Specks of sunlight flitter down through the dappled forest leaves. The autumn wind has just kissed their branches and they shiver with a flurry of color. Leaves unhinged from their natural homes upon the limbs of giant forest oaks glide silently down and dance upon the whimsical kiss of this chilly wind. I pause to collect my thoughts and to formulate a plan of action. Autumn caresses the long black stray hairs loosened above my elvish ears with her soft breath. The voice of my mentor soft in my ear, 'My roots are flesh and blood, but supple as the soil they
suck.' The forests mysteries unfold before my senses.Supressing a shudder, I gaze diligently into the forest and open myself to its mysteries. It speaks and I listen ever the diligent scholar. Seeking enlightenment in the twist and sway of a bent blade of grass or twig the forest gives unto me its secret gnossis. A sharp biting wind disrupts my current course of study and my mind leaps to memories of her. She lies out there somewhere; for the nonce she is safe though in what condition I know not. The gods shall not defy me in this. I have not travelled lonely from the halls of our fathers only to be denied our destiny. I have not shed blood upon the stones of Kier Dunnow, nor lain wasted and left for dead upon the moss carpeted floors of Mith Drannor only to be denied now. I will find her and assume my rightful place as her protector. Corellon Larethian guide my endeavors. All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
It is with much hope and trepidation that I have agreed to undertake my current task. The wife of a wayward man named Duvenstall has enlisted my talents as a scout and tracker to uncover his current whereabouts. She fears the worst for his condition as she has not had word from him for many a day. A moon and a day upon his path the road leads me to Nentir Vale. From conversations and information gleaned and gathered upon my journey it
seems my quarry has moved north to conduct some form of business in a town named winterhaven not many days past. I have followed him from Fallcrest. A secret meeting in the forest outside of town not many days before.
Branches and leaves make no sound as I tread lightly through the domain of moss and fern. My feet float in the effortless dance of the hunt. At one with the forest and my quarry, the unwieldy tread of his boots emerge from the forest floor and guide my direction of travel. His city ways leaving a trace in my domain as easily followed as if he were magnetized and I a compass. A heavy and sharp crack behind me, cloak spinning and blades drawn, brigands hoping to catch me unawares. There are three men now before me. Feral and evil is the gleam of
their eyes. Wicked and sharp is the glint of the sun off the swords in their hands. The steel of my drawn knives is cold where it meets my lips, a kiss before the dance of death. Flesh and steel meet, flesh giving way to the power of sharpened steel. My steel is sharp, my skills keen. The veins of my foes offer up their sanguine gifts. A shifting foot, a spinning slash...a wonderfully macabre dance in which my skills surpass those of the wastrels moving higgledy-piggledy before my stinging blades. A slight shift of the weight to the ball of the left foot, right hand flashing down. A spin following to the left, bow to your partner(wind breaks the reeds) and up slicing in a silver flash the steel in my right hand. Poetry....
Quickly now moves the right,
bright red delight.
like rain upon the eaves...
falling down on forest leaves.
And the task is done. Bending down I cleanse my steel. Your rot shall not pit my blades. There is an awkward silence now. All the woodland creatures have fled from the sounds of slaughter. A moment more to regain my bearings before the hunt resumes. She is out there and I will find her. And him...I will find him as well. One task before the next. She is safe, for now...and in that I must take comfort.
Ahhh...Winterhaven..what secrets dost thou hold.