Past

He dreamt of a shining face of some ancient spirit, caged within a sullied blade.

And thus spoke the voice that was within the sword:

Crickets chirped peacefully as owls awoke, letting out their call into the dark night in the Trollshaws, where the thick evergreen coniferous trees protected the makeshift camp well. In the fur and leather bedroll, with a tent stretched over the top of them lay Hiath and Briannon – also known as the Vagabond and Skylark – as they woke up from a brief rest, though darkness was still in the sky.

((Faelalan dreaming about her first adventures in the world.))

It was a kiss that woke her.

It was not the kiss of a mother pressing her tender lips to the forehead of her child in silent prayer. It was not the ardent kiss of a lover waking his beloved. Nor was it a kiss shared between friends, meeting after a long time apart.

I don't know how that happened, and why it was there in that right time, but something is clear: My past is not clear yet, and maybe I am someone that is not like me before.

Her breath echoed in her head. The hand clasped around her throat, becoming tighter every second that the correct answer was not given. Her eyes snapped open and studied the man with strained focused.

The man, stood before her like a mountainous troll. His eyes, fearsome to look upon and his stare sending shivers down her spine.  His face was chiseled, though it was frightening to look upon as his skin held many scars as well as an eye, whitened by damage of battles gone by. She feared to look upon him. There was something unwholesome about the man. Something not human.

Cyndere Bronwyn; a young woman of Dale, who grew up in Bree. Her story begins ten years ago, just after her ninth birthday...