There was a hint of oak in the air, the crisp, fresh outdoorsy air. The sky was barely viewable and, come to think about it, not much was visible at all.
With a loud gasp, the girl sat bolt upright, chest heaving as she realized that she was deep in a forest, maybe even a jungle.
For some reason, she couldn't particularly remember what she was doing here; hadn't she been on a hunt for a Barghest that had been plaguing the nearby village? Her head felt so foggy that she couldn't even remember her own name.
The girl rubbed her eyes and searched through her travelpacks until she found some lavender-scented ointment, sniffing in deeply.
Mari... ana. Her name was Mariana and she was from a village over the mountains, where the sun showed its face regularly and over the plains ran wild animals without a care in the world. A village full of laughter and music; a village with young children dashing through the streets, with the sound of birds twittering overrun by the pure smell of nature and freedom.
Looking down, she picked up her weapon that had fallen on the ground; an old, rosewood bow. At the touch of it, she knew that she had had it since she was only young; she knew its every groove, curve and scar, and never before had she lost it; not in the wilds of the jungles, nor in the strange human towns that she had visited so many times in the last few years.
The girl ran a hand over her smooth cheeks, trying to remember what it was that her mind was trying to tell her; her face... Her face was a cultural mix of two races; elvish and human. A rush of memories from her elvish childhood came back in an instant.
There was her close circle of friends from a young age, Aria, Lilith and Deric, of the pranks that they had pulled in the evening rays of the sun; such as, the time when they had turned all the taste of all the fruits in storage into sour and bitter flavors, or when they'd sent their mentor on a wild goose chase through the village with an itchy pollen in his clothes.
Of course, they hadn't meant any real harm to Weissan; he was kind enough to the four of them, and sometimes he took them out on hunts in the nearby forests for target practice. It was better when they were in the stuffy old classroom and he decided to tell the fables of when the elders had discovered the very haven that they sat in now; they would sit on the edge of their seats as he gestured at the size of the old oaks residing in the soil and described the sharpness of the monster's fangs that had tried to raid them.
But then, she had matured; her body had matured so much faster than those of her friends, and while they remained young and innocent, she now towered over them with lanky and awkward limbs. She felt like her mind wasn't moving fast enough for the rest of her, and not even Weissan could explain it to her.
Before long, it was her 20th summer's eve; her mother explained, with teary eyes, that she was going to have to leave the village and simply move on to a better future.
They held a ceremony for her, where her friends and the rest of her people attempted to raise her spirits by dancing the old dances and strumming their lutes in sonnets to the moon and stars. However, nothing could concile her in the morning when she had to pack her travelbags and, with a sense of finality, left her hometown with a teary wave and a sloping walk.
Mariana felt like she had awoken for a second time when she opened her eyes again, to see three other curious sets of eyes looking at each other.
So many questions circled around his mind in a constant, pounding rhythm; where was he, how did he get here, what was he doing here, and the most constant of all, who was he?
The man opened his eyes blearily and groped around himself on the forest floor for something that he could recognise, something constant; finally, he gripped his staff tightly, the wood cutting into his hand as he struggled to whisper a memory spell by drawing power from the giant trees around him. The trees groaned slightly at the drain as their branches drooped and autumn leaves fell softly to the ground, at which he muttered a small apology.
Memories began to roll into his mind like a fast-flowing stream, whispering lightly to him in a quick, teasing manner.
He was Matthew, a mere man that had somehow managed to acquire an affinity with nature and become one with the land. It had started from quite a young age, around 12 according to his mind. He would sneak away from his parent's house late at night, out through the gates with a murmur when the guards weren't squinting into the shadows, and into the ravenous jungle where friends awaited him.
The man could remember whispering to birds until they told him the secrets of the animals around the jungle, learning how to climb trees and vines from the jaguars and other beasts, even managing to converse with a Couatl when it had been in a comfortable mood and a full belly. Then there was the time that he had nearly been caught by a Brass dragon when it had been escorting its wyrmlings through the overgrowth, and he had only just escaped a singe there.
But everything was very hushed in his life, because Matthew preferred to listen rather than speak; this linked to the fact that he preferred living in various, less crowded environments rather than bustling cities.
The only thing that he truly knew about himself were his questions, and even those were hard to pin down at times. Since he didn't like interacting with humans or any of the other races, he had difficulty understanding that society, even if he had once come from it himself.
He disliked barbarism, cruelty unnecessary warfare, all three being of human-make and all of them being unjustifiable.
Matthew felt like he was emerging from the depths of the ocean when his silken azure eyes opened once again, viewing the world, and three strange companions.
Uphold the law. Vanquish all evil. Protect the weak. The three codes came rushing to mind as soon as he called upon them. There were many things that he did not remember right now as he lay on the rough, weathered ground.
He needed only to draw his sword from its sheath to remember his true memories.
Sir Joshua, a paladin who answered the call of good deeds and respected the law in all its parts. He could remember late nights spent lying awake, dreaming of a life spent traveling on the road and a companion or two for company. He remembered being flogged for dreaming of suck things, for wanting to hope. Life then had been unfair to him, like he had been dealt all the wrong cards because fate didn't want him to win.
His childhood had been dark and most of the time, he tried not to remember what had happened back then and instead he kept that locked behind shadowy doors in the back of his mind.
He remembered running away in the night with the bare essentials that he could collect and a small amount of money, but also he remembered the kindness the strangers on the road had shown him.
One encounter, in particular, he thought of quite often; there had been a group of elvish adventurers that he had happened across once on the way to one of the major cities. At the time, he had only been around 18, so he was still young and mildly innocent in the ways of the world.
They had invited him to join them at their campfire, and although he was timid at first, he accepted under their lilting voices and laughter. They had asked him so many questions as one of them gently played the flute in the background; what was it like to discover the world with human eyes, how did he come to be on the road so young, did he have certain customs or religions?
Eventually, they let him rest on his bedroll once they realized he was tiresome, but in the morning they insisted that he travel with them for another day and night so they could learn more about him. Gladly he did so, and for more than one more day; it wasn't until he finally reached his destination that they bade him farewell.
There, in that very same city, he had met his mentor Christian, who had decided to train him under duress over the next few years. Trained and tamed was what he thought he was, saved from the caged life of a peasant unable to do good. Now, he could save the helpless and help the needy in his constant quest.
He now wandered the land with a fiery heart, burning vampires and murdering gnolls and even taking down a hill giant with the very same sword that he held now.
He despised selfishness, vanity and evil, and it was this hatred which brought him to bear with these equally strange beings.
It was with a bloodthirsty roar that he woke up, reaching for his greatsword with the swiftness of a tiger. His vision was plagued with darkness, and it angered him that it was his mind also.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder, sending back his tidal rage into the ocean of his emotion and allowing the fog to clear and let his mind think again.
His heritage was of an ancient, elvish bloodline, bourne from across the seas to reside within the jungles of the south. However, he was not to become one within the tight-knit circles of elvish community.
Ever since a young age, he had always felt this burning center inside him, something that led him to do many acts of violence that he didn't mean to; for one, there was that time when he had burnt down the library of the haven, all during one of his bloodlust rages. Even then, he'd only been 25, barely an adolescent in the eyes of the elders; they let him off, though they forced him to work in the fields for a certain amount of time.
20 years later, he had gotten into a brawl with the other youths in the society, ones that were supposed to be out foraging in the jungle when they were ambushed by the elf.
Another incident, where he managed to injure one of his closest friends at the hunting range, shooting an arrow through his shoulder in what he claimed was a 'freak incident'. When no-one believed him... Well.
The elf remembered leaving the hidden city at only 75 years of age, and even then the elders had been more than eager to get rid of him; his berserk acts caused him to become an outcast in his community and nobody wanted to come near him anymore. That didn't mean that he might still injure people at some time, though.
He had exchanged his original name for David the Fierce, though if he was ever to meet fellow elves, he would give his family name of Stormbreaker.
Quickly, in the wilderness, he had picked up the art of the barbarian, learning how to wield a greatsword with ease and also to use his rage in battle. He tried not to think of the many years that he had now lost in his home city, where he still could not return.
Opening his eyes, David found himself in a quartet of other adventurers.