Doaheem
New Member
There was once serenity in the realm. Perhaps it was merely a blissful memory born of rose tinted glass, but for those that remember, even the life of peasants was now enviable. Tokar remembered the meat grinder. A mighty clash of the kingdoms that dominated the known realm. The original reason for the war has since faded but not the ghosts and stains it left upon the land. Each nation threw its resources at each other like tinder into the burning maw until the realm was exhausted and depleted. Each nation had battered and wore the other down until they were little more than cumbersome skeletons teetering on a foundation rotted and eroded from conflict. Revolts, rebellions, overthrows, the land was filled with chaos until little remained. Kingdoms fractured until all subjects became their own lords. The once shining jewels tarnished and decayed giving way to a foul corruption.
As subjects rose up, clawing to stay above water, there was a shocking realization. There would no longer be an abundance, there would no longer be safety, the soldiers that remained turned to mercenary work, adventuring, or to the life of highwaymen and bandits. Hearing a death rattle pierce the night air was not uncommon and communities became weary of outsiders as the world regressed and darkened.
Tokar was once one of the soldiers thrown together. He once served under the banner of Lord Regent Andister. Once he was a man of honor summoned by the patriotic call to arms. He remembered the zeal, the fervor with which seemed to intoxicate everyone he knew. He looked about himself, the crudely shaven head, the metal pauldron from this fallen soldier, the leather armor from that fallen merchant, the hodgepodge of equipment he had about himself told more of a story then he ever would if asked. He'd been a bandit for a spell and some thread of humanity screamed whenever he took the crumbs of bread from a starving child or the life of a husband when his manhood demanded he defend his wife's broach. He became a mercenary hoping to do more good than bad for his coin and while it was a good story to tell himself, it didn't mean he always did good things. A couple months ago he came to work for a worn mage, the old scarecrow looked as though he would fall beneath a strong breeze and yet he never faltered or showed the weakness of age.
Life had been better for Tokar since he met Serxien, Serxien seemed to always have a plan or a rumor or a treasure map that kept things profitable while avoiding things that were undesirable. He'd gathered others about him too, Tokar was one of a small group and they'd come to a sleepy town known as Fogfall along the edge of the Stormy Woods.
The party arrived near dusk and Tokar was thankful for it. There were uncomfortable noises and animal sounds that Tokar had never heard before that seeped from the trees and undergrowth around them. He was no coward but he did not want to consider what those things were after dark. At the entrance to the town his stomach sank. At the entrance there was a good sized tree, from several large outstretched limbs he saw objects swaying, and even with his vision dimmed with the coming night, he could tell what they were. The corpses dangled gently like wind chimes and seemed aligned in terms of freshness with crows perched on its shoulders pecking along the neck and face. In general they all looked like they'd been arranged their within the last fortnight. The town seemed deserted with nary a sign of life save for the faint glow coming from doorways and windows. It made the knight's skin crawl but the mage strode purposefully towards the inn and he tagged along with his right hand on the right side of his belt poised to grab the dagger if needed.
The door swung open into the inn and another oddity struck the farmer's son. There was almost no conversation, no laughter, no dancing, no life here either. From the back of the inn stepped a gruff looking man that looked as though he used to be well to do at one time or another judging from the way his hands filled the front pockets of his baggy, worn waistcoat. It seemed he'd been a more rotund man in the past but it wouldn't be the first time Tokar had seen an emaciated form from starvation. The sorcerer stopped in his tracks and turned to the group that followed and muttered.
"I wish a word with him, we will likely bed here for the night."
Tokar went back to the door for a moment and took in the outside, there was little here save for the inn, several run down houses, and a small stonework cathedral that seemed to positively glisten despite the gloom around it. It seemed to beckon the knight but he wanted to stay close to the others and so went back into the Inn and grabbed a pint and a meal that was little more than a broth filled with a bit of carrot and some bizarre fish that he'd never seen before. From ale tinted conversations, Tokar had come to the conclusion that the town had once been a pleasant place with good fishing and agreeable townsfolk, but now the water was filled with predators that claimed fishermen and something in the night that claimed those that strayed dwindling the town's population to paltry numbers in the years since the spoiling of the lands. He was curious as to what the others were doing to kill time.
As subjects rose up, clawing to stay above water, there was a shocking realization. There would no longer be an abundance, there would no longer be safety, the soldiers that remained turned to mercenary work, adventuring, or to the life of highwaymen and bandits. Hearing a death rattle pierce the night air was not uncommon and communities became weary of outsiders as the world regressed and darkened.
Tokar was once one of the soldiers thrown together. He once served under the banner of Lord Regent Andister. Once he was a man of honor summoned by the patriotic call to arms. He remembered the zeal, the fervor with which seemed to intoxicate everyone he knew. He looked about himself, the crudely shaven head, the metal pauldron from this fallen soldier, the leather armor from that fallen merchant, the hodgepodge of equipment he had about himself told more of a story then he ever would if asked. He'd been a bandit for a spell and some thread of humanity screamed whenever he took the crumbs of bread from a starving child or the life of a husband when his manhood demanded he defend his wife's broach. He became a mercenary hoping to do more good than bad for his coin and while it was a good story to tell himself, it didn't mean he always did good things. A couple months ago he came to work for a worn mage, the old scarecrow looked as though he would fall beneath a strong breeze and yet he never faltered or showed the weakness of age.
Life had been better for Tokar since he met Serxien, Serxien seemed to always have a plan or a rumor or a treasure map that kept things profitable while avoiding things that were undesirable. He'd gathered others about him too, Tokar was one of a small group and they'd come to a sleepy town known as Fogfall along the edge of the Stormy Woods.
The party arrived near dusk and Tokar was thankful for it. There were uncomfortable noises and animal sounds that Tokar had never heard before that seeped from the trees and undergrowth around them. He was no coward but he did not want to consider what those things were after dark. At the entrance to the town his stomach sank. At the entrance there was a good sized tree, from several large outstretched limbs he saw objects swaying, and even with his vision dimmed with the coming night, he could tell what they were. The corpses dangled gently like wind chimes and seemed aligned in terms of freshness with crows perched on its shoulders pecking along the neck and face. In general they all looked like they'd been arranged their within the last fortnight. The town seemed deserted with nary a sign of life save for the faint glow coming from doorways and windows. It made the knight's skin crawl but the mage strode purposefully towards the inn and he tagged along with his right hand on the right side of his belt poised to grab the dagger if needed.
The door swung open into the inn and another oddity struck the farmer's son. There was almost no conversation, no laughter, no dancing, no life here either. From the back of the inn stepped a gruff looking man that looked as though he used to be well to do at one time or another judging from the way his hands filled the front pockets of his baggy, worn waistcoat. It seemed he'd been a more rotund man in the past but it wouldn't be the first time Tokar had seen an emaciated form from starvation. The sorcerer stopped in his tracks and turned to the group that followed and muttered.
"I wish a word with him, we will likely bed here for the night."
Tokar went back to the door for a moment and took in the outside, there was little here save for the inn, several run down houses, and a small stonework cathedral that seemed to positively glisten despite the gloom around it. It seemed to beckon the knight but he wanted to stay close to the others and so went back into the Inn and grabbed a pint and a meal that was little more than a broth filled with a bit of carrot and some bizarre fish that he'd never seen before. From ale tinted conversations, Tokar had come to the conclusion that the town had once been a pleasant place with good fishing and agreeable townsfolk, but now the water was filled with predators that claimed fishermen and something in the night that claimed those that strayed dwindling the town's population to paltry numbers in the years since the spoiling of the lands. He was curious as to what the others were doing to kill time.
