Player Stories Section

The Legend Begins

                The historian studied the group of young, beardless faces before him. They stood in the Hall of Legends looking rather bored, waiting for the lesson to start. He watched them for a moment before pointing to a scarred and broken battleaxe hung on the wall. “Is there one of you that does not recognize this?” Many of them snickered or looked at him as if he had lost his mind. All present knew that weapon, and knew it well. “Good,” he said, “that is as it should be. Who would like to tell me the first battle this axe was used in, and who wielded it?”

            A timid hand raised. “Was it by Geril sa’Ghuren at the battle at Tulgesh, Master Nevin?”

               The elder dwarf smiled and stroked his long white beard. “A good guess, but incorrect.” Now they were puzzled and their eyes regarded him skeptically. “I speak truthfully,” he said. “This is why you are here. The history of Balgavarr is the history of our people since we came to Cyrea. The battles we fight, win or lose; shape the future of the Vagha. It is important to learn from every skirmish.” Nevin touched the splintered handle of the axe almost reverently. “This is known as the weapon carried and used by Lord Geril, but it first belonged to his grandfather, Zephras.”

            Ylania se’Hundra raised her hand. In a timid voice she asked, “Would that be Zephras Thunderfist, Nevin?”

            Nevin smiled. “Very good, little one. They are one and the same, and it is of Zephras sa’Geril that we will talk for the next few days. He is one of our most honored heroes, and he helped guide Balgavarr for many years. Most of you have already heard many times the tale of the battle at Toran pass where Zephras earned the name of Thunderfist, so we will not discuss this until later. Zephras himself was descended from a long line of valiant Vaghan warriors. In his veins ran the blood of Kijarn Truestriker; the first leader of Balgavarr after our people came to Cyrea from the Birthlands. That was almost five hundred years ago.” From his robes Nevin produced a thick and dusty scroll. “Today I will tell you a little known tale, one only recently discovered in the histories; and written in Zephras’ own hand.”

            The young faces stared at him eagerly, much changed from the sullen and downcast group that had followed him into the Hall such a short time ago. Tales of adventure and battle had such an effect on the children of Balgavarr. Gently his fingers untied the leather thong binding the two rolls and slowly spread them apart. Using his most melodic voice, he began to read.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *

I have been asked, nay commanded, to set my words to vellum that others may read them and know what I have seen in my travels, for the sights I have beheld clench my heart with gauntlets of ice. What the council may do with this I cannot imagine, nor do I care. I am a warrior. Born of a warrior, who was also a warrior born of a warrior, a line of fighters strong and true to Balgavarr and the Vagha. Yet here I am, considered no more than a youth and the accomplishments of my ancestors overlooked simply because of my age and inexperience. Enough of this. I have been given a duty, and I will follow that command.

My tale begins on the twenty-seventh day of Anouren, the first month of spring and the start of the planting season. Having finished the Trials of Combat with high honors and emerging undefeated, I was given the rank of scout and presented two gifts of recognition from the council. The first was the battleaxe that now leans against this table upon which I write. A handsome weapon, and one that I was very proud to receive. Crafted by the hands of Danelan sa’Polis the weaponsmith, only one is given each year to the student with highest marks.

The second was a spirited pony with a mean nature and questionable heritage. Once the reins had been placed in my hands, the foul thing promptly bit my backside, much to the hilarity of the assemblage. I named it that very moment, so when you read of Beast, know of what I speak. I suspect the choice of nags was made by none other than Hujo sa’Vors. The blood feud between our families may have ended three generations ago, but they seem to delight in using their influence and gold to wreak havoc on my family at every opportunity. Forgive me, I stray from my story.

I was certain that my first assignment would be one with a potential for possible glory. I thought that I would be sent to join the patrols in the area of the swamplands that the Trogs call Bigwet, or perhaps to Tulgesh to join our brethren there who serve under the command of Lord Luthien. Instead I was told that my first duty as a graduated warrior was to explore and scout the nameless volcanic region far to the east. The guild of historians tell me that this was where our people first thought to settle when we came here from the Birthlands. However, the region proved to be inhospitable. The Vagha have no fear of lava or things of the earth, but the constantly heaving landscape made permanent homes unwise, so they settled in the safer mountains of the Kafnysans.

Imagine my disappointment. A warrior born and bred, sent to the loneliest and harshest area in all of Esfah.

It was expected that my journey would span several tendays, so I was provisioned heavily, so much that Beast whinnied as if in pain, and I swear that the animal glared at me with pure hatred. I decided to make sure my backside came nowhere near its mouth during my travels. I bade farewell to my parents and siblings, who walked with me to the city gates. My father Geril oft told me that a true warrior never shows fear, and walks into adventure with head held high and eyes looking only to the path before him, not behind, lest he leave the better part of himself where it can do no good.

A day of travel down the slope of mount Balgavarr brought me to the foothills and within sight of the plains of Seshara. The sunlight was fading as I looked upon the vast and open plains. Lush green and gold, the plains fairly sparkle with life and health. A Vaghan I may be, but the highlands pale when compared to the beauty of Nature, and nowhere is that more evident than the plains of Cyrea. The lush grasses and cool groves of fruit and shade trees are a welcome sight to any traveler.

To the south and out of sight lay the Amazon city of Thurisa, home of the human warrior women. Eastward lay my destination. A range of sharp and smoking peaks, the sight of which filled me with trepidation and not a little dread. Even so, I was determined to face that fear like a true warrior and finish the duty that I had been given.

For now my path lay south. I would have to travel along the edge of Seshara, an opportunity I looked forward to. Beast even seemed eager. With a tug on his reins, we started down the slope and into Seshara.

Entering Seshara has been likened to being reborn. The moment my feet touched the plains I felt refreshed. A gentle breeze felt cool on my face, and a small stream nearby offered refreshment, and I was quick to drink my fill, as was Beast. I rested for a time in the shade of a stately ironwood. Since it was early spring and the tree was just beginning to bud, there was little danger of being clubbed by a falling leaf.

I suppose it was the trek down the mountain that had tired me. The next thing I knew I was waking, and the sun was rising. I had slept the entire night through! I looked around and found Beast grazing nearby. I sat up, and it was then that I noticed I was not alone. Lying near the tree was one of the Ghwereste. The wolf yawned and blinked. Then it grinned, showing sharp white teeth. “Greetings,” it growled.

To be continued….

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