Chapter 1

The widespread land of Nerdan is rich with life, from its harrowing deserts to its verdant forests. Upon a small ridge in the middle of one such forest, one may look down upon the entire village of Westfern. Though it is a small village, if one looks upon it just as the rising sun peeks out over the trees it can be as beautiful as the fabled lakes of Ayrden. From that high vantage point, one may see the farms laid out to the south where sun-dried men till the fields.The people look like mere specks as they go about the hustle and bustle of their daily lives, and would never suspect if someone were to stand there and watch them, as someone did now. The young man was entirely new to this place. One who had been looking at that exact spot and had taken the time to close their eyes or look away for even a moment would swear that not a soul could have been seen anywhere nearby. Yet, here he stood. The leather coat he wore fell to his ankles, rough and baked by many days in the sun. Beneath it, a belt covered in pouches and vials was spread across a thin waist, and he wore a rather pristine white shirt beneath a dark green vest. They appeared to be of a fine make, and almost glinted in the sunlight, as did his pants, which were a thick black material that was smooth to the touch. The light of the sun at his back, as well as the wide brimmed leather hat he wore, created a dark silhouette which obscured his face.

He kneeled down and panned his hands across the stone circle beneath his feet. Those familiar with the area would claim that they had never seen it before. The inscriptions carved into the rock were untouched by time and nature, there was not even a hint of dirt on its surface. He took out a small journal and a quill, dipping the latter into a small inkwell on his belt. After scribbling a few notes, he reviewed what he had written, nodded, and stood. Again he looked down at the small village and unaware movements of the townspeople. He admired the simple beauty of it all and there was a power in that beauty. He could feel it in his bones as he stood there as if there were a nexus of energy swirling about this one spot.

“I understand why they would have placed a circle here,” he said to no one in particular. He looked a moment longer, then turned and made his way down the slope. The barren incline soon gave way to grass and bushes, and then eventually to trees. They came sparsely at first but quickly grew into a thick copse of vegetation. He wound his way slowly through it, picking the least overgrown places to push through. The emptiness of the road was a sudden fact as he shoved through one last bush and found empty air. He wobbled for a moment but caught himself. He looked down either direction but saw no one and sighed with relief. Nodding, he headed to his left where the road made a sharp curve.

The chirp of birds gave his walk a merry tune, which further boosted his spirits and he began to whistle himself, at first old songs from his boyhood and then he began to imitate the birds. His whistling did not match that of the masters, but he did not care, nor did they seem to. After an hour or so the forest began to give way to fields and the birdsong became the groaning of cattle and oxen as they were put to work. The farmers gave him nothing more than a passing glance or a nod, which he would return. Strangers were not common in this place but were not a rare sight either. Besides, they had work to do and did not have time for travelers or troublemakers. Fields of corn and wheat grew readily but were not quite ripe for the picking. Miniature green forests stretched away over the vast fields out of sight. Harvest season would come soon enough, but he would not be there for it.

The dark speck of the town in the distance grew with each step and did not take him long to reach. Here the townsfolk were more prone to peering at strangers. If it was a merchant it meant goods they did not have themselves, if it was a performer it meant merry making, and if it was just a traveler it meant a potential customer. Regardless of their identity, it usually meant news and small towns such as this feasted on such like a wolf in a henhouse. The houses he passed were simple yet sturdy. They had stood for many years, proud and tall, and intended to stand for many more. As he got closer to the city center, the buildings got somewhat closer together and turned from residential to commercial. There weren’t many shops which was to be expected, but there was an inn. The outside of the building was well kept, with little evidence of weathering one would expect from an old building. The windows were clean and looked to be freshly wiped. The yellow paint that coated the walls was even with nary a hint of any missed spots The sign above the door read, “The Roadstone Inn” in bold red letters and showed a painting of a gray slab of stone.

The inside of the inn was extremely tidy and well kept. Simple tables and chairs were spread evenly about, except for near the small, and also clean, fireplace. Behind the bar stood a young man perhaps in his twenties, but it was impossible to tell. He had a kind face full of deep lines which gave him an older appearance, but what stood out most was his hair which was red as flame. He smiled brightly at the newcomer as he stepped inside. There were a few patrons at the bar drinking and chatting amongst themselves but other than that the inn was empty. As he approached the bar the innkeeper spoke up.

“Welcome young sir! Quite a lovely morning is it not?” His voice was a strong baritone and had the smoothness of the educated. He gestured to a seat near the bar, which the young man took graciously.

“Thank you. Yes, it is indeed lovely today. Not a drop of rain in sight.”

“I’m Cot and am happy to be at your service, sir. What brings you to my fine establishment today? Perhaps a drink of some fine strawberry wine? I have a wide selection of drink here.” He gestured to the wall lined with bottles behind him. “Or perhaps a room for the night? Or are you simply passing through and seeking a hot meal to fill your belly? I offer all of these and more if you desire sir!”

The innkeeper played this part with all of the grandeur of a troupe performer. A small smile broke the young man’s lips at the well-rehearsed lines and he shook his head slowly. “For now, I’d settle with a glass of some Jensen red if you have it. I may take a room depending on if I find what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty, sir. Just bought a few bottles off of a merchant about a month back. Also bought some fruits sweeter than the waters of the Silver Spring.” With the ease that comes only from constant practice, Cot brought out a wine glass and filled it with a dark red wine in the span of a heartbeat. “Now, what sort of business brings you this far to the south sir, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m simply hunting for stories. I’d heard this town was quite old and old towns always have the best stories.” The young man removed his wide brimmed hat and set it upon a small pack near his feet. Long dark hair the color of chestnuts fell about his face as he wiped away the sweat from his wearying walk. He was young as well, perhaps just hitting twenty or so, the tan of his skin spoke of distant travels beneath the sun and hazel eyes peered deep into the glass he held before his face. He took a sip and nodded his approval, thanking his host. When he looked back up at the innkeeper, rings of gold plated his irises.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of those around here. More than we can handle most days. Much of it tends to be idle gossip, but there are a few good stories if you ask the right people, old stories. A few of these families have been here since this place was part of the Uldain empire nearly 500 years back. Are you some sort of storyteller? We haven’t had a proper performer here in months. The most we get is old Grom’s ramblings.” He said this final piece in a loud stage whisper. One of the men at the end of the bar, presumably Grom, gave him a shrewd look, but there was humor in his eyes.

“I am a storyteller of sorts. More a gatherer than teller really.” He took another drink of his wine. ”Well then, it seems I’ll have my work cut out for me. Perhaps I will take that room and some proper breakfast if it isn’t too late in the morning.”

“Not at all, not at all! I have a bit of hard bread and sausage in the back and a bit of crumbled cheese. I can cook up some eggs if you’d like. I’ve got to get rid of ’em soon anyway.”

“I appreciate your kindness, Master Cot,” he said in a deferential tone.

“Oh it’s no problem, Master- uh,” he trailed off, looking expectantly at him.

“Knopp, Thad Knopp. At your service.”