norlotha

[norlotha]

Here's a more detailed map of the isles, with place names.

[norlotha]

Chapter 2: Destiny Has Spoken

Three days passed and the village was full of energy and excitement. When Skerans are young, and show an aptitude for magic, (a skill not shown in many)  they are chosen to leave the island as a group, on a set day once every ten years, and head for the mainland to study magic at the school of Tamlos. 

Tharün however had never really shown much aptitude for the arcane arts, though his father Garün swears otherwise; that Tharün is in fact magical, but without the right teaching from eldars and wizards, he never progressed.

It was the day before the future students left the island. Skerans from all over the island gathered in Kern for celebration and to say goodbye to their loved ones, for many don't return after making their pledges to Tamlos. 

The people gathered around a great, ancient tree, set in stone block steps. A tree with rough, white bark, and no leaves. 

This was the ancient shrine tree, one that was supposedly planted by the faun god Kerne (of whom the village's name originated).

Tharün stood with his friend and apprentice Bryffin, who he'd chosen as his first mate, and his father Garün. With cups in hand, they accepted well-wishes and gifts from their people. But they stood for another reason, to find a third crew member.

Throughout the day, many offered themselves and their services, but with Garün stood as adviser to the selection, they were all turned away. Many for being too young, or too inexperienced. 

Tharün turned and muttered to Garün.

"Father, we can't take all day to do this. I trust your judgment, but don't you think you're being a bit harsh?"

"Pah!" Garün laughed. "I know a soldier when I see one. And you need a soldier where you're going my son!"

A band played at the edge of the shrine, with lutes and horns. Carts were stacked with ale and food, with people gathered around, drinking from wooden cups and enjoying the celebration, dancing and sharing stories together.

Tharün sat on a large stone and leant back on the tree, without the crew he needed he was starting to give up hope. He closed his eyes for a few moments to collect his thoughts.

Then he heard a woman's voice. The voice was deep and gruff yet gently spoken.

"I'll serve you sir."

He opened his eyes to see a somewhat familiar form eclipsing the sunlight above him. This was Kayla, a soldier from the coast of the island. She stood taller than most Skerans, with leather and fur armor cladding her brawny, muscular body. Her hair blonde and platted over her shoulder down her chest, and her hand rested on the hilt of a giant great sword.

"Well the two of you won't sail that boat on your own. The sword you made me has saved my skin through many a battle. I pledge my service to you, Tharün" she spoke through a grin.

Tharün smiled and looked at his father.

"Well my boy, looks like you've got a crew" Garün said with a chuckle.

Tharün took a breath, then looked back at Kayla.

"Thank you. You're in"

They smiled at each other, and Tharün passed her a cup; there they sat, the four of them, talking and drinking, content with their group, but somewhat sullied with apprehension for the journey to come.

The early morning mist of the next day saw the villagers of Kern gathered at the port, boatmen we're readying five ships, with six students on each. 

Tharün stood before his father, his crew readying their things on the ship, Kayla lifting barrels of supplies over steps onto the deck.

"My son." Garün placed his hand on Tharüns shoulders.

"I've wanted to give you this for years, but the time has never been right. This is the shield of Kerne."

He turned and pulled a thick, wooden shield from a large sack they'd been moving with the rest of their cargo. He handed it to Tharün.

The shield had an emerald stone set into a worn gold plate on the front.

"What is this? You've never shown me it before"

Tharün put his arm through the two leather straps on the back, admiring it's shape and weight.

"See this stone here" Garün pointed to the emerald.

"This stone has had many lives. It's been passed down in many forms through generations of our family. I hope it brings you luck and keeps you safe; much like it has for me and my father before me."

Tharün smiled at his father, with tears welling in his eyes.

Garün hugged his son tight and spoke no more. 

Tharün turned and pondered the journey ahead, the wind seemed to lay still as he looked out to the ocean; with the mainland cresting over the horizon.

Horns sounded and the Skerans cheered and clapped for their friends and family leaving the bay.

The crews pulled up their anchors and began to leave the shores, their sails rippling in the wind that would take them to their destiny.

[norlotha]

Chapter 1: The Blacksmith

The day was breaking in the realm of Norlotha. The sun beginning to rise in the village of kern; its rays seeping through the morning mist, bounding over the rustic wooden buildings and waking the woodland creatures from their rest, and with the song of the curbird, the scuttle of the horned gnome and the groaning call of the angel frog, the villagers of kern also began their day.

Kern was quite a large village on the island of skeros, it's people known to outsiders as 'wildfolk' (or officially 'skerans'). As a people, their lives were well protected against the ways of the mainlanders, as life to them was quite enough without the noise and mess of industry, war and conquest.

It was a peaceful place and a peaceful life. But of course to maintain this life the skerans had to know just how to defend their island, and that they did.

Though rich with craftsmen, hunters, tailors, cobblers, and all sorts of hard working folk, many of the islanders were trained from a young age to fight and a good few were soldiers, armed with some of the most fierce weapons in the realm.

Which brings us to Tharün, the blacksmith.

Inside a round, stilted hut, lit only by a fire in the centre of the room, a young man pulled a glowing blade from hot coals, striking it with a hammer.

Sweat beading from his weathered skin, he blasted away at the weapon, with concentration and conviction in his eyes, an expert smith.

Tharün was well respected among the other villagers as not only a skilled craftsman, but the son of the great healer Garün,

and of course as a man that would help and protect each and every one of his people.

He stood at around six and a half feet, an average height for the skerans. His hair an almost white grey and his skin pale. He was fitted with modest clothes, with blues, greens and browns, clinging to his broad shoulders, dirtied by his hard work in the forge.

Before Tharün could bring his hammer down again, the door abruptly swung open.

"Tharün! A letter!"

There stood Bryffin, Tharüns young apprentice, holding open the door, trying to catch his breath.

Tharün placed his hammer aside and cast the unfinished blade to quench, steam hissing from a large, iron bucket.

"You mean… THE letter?!" He said eagerly.

"Yes! Your mother! Look, read it!" Bryffin rushed to meet Tharüns hand with the letter from his apron pocket. The envelope was worn, and had a wax seal stamped upon it. It was addressed to "my young bear, Tharün".

A feeling of dread and anticipation boiled in his belly.

"Seven years Bryf'..." He unfolded the worn piece of paper.

"It's been seven years .." said Tharün as he started to read.

Silence filled the room, all that could be heard was the crackling of the forge. Tharüns face dropped.

"Well? What is it sir?!" Bryffin whispered.

"It .." Tharün stammered, fighting back a well of emotion…

"It says 'Leave with the chosen. Find me at the clearing in the forest of souls. The island is in great danger.'"

Tharün flung open the door of his workshop and scrambled down its steps, barely touching the ground as he darted onward into the village.

Rushing past his fellow skerans, most of whom looked confused and shocked at his haste, as he whipped between people in conversation, jumped over market tables and dodged through the crowds. He had someone that he needed to see, who's words couldn't be more important. Farlön the Eldar.

Tharün arrived at a shack, clad in runes and hanging stones, the roof quilted with grass from the ground right over. He paused for a moment to catch his breath; and proceeded on.

Bashing his first against the wooden door he shouts,

"Farlön! A letter! It's my mother!"

A grunt is heard through the door and quick footsteps approach.

The door swung open, clattering through chimes that rang out and before Tharün stood the village Eldar himself. Farlön.

"My boy! Is it true?"

An old, stout man looks up at Tharün, his round, aged features peeking through a scraggly grey beard. He hangs onto his ancient staff, with various coloured crystals embedded in the tip.

"Yes! It's got to be! But it's a warning, and I fear for the island. I need your guidance, please!" Tharün said, his breath short.

"Come in my boy, and calm yourself down. Let's see what light this old wizard can shed on this letter…"

He leads Tharün through the door and sits him on a stool by his table.

Atop the table were maps, drawings and stones, strewn chaotically across the surface. A full cup of steaming tea is placed infront of Tharün.

"Drink. And tell me what the letter says" said Farlön.

Tharün sips from the cup, instantly feeling a sense of calm break through his anxiety.

"It says leave with the chosen. I'm guessing that means at the festival in a few days, to leave with the young students to the mainland. But why? I'm not meant for that! I'm just a blacksmith!"

"Hmm.." grunted Farlön. "None of us know what we're meant for. What else did it say?" Farlön began to pace, looking up at one of many bookshelves he had in the shack.

"Find me at the clearing in the forest of souls… what is that?" He takes another sip.

Farlön plucked a seemingly old book with a tattered green cover from the shelf and opened it onto the table, flicking through the pages to arrive at a map.

"Ha!" He yelled.

"You see, in the mainland of Norlotha, the four kingdoms have been warring with each other for hundreds of years, but when they meet in the clearing…" his boney, wrinkled finger slid over the rough parchment.

" …all past quarrels are to be ignored. They meet there to speak of peace. But that hasn't happened for some time." Farlön scratches his beard.

"Right… well it goes on to say that the island is in trouble.. is it?"

Farlön stood up, grasping at his stick. "Who knows?! But a warning like this can't be taken for granted." He paused …

"The seeing stones!" Farlön reached into his robe and pulled from it a pouch.

He clears the stones and jewels from the map on the table, drawn with symbols and diagrams over it; and holds the pouch above his head.

"These ancient stones will tell me the path that is laid before you…" his eyes glaze over a glowing blue and he begins to speak in Eldar; an ancient language known only to older generations of mages.

"Fulfgarn, Elfempesh, Iskarion, Gemselsiar."

He tips the pouch and white stones fall out, bouncing onto the map. They sit for a second before glowing the same blue as Farlöns eyes.

He looks down at them.

"What is it? Am I to leave the island?" Tharün held his breath.

Farlöns eyes return to their usual green.

"The stones have spoken destiny's intent. You'll leave the island. But not alone. You'll have to choose two of your fellow skerans to go with you, as the road you walk mustn't be taken alone."

Tharün stands.

"You haven't got anything stronger to drink, have you?"

[norlotha]

The realm of Norlotha. Ruled over by four kings, with lands filled with magic and mystery. More to come!