The Caravan creaked down the king’s road. The rhythmic fall of cloven hoofs and the turn or wooden axels singing a dangerously methodic tune. Even only at the foot of the Cairngorm Peaks a 10 foot fall waited on oneside of the road, followed by more steep ground that would ensure broken bones and rended flesh if the wagon driver’s didn’t keep an eye on everything. But none felt this so keenly as the wagon driver’s themselves.
The Caravan belonged to one Mister Levi a impossibly short and chubby human with a deft mind at tradecraft. Mister Levi was so short, a little under 5 foot, as to be jokingly refered to as a halfling, and only half jokingly. Having left from Greysky City some months ago the caravan has been threw hill and dale, forest and thicket, and has finally arrived on the Cairngorm Mountains following the king’s Road to Winterhaven, where Mister Levi will turn the caravan arround and head back to grey sky, to restock, sell whatever he had thought to purchase locally, and do the whole trip over again, as he does about twice a year.
The Afternoon sun quickly disappears behind the mountains, and the wagontrain ends early. Finding a likely spot nestled off the road in a small thicket of trees and such. The wagon drivers see to the horses compleigning about an ill wind. Tonight surely will be a cold night you think to yourselves. The Dryness keeps the snow to a minimum but it is quickly approaching midwinter, and you’ve been awakening to intricate arrays of frost, occassionally on your nose dispite the coal burners keep the wagon’s warm.
Settling down to Sleep after checking the coal, you dream.
Your not at all surprised at the depth or clarity of this dream, after all you’ve been having it for nights now. Only able to remember when your sleeping. You thought you saw a dark glint on the mountains of cairngorm today but no one else said anything about it.
The world shifts and you see the man, A dashing man in his fourties as he kisses his kids already soundly on their way to sleep. A woman walks in and puts her hand on his shoulder looking down at the children, a boy and a girl. Leading the man out of the bedroom you hear the woman say “Jor-el you worry too much, there is nothing wrong with the children, the prophetess was wrong “
But you know she wasn’t , You’ve seen this before. The man replies with an absent “yes my Dear Lara” He knows the prophetess wasn’t wrong either.
The chapel is clear before you, the sign of erathis, the mithril gear is clear everywhere. The man, Jor-el is crying at the alter. He knows what to do, but he doesn’t want to. He stands stilling his tears and leaves. You follow in his footsteps like a whisper.
He creeps into his wife’s room, His beloved Sara’s and drawing his sword, he ends her life with the speed and grace that only a lover can afford, The only thing she murmured as she died was “my gallant knight…Ttttt”. Cleaning his blade mechanically on the bedspread, he never saw the maid until it was too late. The maid runs screaming, before he can catch her. A guard comes running, the maid collapses into the arms of the handsome Knight Telliver, who hushes her and wait’s for his lord commander’s explanation.
Jor-el was not a good lier, so without a word he leads Telliver and the maid to the room to inspect the body, quickly, urgently, as he shuts and bars the door behind them. His sword flashes with a expert precession, hamstringing the gallent knight before he ever had a chance. The maid collapses silently, only able to mouth “Why?” over and over again before the Lord Commander of Cairngorm Keep silences her permanently.
Jor-el didn’t have much time, he was agitated, he wanted no one else to die. But it was too late now, the deed had to be done. The Keep was slowly gearing into a battle ready stance. The yells and the missing Knight Telliver had set off a chain reaction. People were unsheathing swords, getting closer to the lord commander’s bedroom where they would find the evidence…
Jor-el hurried, avoiding the guards, friend and foe alike. He slips into the children’s room. His son and daughter Kal-el and Sara Jor-el lay innocently. He raised the sword ready to do his god sworn duty and Stops… Can he do it… I Must, You feel Jor-el’s pain but you know he is not an evil man, you hear the prophetesses words ringing in your ear “Your children will destroy the world and the gods” the vaunted and valued word of civilization of Erathis herself said your children will destroy the world and the gods themselves. You swing you short sword and instead of the deadly silence, the loud clash of steel follows.
The rest is a haze, the guards rushing, The frightened cries of the children. Jor-el fights with the strength and cunning of 10 men. But he falls. His blood hitting the woven rugs of the children’s room like rain. He had failed. His last thrust only manages to slice the boys face. The last thing Jor-el thinks is “gods forgive me, for failing you”
You awake, stepping into the cold and dry night of the mountains of Cairngorm. You and the other’s the other’s sharing your dream. You stand out in the cold looking to the mountains threw the mountains to the keep that you know is there. You are part of something much larger you know. You return back to your wagon’s silently, attempting to fight off the chill with fire and blankets, but it doesn’t go.
The next day you talk and are introduced to each other. Some of you know each other, some are strangers but all are guards on this caravan. You approach Winterhaven…