Petrichor Moonbroch, a Wolf searching for a pack.
Apr 10, 2022 17:56:29 GMT -5
sightblinder likes this
Post by vulpes on Apr 10, 2022 17:56:29 GMT -5
Tilverton:
Tilverton was a nice town with high walls made by masons with pride in their calloused hands. To look at the walls was not to look at wonderment like Cities such as Waterdeep, but to look at a town filled with honest folk who knew how to live day by day and make sure their neighbour was well. The ancient town had a dark side too though, the rogues guild preying on those senseless enough to travel at night in unlit areas, or those new to the town an ignorant of the ways of such a place.
THINGS WERE NOT RIGHT:
To the west lay the setting sun, its orange fury igniting a rusty blaze across the darkening sky and painting the jagged Stonelands in a fiery copper glow. Behind the lonely trees and distant monoliths, the shadows were lengthening, stretching their pointed tips across the parched pasturelands toward the city of Tilverton.
To the north, purple darkness already cloaked the Desertsmouth Mountains. To the south, a lake of umbral murk was spreading outward from the foot of the Stormhorns. The attack could come from any direction or from all three, and with no more warning than the time a shadow needed to sweep across the plain. Or it might not come at all…………….
SNIPPETS OF AN EXCERPT: HOW THE OTHERS LEFT THEM UNKNOWN TO THE ORPHANS
"In which case, he can't let us set the pace," Vangerdahast said. "Either way, he's attacking us. Everything points to it." Caladnei inclined her head to the old wizard. "Ill send word to Hhormun to save his spell." Alusair raised a restraining hand. "Hold a moment." She bit her lip in thought, then turned to Vangerdahast with a half smile. "What if we could beat them to the strike?" Galaeron's brow rose. "Beat them? If you timed matters wrong, Tilverton would be lost." "True," Alusair said without losing enthusiasm, "but Cormyr has many cities. The Shadovar have only one." Alasalynn Rowanmantle gasped aloud. "You would sacrifice Tilverton?" "No, but I'd surely wager it," Alusair said, not grinning. 'You do have an evacuation plan?" Alasalynn's already pale face grew even paler. "I'll activate it." She thumbed a ring on her middle finger and vanished in a crackle of magic. Vangerdahast cocked his bushy brow and started to say something, then caught Alusair's warning glance and cleared his throat instead. Alusair smiled. "Vangey, can you. ..." "Of course, Princess." Too plump and rickety for the ladder, Vangerdahast simply stepped to the edge of the scaffolding and looked for a clear place to land. "I'll prepare the device for transport at once."
Though Tilverton's evacuation was under way, he had seen for himself that there had still been hundreds of women and children in the city earlier that evening—and the Cormyrean plan risked them all. How hard, he wondered, had been the lessons they learned in their last war against the dragon Nalavarauthatoryl? Had they truly grown so cold that they would knowingly sacrifice so many to win a quick victory—and save how many more? Perhaps that was what it required to defeat the Shadovar, and, more importantly, the phaerimm.
Galaeron was undeterred. "I have to try," he said. "If there's any chance I can save Tilverton—" "There is not, and you know it," Aris said, "but the choice must be yours, or your shadow has already won."
He was not surprised to discover that the fighting was already over—cataclysmic magic had a way of ending battles swiftly—but he was astonished at the extent of the destruction. Much of Tilverton— all of Old Town below him and the rest of the city out past the Moonsea Ride— already lay beneath a sea of shadowstuff, and the stain was continuing to spread. The great Council Tower in the center of town was sinking into oblivion even as he watched, and he could hear warriors from both sides calling to each other in the dark streets beyond, all more concerned with saving their own lives than taking anyone else's. It was pure horror.
PETRICHOR:
Laughing so hard he had to sit to stop voiding his bladder, the young farmer rolled and was promptly whacked on his shoulder by the girl he had played the trick on laughing even harder. She was older than him and far more serious, even as the blow connected he laughed again, raising her angst.
Petr as his friends called him, or Petrichor when his mother was about to clip his ear, was happy go lucky and always ready to play pranks as much as he was ready to till the fields for his father, Rafe. Petr was wild, unkempt and cared for nothing other than honesty, hard work and the joy of simply living.
Petrichors father Rafe was a strong man, built like you would expect a farmer to be, thick shoulders and hands like shovels. Rafe meant council of the wolf in the old language, his large canine betraying his heritage.
Petr looked at his father and mother like the centre of his world, they cherished him and taught him all he knew, how to respect nature and most importantly how to pray to Mielikki, he didn’t quite know why, but he knew she was important and being young he also thought if you should pray to a goddess, why not a good looking one?
He often wondered why his mother and father had talismans of wolves around the farm. They farmed wheat for Tilverton and it did not really make sense to him, they seemed to like hunting though he rarely recalled the numerous hunts he partook in.
Petrichor was safe around them; he lived a simple life, up with the sun and in bed with the moon. Occasionally he felt an urge to wake up during a full moon, something he had no control over. An urge and a rush in his ears he did not comprehend. Often waking up with mud in the bed, he assumed from the fields the day before. His parents were always quiet after the full moon and sometimes scolded him for making the sheets muddy again though he knew not why.
PURE TERROR:
Time ticked on and when your day is so routine you find happiness in similarity, in Toril, life can change in an instant.
“Wake up Petr! Get up now !” His mother pulled him from the bed with superhuman strength; he panicked wondering if he was in trouble for spending time with Mary?
Adawolfa shoved his fathers scimitar into his chest as he wiped the sand of sleep from his eyes. His mother grabbed him by both shoulders and looked him in the eyes, “Go now! Whitelaw will take you, you must leave. We will catch up to you. Know that we love you and will always be with you no matter what happens”.
Petr half asleep was worried now, his parents were rocks, immovable objects, never in fear, his anchor to the world he lived in. This was not right, but before he could figure it out, a familiar hand grabbed his and hugged his mother. Whitelaw.
Running with the girl he had tortured with pranks, he turned to see his mother for the first time with a tear on her face, he obeyed her without question though his heart beat like an orc war drum his world crumbling.
Adawolfa thrust a small token, a wolfs head into his hand, kissed his head and said the last words he would ever hear from her
“We will see you in the eternal hunt my son, care not for the world, love Mielikki and live for the now”.
Then the shadows came and Petr knew pure terror. His world as he knew it was over, a child of the wolf was now an orphan, his life changed forever.
*The Siege II
Tilverton was a nice town with high walls made by masons with pride in their calloused hands. To look at the walls was not to look at wonderment like Cities such as Waterdeep, but to look at a town filled with honest folk who knew how to live day by day and make sure their neighbour was well. The ancient town had a dark side too though, the rogues guild preying on those senseless enough to travel at night in unlit areas, or those new to the town an ignorant of the ways of such a place.
THINGS WERE NOT RIGHT:
To the west lay the setting sun, its orange fury igniting a rusty blaze across the darkening sky and painting the jagged Stonelands in a fiery copper glow. Behind the lonely trees and distant monoliths, the shadows were lengthening, stretching their pointed tips across the parched pasturelands toward the city of Tilverton.
To the north, purple darkness already cloaked the Desertsmouth Mountains. To the south, a lake of umbral murk was spreading outward from the foot of the Stormhorns. The attack could come from any direction or from all three, and with no more warning than the time a shadow needed to sweep across the plain. Or it might not come at all…………….
SNIPPETS OF AN EXCERPT: HOW THE OTHERS LEFT THEM UNKNOWN TO THE ORPHANS
"In which case, he can't let us set the pace," Vangerdahast said. "Either way, he's attacking us. Everything points to it." Caladnei inclined her head to the old wizard. "Ill send word to Hhormun to save his spell." Alusair raised a restraining hand. "Hold a moment." She bit her lip in thought, then turned to Vangerdahast with a half smile. "What if we could beat them to the strike?" Galaeron's brow rose. "Beat them? If you timed matters wrong, Tilverton would be lost." "True," Alusair said without losing enthusiasm, "but Cormyr has many cities. The Shadovar have only one." Alasalynn Rowanmantle gasped aloud. "You would sacrifice Tilverton?" "No, but I'd surely wager it," Alusair said, not grinning. 'You do have an evacuation plan?" Alasalynn's already pale face grew even paler. "I'll activate it." She thumbed a ring on her middle finger and vanished in a crackle of magic. Vangerdahast cocked his bushy brow and started to say something, then caught Alusair's warning glance and cleared his throat instead. Alusair smiled. "Vangey, can you. ..." "Of course, Princess." Too plump and rickety for the ladder, Vangerdahast simply stepped to the edge of the scaffolding and looked for a clear place to land. "I'll prepare the device for transport at once."
Though Tilverton's evacuation was under way, he had seen for himself that there had still been hundreds of women and children in the city earlier that evening—and the Cormyrean plan risked them all. How hard, he wondered, had been the lessons they learned in their last war against the dragon Nalavarauthatoryl? Had they truly grown so cold that they would knowingly sacrifice so many to win a quick victory—and save how many more? Perhaps that was what it required to defeat the Shadovar, and, more importantly, the phaerimm.
Galaeron was undeterred. "I have to try," he said. "If there's any chance I can save Tilverton—" "There is not, and you know it," Aris said, "but the choice must be yours, or your shadow has already won."
He was not surprised to discover that the fighting was already over—cataclysmic magic had a way of ending battles swiftly—but he was astonished at the extent of the destruction. Much of Tilverton— all of Old Town below him and the rest of the city out past the Moonsea Ride— already lay beneath a sea of shadowstuff, and the stain was continuing to spread. The great Council Tower in the center of town was sinking into oblivion even as he watched, and he could hear warriors from both sides calling to each other in the dark streets beyond, all more concerned with saving their own lives than taking anyone else's. It was pure horror.
PETRICHOR:
Laughing so hard he had to sit to stop voiding his bladder, the young farmer rolled and was promptly whacked on his shoulder by the girl he had played the trick on laughing even harder. She was older than him and far more serious, even as the blow connected he laughed again, raising her angst.
Petr as his friends called him, or Petrichor when his mother was about to clip his ear, was happy go lucky and always ready to play pranks as much as he was ready to till the fields for his father, Rafe. Petr was wild, unkempt and cared for nothing other than honesty, hard work and the joy of simply living.
Petrichors father Rafe was a strong man, built like you would expect a farmer to be, thick shoulders and hands like shovels. Rafe meant council of the wolf in the old language, his large canine betraying his heritage.
Petr looked at his father and mother like the centre of his world, they cherished him and taught him all he knew, how to respect nature and most importantly how to pray to Mielikki, he didn’t quite know why, but he knew she was important and being young he also thought if you should pray to a goddess, why not a good looking one?
He often wondered why his mother and father had talismans of wolves around the farm. They farmed wheat for Tilverton and it did not really make sense to him, they seemed to like hunting though he rarely recalled the numerous hunts he partook in.
Petrichor was safe around them; he lived a simple life, up with the sun and in bed with the moon. Occasionally he felt an urge to wake up during a full moon, something he had no control over. An urge and a rush in his ears he did not comprehend. Often waking up with mud in the bed, he assumed from the fields the day before. His parents were always quiet after the full moon and sometimes scolded him for making the sheets muddy again though he knew not why.
PURE TERROR:
Time ticked on and when your day is so routine you find happiness in similarity, in Toril, life can change in an instant.
“Wake up Petr! Get up now !” His mother pulled him from the bed with superhuman strength; he panicked wondering if he was in trouble for spending time with Mary?
Adawolfa shoved his fathers scimitar into his chest as he wiped the sand of sleep from his eyes. His mother grabbed him by both shoulders and looked him in the eyes, “Go now! Whitelaw will take you, you must leave. We will catch up to you. Know that we love you and will always be with you no matter what happens”.
Petr half asleep was worried now, his parents were rocks, immovable objects, never in fear, his anchor to the world he lived in. This was not right, but before he could figure it out, a familiar hand grabbed his and hugged his mother. Whitelaw.
Running with the girl he had tortured with pranks, he turned to see his mother for the first time with a tear on her face, he obeyed her without question though his heart beat like an orc war drum his world crumbling.
Adawolfa thrust a small token, a wolfs head into his hand, kissed his head and said the last words he would ever hear from her
“We will see you in the eternal hunt my son, care not for the world, love Mielikki and live for the now”.
Then the shadows came and Petr knew pure terror. His world as he knew it was over, a child of the wolf was now an orphan, his life changed forever.
*The Siege II