Stories of Godsrow

[The Narrator]

Tirdas, 7th day of Second Seed, 3E 63
The Bronze Ridge

It had been a week since the two travelers had joined with one another. She was tracking down a deer, and he was stumbling with a rabbit's snare. They traded wary looks and few words, until the scruffy looking blonde haired man let out a huff of defeat and hung his head in shame over his stumbling with the snare. She cautiously approached, helped him prepare it, then realized he had prepared the trap paces away from where he was making camp. In short, the man was hopeless when it came to the finer points of hunting, and after a brief conversation he proved himself safe enough to share a meal with. The only thing he had worth trading was stories, and what wondrous stories he had to offer.

That was a week ago. Having retold the same tale three times in the same week now, the weight of the road was beginning to get to them. They had been traveling from the east, her from her village beside the Onion River, and him from "somewhere far away," he always said. Such crypticness was hardly unexpected among strangers, though it was answers like that which kept them from growing any closer.

"... and then he hefted the mighty blade Orcdoom high and let out a feral cry!" Michael went on, throwing his head back and imitating his best barbarian shout. Like any practiced storyteller, he had mastered such an imitation long ago. "The armies of Pûg trembled in the face of such an adversary! Their leader dead, many scattered into the winds, retreating for the caves and deep pits of The Evervale," he went on, referring to the massive mountain-range to the North.

"And so it was that Stardan the Bulwark saved the Runewind from the ravenous legions of Pûg the Amputator, the people of High-Horn eternally grateful. They even made a statue out of him!" he carried on, grinning from ear to ear as he skipped along beside the dwarfling. He was a tall man, more human than elf, with blonde hair that went down to his shoulders and clung to his face more often than not. His beard proved his heritage more than his build, being full and well cared for. He was dressed in a thick coat, a duster covered in mud from the road―as it was still the season for rain―and with a white undershirt underneath. Thick leather gloves covered his hands, and blue breeches and bucked boots covered his legs and feet.

Unlike most travelers, all he kept in terms of storing supplies was a satchel and a knapsack. It contained all that he needed, such as a few books, basic camping supplies, various bits and bobs, and a bedroll. His most valuable possession was a sword at his hip, made from legitimate steel and with both practicality and style in mind when it was designed. Despite what his dwarfling friend said, he refused to call it anything but a rapier.

"I should go there sometime. See the statue for myself. They say Stardan was very handsome, for a orc slaying barbarian anyway," he finished with a shrug, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his thick coat.

---

[Rena Ferran]

Mara traveled beside, and a bit behind Michael. For any difficulty Michael may face due to the mud of the wet season it was marginal to what Mara dealt with. Small for a dwarf, and lacking the races storied hardiness, each step was bogged down as her feet sunk fully into the mud. There was no part of her heavy boot that weren't in some way caked in mud, even the lower trim of her forest green tunic wasn't spared at points. It was sensible garb, fit for travel and for blending into the woods, only her thick fiery red hair truly stood out, long and pulled back into a sensible braid. Not that it was spared the wilds, as twigs and mud stuck or caked it in parts.

"Do ye have to be yellin' so loud? We don't be needin' any more attention out here." There were still touches of a dwarven accent to her speech, passed from her father and many of the other dwarf-blooded locals where she grew up. Her eyes scanned around them for any movement and a hand twitched back toward her ashwood bow.

Despite her complaints, the story had interested her. "So uh... where is the statue? I mean is that where you're headin'? How do you even know it still be standin' after everythin'? More things are broken than no'."

[The Narrator]

Had they been traveling along one of the old roads, they might've skipped the whole hassle of trudging through muck, but they both chose to wander the unexplored paths, likely for their own individual safety. Nevertheless, a mile of mud was better to navigate than many more of rocky mountain ranges, where boulders and rocks turned what could've been a few days of travel into a week and a half.

"Stories aren't meant to be told in a whisper," Michael complained, slumping his shoulders and slowing his pace some. "Besides that, we're in the Reach. The nearest settlement is days away, and no one comes by Godsrow anymore," he explained cryptically, raising a hand and idly pointing towards northwest. "On account of it being haunted and all. You get that many dead god worshippers in one place and their spirits are bound to be restless." He spoke as if this was all supposed to be common knowledge, when in fact it really, really wasn't.

[Rena Ferran]

Mara grunted as she picked her way through the undergrowth. There was a reason they weren't on the roads, and that was safety. Or relative safety anyway, it was doubtful that anywhere but her hometown had been truly considered safe in her journeys so far. "An' what, ya just know where every town aroun' here is? Ya can't even set a up a proper campfire Michael, how am I supposed to believe you've been travelin' enough to know all these places?"

[The Narrator]

Michael shrugged simply in response, his pace slowing once he noticed his companion was struggling to power her way through the mud and loose stones. "I read about them," was all he offered in reply to the subject. That was his excuse to a lot of things he just mysteriously knew about.

[Rena Ferran]

The non-answer brought a frown to her face as she continued pushing forward. "You're real good at sayin' a lot without sayin' nothin'. Ya know that?" It was true, for all the time Michael had spent telling stories since they met, she'd learned next to nothing about the man himself.

[The Narrator]

As they trudged on, the sight of a distant river came into view. The muddy path also began to let up, making travel less of a chore for the dwarfling. "There isn't much to tell, honestly. I don't mind sharing, especially since I don't think you would do anything malicious with the information." He paused. "I'd be impressed if you could. Poison me with my favorite food? Very malicious."

[Rena Ferran]

"Unless your favorite food be rabbit I doubt I'd find it out here anyway." She paused as the river came into view, taking the moment to catch her breath as well. "Don't suppose you know how to fish better than you know how to build a tent, eh?"

[The Narrator]

"Me? Fish? I think it might be better if I gathered the firewood to cook said fish," he deflected, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. How he managed to survive this long on his own was more a mystery than anything else about him.

They were some ways away from the channel of water, but as they neared it and stepped out of what few trees they had around them, they officially entered The Reach. Contained within three different mountain ranges, The Reach was a massive valley that stretched on for hundreds of miles, beautiful green plains for grazing and farming, with few trees except for the gatherings of woods in the far distance. It would have made for excellent farming country, and likely served as just that, but it was so massive that no one could feasibly farm it all.

Because of its shape, it allowed for the two travelers to see well into the distance before the curvature of the world swallowed up what was too far to see. To the West the river continued and channeled around a thick green forest, with trees that seemed massive even from so very far away. To their North they could make out the buildings of a lost city, but the details were hard to determine from this distance. It seemed like a days march away at best, if the way was kind. To the South the river curved and led into a large lake, the first of which Mara had ever seen in her life, though she was no stranger to the ocean.

[Rena Ferran]

"I'm not really one for water. If you're relyin' on me, sad to say there won't be any fish in our future." She looked from the lake to the city, "Wanna go diggin' while there's still some light?"

[The Narrator]

Michael frowned at the thought of a fishless future, a thought that was quickly discarded for the prospect of prospecting holy ruins. "You mean Godsrow? Yer ah brave lass, ain't ye?" he said in a truly awful dwarvish accent.

[Rena Ferran]

"Crumblin' cities are crumblin' cities. Maybe this one hasn't been fully picked apart yet neither." Mara said, as if it was all as simple as that. Perhaps to the dwarf it was. "If ya don't wanna, ya can head down to the lake and struggle with fishin'."

[The Narrator]

Michael rubbed the back of his head as he thought to himself. "I mean, when has rumors of curses stopped me before?" he pondered aloud. "Let's get a move on, then. I think we'll make it by supper time," he guessed, though he had made guesses before and had been hours off. Not the brightest when it came to time, this one.

"Do you know anything about Godsrow?" he started, as if readying himself for a story.

[Rena Ferran]

Mara's response to the question was to lean forward and squint at the distant buildings for a solid half a minute. At the end she merely shrugged. "It's ruins innit? A bunch o' buildin's with vines and grass in 'em and if we're lucky some good thin's an' if we're not some bad ones. Oh. And it's cursed. I know that."

[The Narrator]

"Do you know why it's cursed?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "Godsrow was exactly what it sounds like. A holy city. It was a place of worship for... thousands. Hundreds of thousands. A place of pilgrimage across all of Rassai," he explained, having used the word Rassai to describe the continent a few times before. "When the plague hit, it was a beacon of hope for the desperate. Worshipers rode in from all over to pray to their gods, but in the end... most of them died. Some say everyone there was cursed to die, the purebloods and half-bloods and all. Of course, it's hard to tell since no one knows just what happened after the plague."