The start of my journey - Ulver Arndt

[Rasterick]

I left home many months ago to meet new people, life on the edge of the mighty Seilwood was somewhat quiet, and Krandor, the nearest large settlement was just like any other. Besides, it was not of any great interest to me, same old faces same old routine.

My parents, had a bussiness to run, a prospering bowyer, with plenty of government work. So my brother and I were left to amuse ourselves. When I was twenty my brother left home, joined the Miitia and I was left  on my own. I tried to get involved in bow making, but could not acheive the high standards that my father set. So one night I sat down with them, and told my parents of my desire to leave. They were both upset of course, but like all parents, only had my happiness at heart, and bid me luck in whatever I chose to do. The problem was, at this point, I had no idea what I wanted to do.

I wandered from village to village, helping out as a labourer, getting paid in food and board. After three months, I was nearly ready to return home and become a bowyer, I had had enough. I made up my mind, and set out for Krandor. I decided to take a shortcut through the broken forest. Yeah yeah, I know, I ignored all the warnings about the dangers that lurk there, but it cut a week off my journey. Several hours into the forest, I got the feeling that I was being stalked. At first I thought it was bandits, or even a cutthroat wanting to end my short uninteresting life. So preoccupied with my stalker was I, that I falied to notice the signs of ambush ahead of me, for as the three shuffling undead stumbled out of the bushes with my demise as their goal, I froze as if rooted to the ground. It was then my follower made themselves known,  I heard the whoosh of three arrows in quick succession fly past my head, each one burying itself in the skull of the corrupt beings before me.

I just stood there staring at the three motinless corpses before me, gagging on the smell of decaying flesh. When out from the undergrowth behind me, walked a tall elven male, long flowing hair and a suit of dyed green leather. And there started the first day of the rest of my life.

The elf escorted me to saftey, I was taken on a journey of many hours to a hidden forest grove, to the home of Llurial Yanteryl. He offered me food and drink, and when I had composed myself, and got over the fear that had pervaded me, he escorted me to the outskirts of Krandor, and an two hour walk from home. He bid me farewell, but before he left, he said he would return to this very spot, the day after the next full moon, and that I should meet him here. For he could offer me answers to some of the questions that  were in my head, and would help me gain direction in my life.

I bet you are now wondering if I turned up.

Well needless to say on the next full moon, I packed my meagre poccesions, and the next morning, walked to the very spot where he had left me. True to his word he was there, and over the next six year, he was to become my mentor and guide, my teacher and friend. He taught me the ways of the ranger.

Why he did this, is another story, and one that  I have sworn to keep to myself, If I told anyone I am sure they would never beleive me anyway.

Ulver Arndt - Ranger

[Rasterick]

Llurial Yanteryl drew the flint scraper along the bowstave, shaving off a whisker of yew. The balance of this six foot longbow was cruical, and the process of tillering and refining the draw curve was the penultimate stage, but by far the most important.  When its drawn curve was perfect, and only then, could it be called a bow.

The old elven ranger had seen many seasons come and go, and as was his choice, had no natural heir, but there was one that he thought of as his adopted son. he smiled to himself, and muttered in common, "May Katia keep you safe Ulver, shoot straight and true".

Llurial  placed the stave in the corner of his cottage, flexed his fingers and closed his eyes. In his mind he could see the smiling face of hs student, he hoped in his heart that he would see him again. For Llurial  knew that his days were numbered.

Yes of course he would, he hd to cling to hope. For in his final days that is all he had left.

[Rasterick]

I have always prided myself on my my keen sense of sight, but it was Brant that saw the dark cloaked figure first. We Were hunting the High Forest for wild boar, when Brant suddenly exclaimed, "There is someone else here with us!", his voice was nervous, and for a man of his bravery, this was very unsettling. The party stopped, I counted; Geir, one, Reana, two, Arwinath, three with Brant and myself making five. But just seconds before there were six, nothing distinct, just that feeling of another presence among us. I thought I saw them; a dark clothed figure, in a cape, and by their size and build, either a teenager or an elf. But how would a teenager have such skill, to be able to blend in an dout of shadow at will.

We were visibly shaken, we edged closer together, or voices had that tremor of fear in them. But how could one fleeting glimpse cause such unease? We proceeded towards Harmony Grove, and I could feel my heart beating in my chest, my eyes flicking from side to side, surveying the trees and bushes, looking for one of the tell tale signs; shadow, shine, shape or silloutte., the sign that gives away the concealed position. All my training, coming to the fore, the hours spent observing others, stalking and tracking, looking for the spore of the forest traveller. This one was good, nothing to indicate a presence, all was as it was meant to be.

I have seen assasins at work, bandits of some skill and beings from other planes, all capable of some degree of concealment, but they all did so for some nefarious purpose. So why had not this follower, spy whatever they were not made their intentions obvious?

It was several hours before the answer to my questions were answered.

The smell of cooking meat must have drawn the bears to us, Reana, alone near the fire stood no chance, the large brown, with his swiping paw, smashed her sideways into a tree, snapping her neck like a straw. We all herad the bone sickening crack, like a beastmasters whip. We ran as quick as we could to her, arriving within seconds, Arwinath loosed three arrows into the beasts lungs, causing it to stagger sideways, as it did Geir's sword finished it off. We could see by the odd angle of Reana's head that there was naught we could do for her, she had gone from us.

Standing there feeling so helpless, a feeling I wish not to have to ebndure again. Our words spoken out of reverence, had no use or meaning. Geir, Arwinath, Brant, myself, Reana; dead and another. One moment nothing, then they were among us again. They muttered words in a strange tounge, and Reanas body, surrounded in a strange glow, rose from the leaf covered ground. "Who are you?", I said; no answer, the cowl covered head just turned to me expressionless, and then was gone.

Reana was the next to speak, "What you all looking at?", she was obviously unaware of the events of the last few minutes. Questions came thick and fast, who? why? all the usual ones that accompany a strange event.

The most facinating thing about it all, Geir had not seen the sixth man, nor had Brant a second time, and Arwinath; well there was a slight resemblence, the stature, the way they moved, and that strange tounge that had brought life back to Reana. I dont doubt his word for one minute here, he said he did not know who or what the sixth was.

There is more to this than meets the eye, I will write to Llurial after this and ask for his guidance, in all his years of breath, he must have some idea of an answer.

Ulver Arndt - Ranger

[Rasterick]

Wandering around Hlint as I often do, alone with my thoughts, not another person to be seen. I had just finished stabling my ox, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a shimmering shape, near the craft hall.  I stopped and turned to face the source of my distratction, shielding my eyes from the sun, there it was. A human shaped semi transparent figure, like water, but seeming to have no substance, hovering a few fingers from the ground, and it was completely oblivious to my having seen it.

I rubbed my eyes vigorously to ensure I was not dreaming. It was still there, but now it had seen me, should I turn and run? draw my sword ? or just wait to gauge its intentions? It moved effoprtlessly towards me, I held my nerve, it didnt seem hostile, but just to be safe, I placed my hand behind my bck, on the handle of my dagger.

Then it spoke, a soft  feminine voice, but like a gentle breeze kissing th eleaves of the forest. "Hello", I replied. "Hello, who are you?". "An Air elemental", it replied. Then it was gone.

An hour later, it reappeared, this time right alongside me, but before I could talk it was gone again.

The final time I saw it, was a few minutes after the second sighting. I had to jog to keep up with it, its effortless movement taking us on a winding path around the oxen enclosure.  As we moved I was able to hold a conversation of sorts with it. It was a summoned being, brought from wherever by a elf it referred to as master, but with the name of Fahxlen. Fahxlen, as far as I could ascertain, was a young but powerfull magic weaver, who was, it appears a very long way away. It spoke of a powerful statue of control that Fahxlen owned, enabling him to control beings of the air. Before I could ask any more questions, it vanished for the final time, it parting words, "This is my first time here,  it  is as I expected".

How come, when these things happen, there is never any witnesses. I searched the whole of Hlint, and its exterior walls, but not a sign of anyone, no fresh tracks or signs of a presence. Several hours later, Brant wandered into town, I told him all I had seen. I am not sure whether he beleived me or not. But I know what I saw. I intend to find out who this Fahxlen is, I will ask some of the others in town. I have a strange feeling about this.

Ulver Arndt

[Rasterick]

I have listened to the deeds of men and heroes.
I have listened to the song of the bard, their notes of love, lost and found.
I have heard of the plotting of the rouge, their talk of greed and gold.
I listen to the warrior’s bravery, the ranger’s lore, and the wizard’s arcane mumblings.
I hear them all, good, bad and indifferent.

For I am the wood smoke, silent and brief.
My journey starts and is my last.
But in my brief life I have heard many tales of man.

Guldin Ponderwell – Ranger, Poet and wandering tale spinner. 1208 – 1231.


Now as I sit in front of my own campfire on the outskirts of Hlint, I think of that writing. Watching the smoke drift silently into the starry night sky, I wonder why he wrote such words. The smell of the haunch of venison cooking over the fire, makes my mouth water. The fat dripping onto the fire turns the flame form cherry red to ochre and yellow, causing the embers to spit and crackle, and interrupt the silence of the insects of the night.

I think of the cooking meat, seasoned with wild sage and berries rubbed into the knife scored flesh, with salt and honey. The leaf wrapped bread, baking in the embers, the stone pot of vegetables boiling briskly, wedged upright by a couple of large stones.

I take my hunting knife, and prod it into the meat, remove it and place the point next to my cheek, to test its temperature, “umm!, not ready yet”, I mutter. Why does cooking take so long, and eating take no time at all?

I remove my batted notebook from my pack, along with the sticks of charcoal I use to write with. Opening the book from the back, I find an empty page and begin to sketch. First the basic outline of a head, the position of the eyes, the mouth, and the neck. Then pressing harder, I begin to add more detail, the eyes, dark and round, like coal. The mouth, upturned at the corners on a wry smile. Then the hair, pulled back from the face and tied at the top by a simple band, forming a small flaxen waterfall on the top of the head.

Shading the cheeks, chin and lips, the face is now starting to come to life, I am pleased with myself so far, the resemblance is near perfect. I stop and suck in a long breath. I resume my artistic renderings, adding the final touches. I hold the book out in front of me, admiring my work. I sigh, and under my breat, mutter "I wonder what they are doing now".

I close my book, and along with the sticks of charcoal, place them all back into my pack. I then remove the spit of venison from the sticks holding it above the fire. I lower it on a few carefully placed leaves on the ground. The pot of vegetables, I lift away from the stones with a pair of sticks, and place this next to the meat. The leaf wrapped bread, when tapped with my knife, sounds hollow, and ready to eat, is dragged from the embers.

I place my wooden trencher plate on the leaf next to the meat, using a pointed stick I spear some carrots, onions and potatoes from the earthenware pot, and place them on the plate. The meat, rested a few minutes, is now ready to carve, three large thick slices, juicy, slightly pink and fragrant with sage and honey, slip from the haunch onto my plate. Almost ready, I unwrap the damper bread, and gingerly break off a large chunk, moving quickly to avoid the steam burning my fingers.My feast is ready.

To anyone watching, I must look as though I have net eaten for months. “Delicious, if I say so myself”. I stuff the food into my mouth, savouring it a moment, before quickly chewing and swallowing. When it is finished it is all washed down with a long cool bottle of ale, which I saved for a special occasion.

What special occasion? you may ask.

Well I’ll tell you, I have survived rats, skeletons, undead zombies, vampires, ogres, giants and all manner of angry beasts, all intent on my demise.
Life is sweet, I am still alive and ready for the next round.


Ulver Arndt - Ranger
Tired, far from home and ready on a full stomach, to sleep for a week and dream. Pleasant memories of the ones I miss.

[Rasterick]

How I hate washing up......!

[Rasterick]

Llurial

My thoughts wander to you frequently, I try to emulate your wisdom and apply your teachings to all facets of my life.

Since seeing you only last week, I am greaty concerned for you, you seem to have resigned yourself to death, a death that I know will sadden me deeply. I only wish we could have had more time together. How tragic it seems that as you near that final journey, I am just starting out on mine, If only we could have shared more time together. Life is full of what ifs'.

I will remain strong my teacher, I know that the cycle of life continues, and that we all will or have played some part, however insignificent it may seem to us at the time.

I am still trying to come to terms with what you have told me, but have no fear, it is a secret that I will harbour until the time is right. I do not wish to throw too many cats among  the pigeons.

I heed your words, I will not return, and will cherish our last meeting, and keep that memory as my last of you.

Although it pains me to say this.

Farewell my friend, my your soul find peace.

Ulver

[Rasterick]

Llurial sat on the bench outside his cabin, tears formd in his eyes as he read Ulvers words for  third and final time.  He stood and carefully placed the note into the satchel on his hip. Picking up his bow he walked towards the edge of the clearing. Thirty paces from the place he has called home for that last eighty years.

The open door of the cabin, led to many memories, some good some bad. Llurial raised his right hand, palm upwards. The words of power muttered under his breath, caused the stiill air to crackle and pop. A glowing orange orb formed inches above his upturned hand, coalescing into a spinning ball of wizard fire. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the miniture sun spinning through the open door, the subsequent explosion, sucked the surrounding air in to use as fuel. Followed by the searing outward expanding shock wave, and associated crack, like the rip of thunder.

Llurial turned and walked the few feet towards the trees. To anyone observing this old elf. it would appear as though he was simply dissolving, as though his body was transforming into leaves, bark, branches, ferns and grass.  Utill all that was left of his presence was the raging inferno of his once cherished home.

On the edge of the forest, where he would have last been recognisable as a being, was a small object on the forest floor, an acorn of silver. The wind caused by the fire, sucking air to fuel itself, draged the detrius of the forest floor over the simply crafted object, obscurring it from sight.

[Rasterick]

In his room in the Wild Surge inn in Hlint, Ulver awoke with a start, the vivid dream of a ball of fire stiill fresh in his eyes, as were the tears, the tears for his oldest and dearest friend.

[Rasterick]

The three Halflings had seen the fireball erupt above the treetops, and to sate their inherent curiosity just had to take a look. It took them a good afternoon to find the hidden entrance to the now fire ravaged clearing. The surrounding  birch and yew, intertwined with the vines and ferns, provided a near impenetrable natural barrier.  Arriving late for the fireworks as they did, all that was left was a burnt out shell of what appeared to be a timber cottage. There was no sign of life, no movement, no noise and most strangely of all no odour of conflagration.  Blim Gandlerim the self proclaimed leader of the trio, was the first to speak. "Dont just stand there, see if theres any pickins." he barked at the other two. As they always did when Blim spoke, they leapt into action, scurrying about amongst the embers poking here and there with their quarter staffs, looking for anything of value. For these natural scavengers,  today was going to be one of those fruitless days, their methodical searching turned up nothing.  "Nuthin boss, not ven a mellty metal bit", said Laddo, the youngest of Blims two minions. "Lets get out av ere then, it gives me the creeps, somat aint right bout this place," Blim replied. As they turned back towards point where they had entered. Blim noticed a half burnt piece of parchment on the clearing floor. Thinking it was a spell scroll, he picked it up. Looking at he said "Damn tengwar scripin, pah!".   and spat on the ground as he screwed up the fragment of paper and tossed it over his shoulder.  As they walked back into the forest proper, the noise, smell and movement of the Seilwood returned, as if it had just been startled back into life. Laddo stopped suddenly, turned back and said, "damn it, dropped mi sticker blade", but as quickly as he had turned, he stopped again. Stood scratching his head. The entrance they had used simply existed no more. Gone as if it never even existed.   Darkness by now had started to fall, and this was surely no place for three little folk. So off they jogged, back to their caravans, parked up several hundred paces away on the north south forest track. As they ran, Blim had to keep shaking his head, vainly trying to remove the Elvin script for his rapidly blurring vision. By the time they had arrived at the caravan, Blim was all but blind, and most bizarrely, the iris of his eyes had turned deep liquid Obsidian in colour, instead of the pale grey that was predominant among his race.  Blim never regained his sight, and six weeks after being struck blind, was to walk off a cliff into the shark infested bay of Coreanys in the east. His two lackys, both met an early demise within days of each other, several weeks later. Laddo, was found very dead and very overcooked in a large cauldron in the Pale Man Inn's kitchen  in Holstad. His long time friend Yarri, was found  (or a few barely recognisable pieces of him were)  in the cave of a very sick overfed lion in the Berhagen Mountains -  A verdict of mis-adventure was returned by the Mistone Corroner  The clearing no longer exists on this world, were it once was, is now nothing but trees and very dense undergrowth. There are only a few that ever knew of its existance, and they have no plans to divulge any of its secrets.   // OOC:  [SIZE=-2] 1.The script on the parchment is actual Tengwar, translated by a web page I found by inputting 'Elven Alphabet' into a common search engine.   2.Even though I bookmarked the page, It no longer exists. Either as a web page or a bookmark.   3.For those amonst you that can transliterate Tengwar, do so at you own peril. I cant, and am still able to see clearly through my slightly myopic corrected brown eyes, I am sure they were pale blue when I started writing this? [/SIZE]

[Rasterick]

The last two weeks away have settled my mind, and although all the things that have happened will never be forgotten, they are now in perspective and I can move on.

Two weeks ago, the dream of Llurial Yanteryl's death, forced my hand. Returning to the site of his home in Seilwood, I searched the clearing for the legacy of my teacher. Once the hollow log for which I searched had been retreived, and its contents transferred to my pack. I made the clearing my home for a week. My meditation and reflection helping to clear my head with each passing day, I formed in my mind the path that I was to take in my life.

So what did the hollow log contain?

A book - Leather bound vellum wrapped in oil cloth. It 200 pages all in elvish, described the way of the Ranger, the woodland lore, and all manner of things that would help me complete my Ranger training.

A scroll of parchment, yellowed with age, on it a series of lines and branches, like an inverted tree, instead of leaves, were names, some of man and some of elves.

A bag of gold coins.

Some semi precious stones.

A pair of gloves, imbued with an ancient magic to create the like link between the wearers mind and the beast of the forest.

I suppose if anyone else had had found these things, they would have scoffed at the meagre haul of coin and gems, discarded the book as Elvish goobldygook, and kept the gloves for a short while, though if they had no empathy for animals, would have just thought they were a tatty old pair of leather gauntlets,and after a while discarded them.

But to me they hold a tangible link between my grandfather and me, and the family I grew up with.

I read the book over a period of three days, stopping ocassionally to venture out and try a newly aquirred skill. I now have all the tools and knowledge required to pursue my choosen field. Time and patience will give me the experience I need to fulfill my potential.

I will attempt to translate some of the pages into common, but that is for another day. Today I will restart my adventures, with confidence and direction. I will make a mark on this land, and live up to the expectations of my closet friend, now sadly departed.

[Rasterick]

Excerpts translated from the original Elvish texts  The book is written in the form of a story, it is for the reader to glean the informnation from it that he requires. The more I read it the more I am able to understand what was being conveyed. On more than one ocassion having to retrace my path through the pages, re-reading a previous section to help me understand the current  one.   Stealth and Camouflage

 Disguising yourself in your surroundings is a usefull skill to have, one that will, on more than one occasion save your life.  As a ranger, being able to stay hidden from sight will provide many advantages for you.   I once followed a Orc warband for six days, all the while being within earshot of their conversation, and on occasions close enough to smell their fetid breath. Once I had determined their evil intentions, I was able to create confusion among them, by dispatching stragglers and those wandering away from the main group. Once I had whittled their number down sufficiently, I was able to engage the main group, and after each kill, moving to another hiding place, before taking down another with a well aimed silent shot.    I remember Llurial showing me what would betray ones position, his ability to make himself blend into his surroundings always held me in amazement. His simple lessons, re-inforcing his teachings, the simple flash of his sword, a shadow from behind a rock, the movement of his eylids, a rustle of dry leaves or crack of a twig. All of these actions deliberatly performed to demonstarte how not to be stealthy. Then just as I thought I had found him, he would again amaze me with his skills by appearing from somehwere completey different.  As I read the book, there were things in it that I had not been told, things that few know, or could even imagine. The question I have to ask myself is this; am I ready for this knowledge?  My eylids grow heavy as the light from the candle splutters and flickers in the draught  from under the door. I close the book and  place it in my satchel. Placing this under my head, I drift off, to sleep to dream.

[Rasterick]

It has been nearly ten years since I last saw my brother Maver, he left home to join the Militia when I was twenty, he was twenty four. At first my parents would receive letters from him, once a month when the regular caravan from Lielon passed through, but after a while the letters became less frequent, my mother would wait for the caravan each time it was due through, the wagon master knew her, and would hang his head and shake it from side to side, indicating to her that there was nothing this time. She would return home and begin a cleaning blitz, snapping at me and my father in the process. Eventually calming down after about a hour or so.

Eventually the letters would only turn up on birthdays or special occasions. Each time they contained the same thing,  how he was , his steady progression through the ranks. They would always close with the same words; 'Your Son - always thinking of you all'. It always seemed strange, that he would say he was thinking of us, when clearly he wasn't, or he would write more or visit once in a while.

Three years ago, the letters stopped completely. Mavers last communication told of his promotion to captain, and mentioned his posting to some outpost garrison on Dregar. Despite my parents efforts, numerous letters and notes, and even hiring a tracker to find him. It was the last we heard of him.

That is until last week.

I had returned home upon receiving a note from my father. Stating that it was important that I returned at all speed, so I set off that very day. Upon arriving at their house outside Krandor. I noticed a large wagon in the yard, and in the ox shed, two drey horses.  My father, although he could drive an ox cart, was no great lover of horses, calling them aloof and prancy, like elves. So who could own this? and besides why were the horse untethered? surely a casual visitor would leave them hitched. I placed my pocessions in the chest on the porch (my mother would not allow swords in the house), and entered the house.

There sitting near the fire was a very beautiful woman, long flaxen coloured hair, fine clothes and in her arms two small children, who could be no more that six months old each. Sat talking to my father, was the most splendid sight. In the uniform of the Militia, and with a red cape folded over his arm, was a broad shouldered man, his face clean shaven but craggy and tired, his hair short and greying at the temples. His face I recognised, but not imediately, for I thought that I would not lay eyes upon him again. "Ulver, how goes it little brother?", the words resounding across the room like a lions roar, Mavers mouth turned up at the corner, in his familar smile, As did mine. I leapt across the room, hugging the long lost brother, the one I thought never to see again.

It was like a great burden had been lifted from me, tears welled in the corner of my eyes, tears of joy, and as I glanced at my mothers face, you could see that his return had taken years from her face, like the radiance of youth had been given back to her.

Maver introduced the woman near the fire as his wife; Loren, and his twin son and daughter Rab and Lily. I was an Uncle, but declined the kind offer of holding them, I have seen what little ones can do on a full stomach of milk, and besides, what if i dropped them?

That night Maver and I talked until the early hours, recounting adventures to each other. It seemed to each of us that the other had had more than their fair share. It also transpired that he was now posted to Fort Valensk, as the special guard commander. When I asked him why he had stopped writing, he lowered his head, and quite simply said, "Some things are best left until another day brother, what you dont know yet will in time be made common knowledge.", even thought I tried to get him to tell me his stern look told me that he was not yet ready to . Besides I was just happy to have him back. And what a fantastic present he had brought  me.

A nephew and a neice....

 

[Rasterick]

I have received much in my life, but because it is the way of siblings, never much from my brother.

That is untill four days ago.

Following our meeting after all those years, he gave me the second gift he had ever given me; the first being a bears tooth when I was six, one that I still wear around my neck on a leather string. The second gift in twenty seven years was a leather bound book, its very grand title; 'Treatsie on infantry tactics and engargement of hostile units' , is not for the faint hearted. Its six hundred pages, filled with illustrations and maps, pictures of all manner of creatures and weapons, fold out charts of how to position troops in various scenarios and a whole sedction on chain of command. I was not really sure why he gave it to me, I mean, what could a ranger want with such a tome? However when he handed it over, he said I should pay particular attention to page 267. He did not say why, but seemed very serious in what he said. He then turned and walked back to our family cottage, the next morning he left to take up his new posting in Fort Velensk.

I only gave the book a cursory glance, dwelling a little longer on the page he mentioned. It was different to the rest, the script obvioulsy written by another hand to the rest of the book. The simple drawings and short amount of text, were not anything out of the ordinary. The pages title; ' Scouting party sized uniits engaging individual units'.

Gain the position of advantage, preferably on higher ground. If the enemy has the ability to use area affecting weopons, spread out your forces wisely.  Position your ranged units behind the heavier melee force, but ensure that their escape route is clearly defined.  Do not allow them to engage until the melee force commander has indicated their target. ..

And so it went on. All very interesting; if your a soldier.

It was not until the very bottom of the page, that my attention was really awakened. The article was attributed to a one, Llurial Yanteryl (Military advisor to the Imperial Guard).

Surely it could not be the same Llurial Yanteryl that had given his last years to teach me to be a ranger. But looking again at the hand writting, it sure looked like his hand, but it was in common, as opposed to his own elven script.

Why did my brother point me to this page? it could be no mere coincidence. I will have to journey to Fort Valensk to talk to him, there is a strange course of events unwinding here, one that I did not realise my brother was party to.

[Rasterick]

Many days have passed since I last put quill to parchment.  I have grown closer to my father since the return of my brother, it seems that a great weight has been lifted from us all. All the strains and worries over Maver's saftey now seem to have dissapated. My father has become more of the man he used to be, he has become the fine man he was many years ago.

My mothers liife has new purpose, her grandchildren steal away her waking hours and sometimes her sleeping ones. My sister in law Loren; stays at my parents house. She is a quiet and reserved woman and does not want to live in the hussle and bussle of Fort Valensk, she has no liking for seaports, and even less for the unsavoury people that can often be found there. She seems happy and content , and likes the relative quiet of outskirts of Krandor, and often walks along the edge of the great Seilwood. Loren and my mother get along like sisters, and it pleases me that my mothers life now has new purpose.

Rab and Lily, my nephew nd neice, grow quickly, how can they eat and sleep so much?  They are now a year old and both walk, albeit slowley and with my mother hovering behind them in case they stumble.  On my last visit, they were in the yard when I arrived, Agath my hound, stood frozen to the spot, his ears pricked up and his tail wagged. The twins tottered over to him, he lay on his side, and they used him as a new toy; pulling his ears, his fur and climbing all over him. An amazing sight to see, a creature so powerfull, yet so gentle; his jaws capable of felling a Kobold or Goblin in one bite, being pulled to and fro like a rag doll by two small children. When they had finished with him, they were taken for a mid afternoon nap. Agath, like a faithful gaurd watched over them like they were his own, when the least of noises came from the cribs, he would stand, inspect the child, sniff the air and all being well, return to his self imposed child minding duty.

Several days later, and for the first time in my memory, my father and I sat and spoke, on a wood cutting trip into the Seilwood. We started talking of life, friends and family. The conversation took many turns and twist in subjects, until finally we sat in silence, thinking of aimless thoughts. His hand touched my shoulder, his face showed that there was something troubling him; a look of uncertainly in his eyes told me that I was about to hear something that he would find difficulty in telling me.

He bid me to follow him, we walked deeper into the woods, eventually arriving at a small pond, a place that would not normally have been visited by us as it held no resources for our crafts. The pond was not large, and a man could walk around it perimeter in two hundred steps. The water was still save for the rising of small trout, gulping at the lacewing flies dancing near the surface. My fater stopped near an old beech tree, and placing his hand on the trunk, walked towards the water, he halted at the bank. Kneeling down he rolled up his sleeve and placed his hand in the water. Rummaging around in the underwater detrious, he drew forh a bronze chain, and pulled,  the more he pulled, the more of the tarnished chain became visible above the water. He turned to me, smiled, and said, "Dont just stand there son, give ne a hand please, I got a suprise for you". We both pulled on the chain, and after a few moments we had both ends on the bank, the end that had previously resided in the water, was attached to a large glass bottle, the size of a mans torso, the large neck opening stoppered by a wooden bung, sealed with brick red wax. The bottle had obviously been submerged for some time, it had a thick coating of slime and algae, and whatever was inside was hidden form view by it.

"Want to see whats in it?" my father asked me. I nooded, hardly able to contain my curiousity. He removed his hand axe from his belt, and with a sharp tap near the neck, broke off the the bung and wax seal. With the bottle now open, I could see that inside was a leather cloth, bound by cord. This he removed and dragged it clear of the bottle and the mud and ooze dragged from the ponds bottom. Drawing his knife, he cut the cord and folded back the leather covering.
There lay an assortment of objects; a leather tunic, a knife, gloves and a green hood. The four parts of a thick yew bowstave, its once proud curve must have taken considerable strength to draw, now broken and unusable. A small note book, and a pouch, plus a host of other small things.  "Whose is it?". I asked my father, he smiled and took a breath, "sit down son, I have a tale to tell". came his reply.

[Rasterick]

Hanel Arndt, Ulver's father was a man who kept himself to himself, and as far back as Ulver can remember, he had never recited a story to Ulver, never recounted tales of his youth. Or, come to think of it; had never spoken of his past at all, then again, neither had his mother, and when ask what daddy did when he was younger, the reply was always, work hard to have the things we have now.

So to sit oposite his father across a log fire in a forest was a special treat indeed.

Hanel smiled at his son, and taking a stick fronm the ground, poked at the fire. Sending the embers into a frenzy, stirred up like a hornets nest, their glowing presence their last angry gesture to the world. The day was drawing to a close, the dusk sky, visible through the tree cover, casting a red glow over the land. "So father, what is this tale you have for me?", Ulver asked. Hanel smiled,  warmly and said, "Ok I shall begin, bear in mind, things are not always as they seem, and over time men can change. " Hanel sighed and continued, "Although I admit I have not always been the best of fathers to you and Maver, I only have your best interests at heart, I may appear cold and uncaring, but know this Ulver. I see you and your brother, and I realise how much how much my father loved me."

Ulver nodded, and smiled at his father, "I think I know what you mean Dad".

Hanel Continued:...

When I was sixteen, my father died, he was a farmer, but a spate of Drow raids along the coast, had resulted in a local militia being formed. My father, no great warrior, but strong and honest man, answered the call to do his duty, sadly he paid with his life. My lingering memory of him, is the horse with his body drapped across its back being led back into town. However hard I try, I cannnot get the image of  his lifeless body being lifted of the horse by his father and two brothers. My grandfather holding back the tears, my uncles cursing, and swearing revenge seemed so hollow and pointless. Although it seems so long ago, it is as clear in my mind as if it was only yesterday.

No one noticed the person that had led the horse into town, all eyes were on the family who had lost their son. But when my fathers body was lowered reverently to the ground, I had to take my eyes away from his lifeless form, I looked up and through the tears, saw the brown clad elf turn to walk away. I moved forward and grabbed his sleeve, he turned, and looked at me. His clear blue eyes were filled with tears, the dusty streaks down his face, showed he had been crying. "how did it happen?", I asked him, my words coming between sobs. He placed his hand on my shoulder, and in a quiet almost breeze like voice said; " he gave his life for a stranger, he was the bravest man I had ever seen. You are his son, I can see that, return to your Mother, she needs you now, more than ever before." His sigh, came from deep within him, he was struggling to hold back tears, as he turned to walk away, he said. "When your tears have subsided, I will return, I have a promise to honour, comfort your mother Hanel".


Ulver was silent, his face expressionless, looking at this father, he saw the tears in his eyes. Hanel continued:

He did return, several months later. The drow had retreated back to their hole in the ground. The King at the time, had mobilised a marine detachment, they cornered the drow near an estuary near Keilons Tower, and after a bloody engagement, managed to kill or captutre most of the Drow raiders, all but one small boat full of of assorted soldiers, assasins and magic weavers. Their light craft was able under the cover of magic, to sneak home.

One afternoon, there was a knock at the door, and standing there was the elf I had seen several months earlier. "let us walk a while" he said, I donned my cloak and followed him , we walked for a while before stopping near a bridge over a stream. He bade me to sit, and that is where he told me of my father. How as a sentry the militia camp had been attacked, the Drow were swift and ruthless, wounded by a poisened arrow, my father had managed to organise a rearguard action, allowing four of his friends to escape into the forest. He followed them when all was lost at the camp. When he caught up with them, they were being tended by a elf, he was ministering to their wounds.  "Have you been followed?" he ask him. He soon got his answer, four streaks of converging magic energy struck the elf and lifted him into the air, slamming him into th ground. My father then turned and before him were six Drow assasins and a mage clad in a cowled robe. Drawing the falchion from his belt, he charged the warband. In one cleave, hit and felled two of his pursuers, the others, startled by the ferocity of the, attack, lept back. Two of the party broke off, trying to outflank him, and finish off the wounded elf and his charges. My father realising his advantage, pressed home his attack. In an overhand strike, smashing a drow mage into the floor. Advantage of suprise over, the Drow, skilled assasins and fighters countered. Their training, swiftly gaining them the uper hand, my father was brought  to his knees,.  No injury was however going to stop him,  with his fists he fought back, the strength and fury of his attack, soon had the remaing two drow in front of him beaten, their slight build was no match for a man that could lift a 250 pound straw bale and throw it ten feet. Picking up the falchion he had dropped, he ran at the remaining two drow as they were about to dispatch the dazed elf, having just slit the throats of the other wounded lying there.

The falchion is a heavy and brutal weapon, its heavy blade is not intended for sword play, it is purely a weapon for unskilled fighters; however swung with force, it is a heavy and unstoppable lump of metal, and quite devastating. So the the first drows attempt to raise his blade to parry the blow was futile; the Falchion smashed into him killing him instantly. The second assasin had sensed the attack,  and stepped under the swinging blade, rolling forward he stabbed his poisoned blade into my father, ensuring he was to die, as there was no antidote four the foul ichor that coated the blade. However the forward roll, took to close enbough to the dazed eld lying on the forest floor, and one economic movement of his short sword finished off the remaing drow.

My father died several hours later, the elf having tried in vain to stem the flow of the poison round his body. Before Father died, the elf with tears in his eyes, had made a promise to his saviour.  He vowed to take his body home and ensure that I was told that he loved me and hoped that what he had done would ensure my saftey.

Well he kept both of his promises. However, for a reason that only he knew, he did more than that. Following long discusions with my mother, grandfather and uncles, he offered me an education; not in a school or college, but nearby in the woods. He offered to train me as a ranger.

"What was his name?" Ulver asked, already knowing the answer deep in his heart.  "You already know that". my father replied. "Llurial Yanteryl".

//OOC: (To be continued)

[Rasterick]

So it came to pass, Llurial Yanteryl was my fathers teacher, as he was mine. Now when I see my father, I view him differently from what I did before. It is that affinity that I share with him, that casts him in a different light. Following the tale of his father, and how he had died at the hands of the Drow, and how he had been taken on as a elven rangers apprentice. The story never really answered any questions for me, I suppose really it just raised more.

I knew my grandfather had died before I was born, but as I never knew him, the question of how he died never really cropped up. But the revelation that my father was a ranger suprised me I suppose. But when I think of it, I have seen him do things, that should have given me some clue. He can shoot a bow like no one else I had seen, not that he did it often. I now recall a trick he used to show Maver and I when we were younger. When he had completed a bow for a customer, he would always test it (I suppose he would have been silly not to). He would take us to the common pasture, an area of about 15 acres of grazing and common land, available to all the villagers to use as common grazing. He would stand at one end of the field and shoot at a post some 300 paces away, the arrow would always strike true. The looping tajectory of the arrow, always gave him time to nock another arrow, draw and loose it before the first had struck. The most amazing thing was the two shafts were never more than a hands breadth apart.

Agath; I now realise can now see somthing in my father, and now I think of it, always has. The wolf is never over affectionate to adults (it does however dote on my nephew and neice), and  generally keeps himsef to himself, but with my father, the wolf is always excited to see him, its tails waggs and he always nuzzles him for affection.

After my father had told me of his father, he then told me of how he had asked Llurial Yanteryl to take me on as a apprentice. Llurial at first was reluctant, but eventually agreed. However my father was never sure wether or not I would take that path. When I asked him why me and not his eldest son, his answer was simple; 'Maver does not have the heart of a ranger, he is meant for great things, but not as a ranger' he said.

Having been gone for two days, it was nice to return home, Mother had prepared us a magnificent meal. Roast haunch of venison, fire baked potatoes and wild onions and a thick gravy. That evening having had our fill of that wonderful meal, the three of us sat and talked for ages. Of course, Mother knew that my father was going to tell of his past. The converstaion eventually turned to how they had met. Mother looked at her husband, smiled, and as if seeking permission to tell her tale, nodded and began her story.

Ulver dear; this story is not as grand as that of your fathers, however, as it has been a week for revelations, I had better tell you our story.

As you know, I was born in the southwest, in a village called Ashford. Not a very exciting place, but as we on a major route, many people passed through; some good, some bad and that made it a little more interesting. As you know, I have eight brothers and sisters. I was the youngest, and by ten years. Well by the time the last of my siblings left home, I was still only eleven, so it came to me, to help mother. My father, the local cobbler worked hard, but as his shop was attached to the house, was never far away. Lunchtimes I would take him food, one day when I was seventeen; I had prepared my fathers lunch; bread, meat and a bottle of ale. As I carried it to the shop, I saw two men enter. One elven, the other, a young man; but tall and athletic. Brushing back the hair from my face, I followed them in. Their business with my fathrr was a simple repair job, which my father offered to do while they waited. As I walked in, they both turned to look at me, the elf, smiled, the young man looked angry.

I placed my fathers food near his workbench, and as he was busy, did not interupt him and walked out. As I tried to close the shop door, I found it difficult to move, knowing that it sometimes swelled in the wet. I put that little bit more effort into its closing. To my shock and horror. It was not the wet weather that had made it difficult to close, but the young mans nose. The door was heavy and his nose offered little resistance, I could not apologise enough. There he was, sat on his backside, holding his nose, with blood streaming down his stubbly face. Ad all I could do was keep saying sorry. Well to cut a long story short, my mother, who like all mothers, had some skill in minor healing, saw to his nose.

With their boots and the young mans nose repaired, they left. before he did however; the angry looking young man left me a leather string, onto which was threaded wooden beads, each one different. He said it would help me find my way home. 'Yeah, of couse it will'. I scoffed, but it was a nice gesture, and he did have a handsome face when he smiled.

The beads I tied round my wrist (I still wear it to this day), and bid them both goodbye. I nevcer expected to see either of them again. But the young man must have had a really poor pair of boots. For over the next three weeks he would return every third or forth day to get them repaired. On the third week he brought me some flowers, and some stange sweet sticks, he called licquorise. Well by this time I had grown to like him, and eventually worked up the courage to ask him about his boots, and why they kept falling to bits. He was honest and straight and to the point. He told me that he was deliberatly removing the sole, so as he could see me.

He never brought his boots again, but visited for the next year, finally asking my father for his permission to marry me. So here we are, that was thirty six years ago.