Rastan Ashallown

[JCrux]

Geoff Ashallown walked through the forest as he often did, wearing a light leather jerkin and carrying his hand axe, his mind focused on the day’s work. Geoff was a woodcutter, and that day he was scouting the area looking for the next set of trees he and his partners would cut down.

A woman’s scream brought his attention to the ravine down the hill. He caught just a flash of movement through the trees. He rushed down hill, and then he saw her: a lithe, young looking woman with fiery red hair and fair pale skin. And no more than 20 yards behind her were four goblins in fast pursuit. Geoff gave a yell and jumped into the ravine to plant him between the woman and her pursuers. He surprised the goblins just long enough to plant a killing blow on the lead goblin with his axe.

Though strong and hearty from a life of work as a woodcutter, Geoff was not trained for battle. The three remaining goblins moved to surround him, positioning themselves so that two could flank him. Geoff made a wild swing with his axe, only to miss and feel the cut of a short sword into his left leg. The pain was great, but adrenaline kept him going. “Gotta be smart,” he thought to himself. With overconfidence the goblin to his right jumped in close for a quick jab. Geoff took a quick step back and then backhanded the goblin in the face with the back of his axe. The goblin crumbed to the ground. But, his attention turned, he felt a blade dig deep into his side.

He now knew he wouldn’t survive this fight, but he wanted his death to have meaning. “Just a little while longer,” he thought, “ and hopefully she’ll find the village and be safe.” The two remaining goblins chortled in glee. They began taunting Geoff in their tongue, baiting him to attack, only to nick at him with their short swords. They were toying with him. The loss of blood sapped his strength. “Gotta be smart,” he reminded himself. Geoff acted as if making another wild swing, only to quickly reverse direction and plant his axe into the belly of goblin in front of him. The exertion took all that was left in him; Geoff crumbled to the ground. The last goblin yelled in anger and raised his blade to make the killing stroke.

The woman’s name is Deanna. She did not flee as Geoff had hoped. Instead she stopped and watched the ensuing battle with fear and dread. As much as Deanna feared for her life, she couldn’t pull herself away from watching her would-be savior. As the last goblin raised his blade she cast a quick incantation and engulfed it in flames from her fingertips. The goblin fell dead.

Deanna bandaged Geoff’s wounds as best as she could. The small amount of healing salves and poultices she carried with her were applied. Then, praying nothing else would come down the ravine while she was gone, she ran down the trails of the woodcutters, hoping it would quickly take her to a village where she could find help.

At first Deanna felt honor bound to care for Geoff as he recuperated. She stayed in Geoff’s small cabin, changing his bandages and preparing his meals. Gradually she came to love this strong, burly, serious man who risked his life for hers. Without realizing it, Geoff had fallen in love with her the instant he saw her fleeing through the woods. They were wed two months after he regained his health. Rastan Ashallown was born just under a year later.

[JCrux]

Geoff walked into the cabin hot, sweaty and covered in dirt and wood chips. “Do you know what your son is doin’?” he asked gruffly. Deanna nodded. “Still talking to the old bard I imagine.” “It’s more listenin’ than talkin’,” Geoff replied, “and a great big waste of time, too, listenin’ to that nonsense.” Deanna turned back to washing the cooking pot. “He enjoys the stories, and there’s very little entertainment for him here.”

“Bah,” replied Geoff, “ he doesn’t need more entertainment. Seems every bard in the Dales has passed through here this year; each one fillin’ his head with stories about make-believe heroes. The gods didn’t create us to be entertained. He just needs to learn how to do an honest days work is all.” Geoff grabbed half a loaf of black bread and some butter and prepared a small meal for himself. “Next year he’ll be big enough to help me and the lads fell the trees. He can start by learnin’ to strip the branches off. He needs to set his mind to livin’ a normal, respectable life. He’ll become a woodcutter just like me and my pa and my pa’s pa before him.”

Deanna let just a hint of a smirk flash across her face as kept her head turned away from Geoff and focused on the pot. “He has my blood in him,” she thought. “A normal life is not possible for Rastan. Whether he appreciates it or not, he will be … different.”

[JCrux]

Geoff and Rastan returned from a full day of work with the rest of the woodcutters. Rastan was now twelve years old. Not strong enough to swing an axe all day, but he could strip bark and run errands for the men. As they approached their cottage it was unusually quiet. Deanna was not at home. This was rather unusual, especially with the sun hanging low in the sky.

“Marta!” Geoff bellowed outside the door of their next-door neighbor. “Marta, you here!?” “Coming, coming,” she replied. “What is it you yellin’ about Geoff?” Geoff could be an impatient man, but controlled himself to remain (relatively) polite. “Marta, its Deanna. She’s not at home. Do you know where she went?” Marta and Deanna were close friends, and being neighbors in a small village they usually knew what the other was doing. “She’s not a home?” Marta sounded worried. “I saw her walk into the forest early afternoon. She said she was gatherin’ herbs. I assumed she would be back by now.” “Well, she ain’t at home. And if you didn’t see her come back then, …” Geoff broke off the sentence, unable to state what he feared. Goblins had attacked Deanna once before. What if they returned? “Gather the men, Marta, we gotta go look for her.”

Geoff stormed into the house, a flurry of swift, abrupt actions. “Where’s ma?” Rastan asked. “I don’t know, boy. I’m goin’ to go look for her.” “I’m coming too,” Rastan said resolutely. Geoff gave him a cold, hard stare. “No, you aren’t. You are stayin’ right here.” “But I can help!” Rastan protested. “You’re too young, Rastan. Besides, I need you to be here to care for ma in case she comes home while I’m lookin’ for her.” “But…” Rastan started again. “No,” said Geoff firmly, “you will wait here.” And that was that. Geoff grabbed his leather vest and a sharp axe and headed out the door.

Geoff approached the town square with disappointment, then anger. Only a few men had gathered, and none of them looked prepared for a search party. “Geoff”, began Lloyd, Marta’s husband, “it’s too dark now. We’ll have to wait til morning.” Geoff just glared at him, then each man in turn. “Is that how you all feel? You’re willin’ to leave my Deanna out there, alone, in the dark?” The men looked uncomfortable but resolute. “Look, “ said Went, “it’s not what we want. We’re just being practical. Even with torches its too dark to see far and the forest is too big to search without proper light. We could walk right past her without knowin’ it.” Geoff stormed off without another word.

Geoff searched all that night. The men joined him the following day, and the two days following. Hope gave way to desperation, and finally the village despaired of seeing Deanna again. No one found any sign of her, any sign of a struggle, or anything unusual in the woods. Nevertheless, the common belief was that something tragic must have happened for Deanna not to be found by now. Only two people persisted in believing she was still alive. Geoff continued his search for another five days until exhaustion overcame him. He took a day to rest, and then wept, finally coming to accept that he would never see his beloved Deanna again.

Rastan waited in frustration while being locked up in the cottage all those days. He politely but curtly accepted the comfort the village women tried to offer him. Through it all he held to the belief that his mother was alive and well, somewhere. It confused him as to why his mother would leave them, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe he would never see her again. Whether based on blind hope, deep intuition, or perhaps something else, a part of him had faith that his mother could look after herself, and that he would see her again one day.

[JCrux]

Rastan crept quietly through the little cabin. It was very early in morning and the sun had not yet risen. He could hear his father snoring in the other room. It was a reassuring sound. Perhaps his plan would succeed.

He had only gone a dozen steps outside when he was stopped by a single question. “So, the time has come and you’re plannin’ on goin’ through with this, eh?” Rastan turned to face Marta as she stood in the doorway of the neighboring cabin. Ever since his mother disappeared Marta had taken it upon herself to help raise Rastan. He just stood there and nodded sheepishly. “You’re gonna break his heart, you know.” She continued. “I know,” said Rastan, “but I can’t spend the rest o’ my life here. I just have to believe there’s more out there for me than … this.” Marta sighed. “I knew this day would one day come, you always had too much wanderlust in ya. Just hoped you would a’ waited a little while longer. Your plannin’ on sneakin’ away with the bards, aren’t ya.” Rastan looked a little shocked, then smiled. “It’s that obvious, isn’t it? Yes, they’re waiting for me couple miles down the road. They said they’d take me along as an extra sword and let me play music for some of the acts.” Marta’s eyes began to shed some tears. “You take care of yourself. Choose your friends wisely and know you can always return here.” Rastan eyes began to water as well as he gave her a hug goodbye. “Take care o’ my pa. Tell ‘im I love ‘im and I’ll be back someday.”

With that Rastan turned and hurried on down the road toward the entertainment troupe that was waiting for him. He never felt so excited or frightened in his previous seventeen years. He was leaving behind the only life he knew to explore a world he had only known in stories.