Post by: Rübezahl on August 27, 2010, 06:28:45 PM
Quote:
Originally Posted by Rübezahl  (http://"showthread.php?p=1700765#post1700765" rel="nofollow")Bio: The dream, it always starts the same... a view of the nights sky, the constellations of the Longstrider, the Runner, and She Who Watches etched in the back of the young elves mind. Suddenly, with the silence of snowflakes, small points of light begin to dash across the sky... a meteor shower... a low rumble in the distance... sparks. The sparks of fire. The child is swiftly scooped up with gentle force. He is moving now, half carried, loosing his footing. Scantily clad Elves with wild throngs of hair upon their heads, tattoos upon their boddies, move with him. Wolves... he can sense them, now see them. They seem to come from the shapes of the Elves he travels with. Now both ilk run side by side... brethren, a pack... few more than a dozen. Running from the burning fires in the hills behind them. Rübezahl awakes in a sweat, as always. This dream that haunts him has become more frequent in the last few months. But what does it all mean? Who are these people that seem to take on the very shape of wolves themselves? It has been decades, parhaps more, that Rübezahl has wandered the lands of Belinara, searching for his lost clan. This dream that follows him is the only clue to what might have become of his people. That, and the tattoo that falls across his shoulderblades. The image of a dark-haired wolf, in full sprint, with a small branch of oak held in his mouth. He remembers the day quite fondly, when Ithil came to him, his only loyal companion. Although he knew not his own age, Rübezahl guessed himself to be not more than a child at the time, from his peoples perspective, ninety years at most... as was the same with Ithil, the orphaned dire wolf cub, just a child. It was a cold winter night, as winters often are in Northen Belinara. And on this night the forest seemed to offer little protection from the howling breath of Lady Doom. Crawling into a small nook formed by the roots of a tree, Rübezahl managed to find a place of moderate comfort from the storm. Then he heard it... the wimpers and sniffings of a small animal. Peering out from his nook, he noticed the cub following the trail he had made in the snow. As it came closer he found it was slightly limping, a front paw lifted and the fur on the right side of the young cubs shoulder freshly singed, it was breathing heavily... as if running from some unknown force. Rübezahl crawled from his nook and carefully approached the wounded creature. He possessed an empathetic sense towards animals and knew well enough that a creature in this state may very well become hostile. Yet he felt the need to save this lost cub... as he approached the cub just lay there in the snow, accepting Rübezahls gentle embrace. He carried the cub into the nook with him, where he used some of his knowledge of healing to mend the damaged foot and sooth the singed skin of the young beast. They soon both fell asleep, keeping one another warm in the belly of the earth, benieth the roots of the great old tree. Safe from the cold of night. That was years ago now... in those days there were no haunting dreams, no questions of a lost past. Only existance. Only survival. Because of his solitary childhood, save for his animal companion, Rübezahl had become weary of strangers. It was for this very reason that he chose to stay away from the larger settlements on Belinara, although he would often find himself trading with other wandering groups and the odd merchant making thier way to trade with those of the Horn. Yet often of late, he would visit the Great Oak that grew in the forest that he had grown to call home in the past few years. Here, he would meet with those who upheld the balance in the name of Katia. Namely, it was the Druids that he most often spoke with. He found thier humble personas and empathetic nature towards the world to be much like his own. It was the tales of a group of Wildelves that once roamed this land that always brought him back to the Great Oak. Rumours of a people lost now, or hiding from the great evils of Belinara... they would run with the wolves, moving by night and resting by day... and although they never came within the Great Forest, they kept her borders safe. His troubled nights and the tales of these lost people made him ever the more curious of his forgotten past. He began to wonder what lay beyond the great seas to the west and east of this land he had called home for so long. The idea of having to enter a city to find passage on a ship troubled him. For he had never set foot within the massive stone walls of anything man made, let alone spend a single coin in his life. How would he come to gain the courage to take such a journey? Did he even have the will? More so... what if for all his trouble, he found the world to be a more cruel place than he could imagine. More cruel than the darkness he had faced in Belinara. Only time could tell now what fate would have for Rübezahl and Ithil. And so he prayed for guidance from those he felt most connected to... may She Who Watches protect his back while he presses ever forward, may he move swift by the guidance of the Great Runner, and may the Longstrider, Prince of Wolves, keep his pack strong and true and guide his quest to the discovery of a lost past... to the fates of his family. |
The young Elf had rarely the need to step outside the boundary of the Great Forest that he had called home for so long now. And yet, it was easy somehow, to take these first steps. Without looking back his journey to find those who raised him had begun. He remembered rumours of a shipping line that would start him on his quest to find new lands. To the south he must travel, to seek out merchant ships that would take him to the island of Mistone and the town of Port Hempstead. These were the only names he knew of the outside world, these names were his ticket to a new life.
It seemed that luck was on his side, for only a few short days after setting out on his journey, Rübezahl came across a group of merchant elves. Explaining his situation as best he could, for of what Elven the young elf knew, he knew very little, the group agreed to help him on his quest. They would take him to Port Hempstead, but it would be a long journey, with many port stop-overs along the way.
His task on-board was simple. Stow goods when they arrived, keep watch at night, clean and cook when needed. As long as he pulled his weight, the merchants agreed not to cast him and his companion over the side. Little words were ever spoken between Rübezahl and the merchant elves. He stuck to his small cabin in one of the store rooms most of the journey, where Ithil was kept in a cage for "safety". Days turned to weeks, turned to months. When finally in the early dawn of one rainy night, the merchant ship reached the town of Port Hempstead.
The merchants were kind enough to leave him with a few provisions before setting sail themselves. Studded leathers, some copper weapons, a fishing pole, along with some bread and a water skin. One of the merchants also tossed him a small pouch filled with shiney coins, something Rübezahl had not needed before, but was told he would need here.
His first thought was to get into the woods. Months on-board the ship and in village ports had denied him and Ithil thier greatest luxury. The forest called to them both now, pulling them from the clutches of the stone that surrounded them. For weeks Rübezahl and his companion wandered these new woods, but in their travels found not a soul. Although, it may have been the will of his own to find these woods empty, for he had grown tired of the eyes of others.
He had not, however, forgotten why he first decided to come to these new lands. So one day he left Ithil to his freedoms in the woods outside Port Hempstead and ventured back within her stoney walls. It was here he first began to meet new friends, and for the first time, was asked his name.
This was an event indeed, for no one had ever asked Rübezahl his name, and when it came time for such formalities... he had no answer. And so it came to him, from a young elf woman, who in hearing his story had decided to call him "Ameco'Myllam", which meant Wolf Runner in the common tounge.
But then came another bridge that Ameco had to cross. The common tounge. All his life, he had spoken only the language he could remember, the language that must have been spoken to him by his family and now he had come to a place where everyone spoke in a tounge he could not understand. What was this strange common language that everyone seemed to know? He had not heard it before, and if he had, he could not remember.
And so it happened that through the people he met, that he learned to communicate with hand gestures where best he could. From time to time he would meet someone who understood his native tounge, but these times were few and far between. More often then not Ameco stood confused amongst the speach of the locals. In time, perhaps, he would learn their ways... and maybe then, if he could better communicate with the people he had met, he would hear a rumour of his lost peoples...
Post by: Rübezahl on September 13, 2010, 02:42:14 AM
The shifts had begun to come more frequently, at first only in times of distress... he soon learned to control these. Befriending the local wolves of Palden Lake, Ameco took to stalking the western treeline of the White Horn Forest, brethren in tow. The woods here reminded him of the Great Forest in the north of Belinara; the wildes that sowed him.
As the nights grew colder and longer, Ameco had found a suitable place to call his home. Palden Lake and the Silverdell Grove would provide enough, and keep him well for the winter.