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Maeve sat by the fabled Silverwind Tree in the centre of the town called Aucklorn Mill. Her pallid hair was loose and flowed beyond her shoulders like an ocean of ivory. One of her hands rested on the hilt of her greatsword, which was sheathed and lying in the grass beside her. Her jade eyes gleamed in the faint light of the dreary town. The light was always dim there, as if the darkness clung to the small village like the smell of smoke to freshly laundered fabric.
Had it ever been an interesting last few days, she thought. Tremors had opened a blocked pass and the town of Aucklorn Mill and its surroundings were revealed after being secluded for a century from the outside world. She reached to her shoulder and adjusted a strap of her armour, moving her shoulder to find the right tension. A lot had happened since that pass was revealed. Her eyes drifted around the town, watching the tired expressions of its inhabitants; the undead and other wretched minions of darkness plagued these people.
She gently ran her fingertips along a silver ring that encircled her finger, a ring engraved with a silver net and a falcon. The memories were still fresh in her mind. The first night she had travelled with a small group to this minute town. After fighting through slews of undead and other creatures they had arrived to a closed and locked gate. These people secured the town up after dark, and with just cause! The surrounding valley crawled with the minions of the underworld. Her small company had met up with a larger one seemingly led by Siruis. He had led them through a secret passage within a tomb that wound its way directly into the settlement. After being refused audience with the Baron, and left with many questions, the group returned to the town to speak with the Marshal. They were told the Baron might get back to them on his own terms. It had been days and no word. Maeve had the feeling something was amiss. Something was definitely not right here. They headed down the long road back to Cear to relay their interesting and frightening news of the lands to the North West.
After little sleep in a foreign bed, where dreams of the undead and forsaken ones haunted her, she awoke in her small room in the Mistyvale Inn. Intrigued by this mysterious town Maeve once again set out to investigate the unexplained occurrences that plagued the people there. In her travels she met up with a friend of hers known by the name of Vay Ust'iel I'draeh. Together they fought through the creatures in the tainted Korgov Valley, eventually coming across the scarlet-clad figure of Father Minuvas. He called to them as he fought off a large number of snarling creatures. His red armour was crimson like fresh blood, fitting in the darkness of this basin. As he struck down the foul creatures, he spoke Lochwar’s praises into the steady breeze.
As she wiped the sweat and blood from her face, Minuvas’ voice snapped into the air, demanding them to escort him to the village as a temporary service to the church. Maeve nodded, and stepped in line behind Vay, making the final steps to the forsaken town. After arriving, Minuvas had tarried too long at the ancient graveyard and the sun started to set. While Maeve and Vay awaited him within the town’s confinement the gates shut closed with a resounding thud. The Marshal was quickly alerted and Minuvas was allowed in, the walking dead at his heels.
For the next many hours Maeve watched as the Marshal and Minuvas talked politics and religion. The Marshal had chosen his words well, and while they still paid homage to the old gods, Minuvas had left remotely pleased with the encounter. Luckily he had not paid much heed when the Marshal referred to her as a ‘Child of the Bel’. She had already put herself at risk when she slipped in her speech to Vay, referring to Tharon’s rightful name in a prayer. All this talk of the old gods brought back memories and stories from her childhood.
A gentle breeze spun Maeve’s hair in playful patterns as the toll of the bell brought her out of her thoughts. The sun was starting to set, bright colours streaking the horizon and laying to rest behind the mountains. It would all start again soon. She recalled the night before of her undead adventures with the one called Lok Tok. She chuckled, her crimson lips pursed in a gentle smile. He insisted he wasn’t a coward. And she believed him…
Marduk be willing. This town must find peace….
She was willing to stay and give whatever aid she could.
