Bree

The broom kicked up dust as the hapless girl swept the stairs leading to the second floor of the Huntsman and Stag. Hair in her face, she continued to work as her grim thoughts tormented her.

"Aglarari, you will save us all."

Southeast Breeland, over a decade ago

Tears stained the page of a worn journal, though its crinkled pages held little in the way of writing. The tall young woman that sat hunched over it could have seemed totally oblivious to the world around her but for the occasional keen glances around at fairly regular intervals.

This letter is written in neat handwriting, even though the rows are never evenly distributed along the piece of paper. There is an ink stain between the second and third paragraphs. It seems to be the seventh in a series of letters.

What an evening he muttered to himself, aloud, though he was smiling broadly.

“Damn, girl, you killed my King!” he laughed, and Bexly smiled back at him broadly.

Episode 4: Supper at the Pony

‘This table is much too large,’ said Piper stating the obvious.

‘Shall we move to another one?’ asked the Bounder.

The fire crackled loudly in the peaceful night. From what Arrvelas could tell, everyone else had gone off to rest for the night. There was no more chatter, no more sounds of footsteps. Only the fire.

In a peaceful glade in the woods, there is a little wooden house. And in that little wooden house there is a dim room. And in that dim room is a stone hearth. And in that stone hearth there is nothing. Nothing but a cold emptiness and lonely space. In front of that nothingness sits... a man? Or perhaps an elf if one was to take a closer look. That one lone figure sits still, eyes open but boring into the empty hearth. 

    You can never truly return home after leaving. No matter how long your time spent there, or the moments you experienced, or the memories you made...time, heartless bastard that it is, alters all: your shape no longer fits the imprint you left behind.