Ethyria the Beautiful
It was still under the canopy of trees that made up the forest of Terrashire. The fog hung low, almost a foreboding of great evil, for it seemed a man could fall into it and be sucked away forever. The stars overhead were so close that night that if one could see them he might reach out as if to grasp one to give to his lady. But it was not so. A thousand years had past since the last Star came to look upon the affairs of men.
The stillness was broken only by a slight tread upon the leaves. A figure ran through the forest, not overly hasty, but with great urgency nonetheless. If any had been in the forest that night, they would have known the steps of a hunter, for the hunter cannot afford to let his prey hear of his coming. But the stag was not his prey this night.
As he ran he thought over the events that led to this most dangerous quest.
* * * *
It had started like most nights since the first battle. A stop at the Thunderhead to wet his throat after a long days hunt. Then to carry the kill home to dress and smoke it.
He had entered to the warm greeting of Osgood the Black.
"Ah (as yet unnamed character) You have come to join us," Osgood had been smoking his pipe in the back corner of the tavern. He sat up as (as yet unnamed character) entered. "Come Boss Rael, a drink for our young friend."
Rael was the owner of the Thunderhead tavern, and hard put was a man to find a better, or cleaner, place to drink his ale and swap the stories of past conquests. Of lady's loved, of foul creatures destroyed and the great battles that one would fight in those days of old.
Now it was said that there was never a man greater with a sword than Rael. He had been a knight in the service of Grand Marshal Raylon. It was said that he had won the land and money required to build the tavern for his great deeds of bravery and skill. But Rael was a humble man, older than most, and not given to boasting. The young men would ask if this story was true, or if that battle had happened that way. He always smiled and told them to ask the others, who always held up the tales however tall or exaggerated.
If Rael was master of the sword, Osgood was master of the dagger. He kept four on his person at all times, two in his belt and two on his back, those being more kin to short swords than daggers. But he kept up the appearance, for it was well to be known as a master of some weapon.
Osgood was a rouge who traveled the country side. He drifted from town to town, shire to shire, swapping stories and telling the news of the countryside. Few knew how he made his money, nor did many care to know, for a mans business was his own. Some had speculated that he was an assassin, it was likely enough, for men had to make their own way. But long had it been since anyone had need of an assassin, for the enemy of man was a straightforward one.