Post by Wild Weasel on May 28, 2013 7:15:43 GMT -6
The Story So Far…
Enter Barrastia, a realm of kingdoms and political upheavals, mercenary war bands and warrior cultists. It is a land fraught with peril, both from within and without. Temptations by the Dark Gods and the sinister workings of renegade wizards… these are just a few of the dangers lurking, waiting to taint or obliterate the unwary.
You are Red Shadow, a ranger with mystical skills and abilities. Abandoned as a child, you grew up a waif and street urchin in the vicinity of Helgate, a corrupt city bordering the civilized lands to the Northwest. As fate would dictate, a dark-skinned stranger with a sand-colored cloak obscuring his features came into your life when you were but twelve years of age.
A foolish bet led you to attempt pick-pocketing the stranger, but his senses and wits were sharp. He could have very easily handed you over to the local magistrate where the penalty for such crimes was the loss of a limb, but he saw something in you, something that he could cultivate to serve a higher cause.
The stranger was an elf, Desert Lynx by name, from a tribe of nomads far to the south. He came to be your tutor, mentor, and friend. For the next five years, the two of you lived a mostly-secluded existence in the forested lands not far from the fabled City of Brass. From time to time, he would go off alone on one of his outings, disappearing for weeks at a time.
Mention of some of this would be made to you, but you were left in the dark about much of it. You wondered if Desert Lynx was an outcast of some type, whether from his own people or his own Monastic order. Regardless, you were content with your new life. Helgate eventually became a distant memory.
Shortly after you turned seventeen years of age, word travelled to the ears of your mentor of an unearthed book entitled The Origin of Kaishir. The implications were profound to Desert Lynx, and your curiosity only grew. Eager with anticipation, he set out to find this previously unknown tome. You, once again, were left to fend for yourself.
A week passed, and a vision came unbidden to you in the night. You would have ignored it, except for one fact: you never dream. Desert Lynx appeared to be trapped in some sort of tight confines, perspiration pouring down his brow, his facial muscles taut. Words came in short and furious bursts: Red… you must seek… old comrades, Wild Weasel and Agnon… tomb of Raldorien… Fatestones of Kaishir… not much more time and I—”.
You recognize the names of Wild Weasel and Agnon as acquaintances of Desert Lynx’s. Recalling tales of the two from his stories, you hope that you can track them down and enlist their help before it was too late. A chill runs down your spine as you are not exactly sure how much time your mentor has… or whether it was even too late.
You reach for your weapons and your cloak of which the color of cherry oak lends you your name. Without a look back, you set out for the nearby City of Brass and The Screaming Wench somewhere within: Desert Lynx’s favorite drinking hole, one which you never had the fortune of visiting before.
Well, I decided to revert back to this idea. You are the star again, Red.