later.”

 

He had made the fire not very far from home – there could have been better places, far away from the city. At least nobody was bothering him this time with regulations, rules, taxes, fines and fees, the state with its vultures and ticks.

And this was how he remembered, with a rite he learned from the Wolfswood itself. Flames and sparks rose into the starlit nightsky, and it was cold. How cold was the void, how long the road a soul had to travel, and which challenges to overcome?

The resin burned bright, sweet scent of the woods rising high in smoke swirls – up and away into the sky, where this and the spirit world mixed.

“Travel safe, Galathea, from this world to the next through all the realms in between. May your soul find its true resting place, far from the troubles of this world. Inspire us, lead us and so watch over us, until we no longer remember you and your deeds.”

Breanna took his hand and Kyreth's. So they stood, shoulder to shoulder, watching the stars, until there were nothing but embers left and even those had died out.

“Let's go home.”

But he couldn't help to look over his shoulder, for a moment. At the outcrop, next to where the fire had been, something seemed to peel out of the darkness, the silhouette of a large wolf, like caught starlight and filaments of shadows.

“Love?”

He turned his head to Breanna, and smiled weakly. It would be best not to tell his wife, but maybe he should eventually. Seeing ghosts wasn't exactly sign of good mental health.

“It's nothing.”

 

“Daddy?”

Kyreth was calm, thoughtful, not just sleepy. He could sense it, the difference, and he had a strange feeling about it. He grabbed his father's hand and won't let go.

“Are there ghosts?”

Aden nodded, and Kyreth bit his lip. “Good ones and bad ones, or just bad ones?” Aden tilted his head a bit, studying his son. “Both. Maybe there are spirits, souls that protect us.” He hugged his son, who reached for the necklace around his father's neck, the entangled amulet of silver, topaz, gold and the symbol of the Longstrider. “You daddy will always protect you and mommy, even if you do not see him, or he is not there.” Kyreth nodded. “I'll protect mommy too.”

Aden smiled, because he believed it in all the nativity. Never underestimate children. For a moment, he thought of hiding his family somewhere safe, to hide them from the world, and now then ever, having his son in his arms, this desire for a safe den was stronger than ever.

“Will you protect me when you are gone from this world?”

Aden nodded, feeling the pang and ice deep down inside. “I will. I promise.” Kyreth smiled and changed the subject suddenly. “Tell me a story, daddy.”

The ranger smiled and begun, not noticing his wife standing behind them in the door frame, watching silently, pale and beautiful, and with a worried but yet happy small smile on her face.

 

She hugged him, when her son finally felt asleep, and her closeness and the feeling of her lips on his neck let the ranger's hair stand on end.

“We missed you so much.”

Her head rested on his shoulder, he could feel her adoration for both her rascals. “You seem restless. Come. Tell me all about it.”

She hugged him closely, and he got up, slowly.

 

“Do you want me to repair it?” She pointed at the leather armor that hung in his closet. He shook his head and hugged her. “No. It's good like it is. Gala gave it to me.” She understood, warpped his arms around him and then finally, the tears came.

 

 

She woke him, later that night. It was cold, dawn was still hours away.

“You're talking in your reverie, my love.” Her eyes studied him, worried, adoringly. “What happened? You never told me much about your grandfather.”

All his muscles seemed to ache, and the ice inside was slowly thawing. “I've been tested, by the Longstrider. And I passed. For now.” She kissed him.

“Rest. Things will be much clearer then. Stay a while. Let me help you.” She paused. “Please?”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she smiled. “I will. No need to ask me for it.”