The Ascension
Posted: Tue Sep 02, 2014 4:21 pm
Chapter One - The Descent.
~~~
Chapter Two - The Ascension
A month had passed since a party of men, women, and hardened warriors departed the icy city of Naklin, the main settlement of the Frostborne tribe. They had been given an important quest; to partake on a pilgrimage beyond the safety of their rugged homes and erect a stronghold in uncharted territory near the foothills of the mountains. From there, the Frostbornians would travel the lands and establish much-needed communications and trade with neighboring factions. If there were any of course.
Naklin received not a word from the pilgrims since their departure, and many feared the worst. Their Jarl, Barbous Blokhed, refused to budge on the notion suggested by many of his subjects that a search party be mustered and sent to track them down. Even at the potential loss of his only son, the leader of the band of pilgrims, Barbous only answered with the utmost faith: "Farcus and the others can hold their own; we must be patient and hopeful." Though some remained skeptical, the whole of Frostborne submitted to their Jarl's content.
This is where our story begins.
A messenger appeared over the snowbanks overlooking a Frostbornian barracks, Fort Hiryla. This small fortress of sorts was the last settlement between Naklin and the missing pilgrims leagues below. Messengers came and went around the territory; it was not a spectacular sight, particularly to the guardsmen who let him in Hiryla as he hailed them. The minifig was draped entirely in white camouflage, almost perfectly blending in with the snow and ice that covered everything. He bore a large pack useful of carrying items of various uses and a tattered messenger’s bag carrying obvious contents.
With a gait that suggested utmost importance, the man hurried into the fort and almost ignored some of the inquisitive faces the guards gave him as he rushed into the main room of the barracks. It was until the messenger reached a staircase that led below Hiryla that he was stopped, directly at the foot of the steps.
“Halt,” ordered the guard stationed outside a heavy iron door, turning toward the scout and pointing his sword threateningly in the man’s direction, “What business do you have with the Jarl?” It was probably very rare for the Jarl’s quarters in Hiryla to receive visitors, mostly because this was where Barbous went to avoid visitors and the troubles they brought with them. This was where the Jarl stayed to think upon things, who would dare to interrupt him?
“I bring important news,” the messenger stated, producing an envelope from his bag and holding it up for the guard to see, “the Jarl must see this straightaway!”
The guard scowled at the paper. To him, it was just a piece of parchment. Sure, it was stamped shut with the legitimate seal frequently applied to rather important documents, but he felt he had the right to know what it was. “Well, what the bloody hell is it?”
“It is from the pilgrims,” the messenger replied impatiently. He traveled long and far and didn’t appreciate being questioned by a lowly guard.
“Oh... Well shite.”
The guard was quick to gather his wits and he gripped his shield. In one motion, he turned toward the iron door he stood in front of and banged the front of his shield against it twice. The harsh sound echoed off the underground walls and pierced the silence, the scout shifted in discomfort. The guard waited until the sound subsided, then nodded toward the messenger.
“Go on, he’s waiting for you.”
~~~
Chapter Two - The Ascension
A month had passed since a party of men, women, and hardened warriors departed the icy city of Naklin, the main settlement of the Frostborne tribe. They had been given an important quest; to partake on a pilgrimage beyond the safety of their rugged homes and erect a stronghold in uncharted territory near the foothills of the mountains. From there, the Frostbornians would travel the lands and establish much-needed communications and trade with neighboring factions. If there were any of course.
Naklin received not a word from the pilgrims since their departure, and many feared the worst. Their Jarl, Barbous Blokhed, refused to budge on the notion suggested by many of his subjects that a search party be mustered and sent to track them down. Even at the potential loss of his only son, the leader of the band of pilgrims, Barbous only answered with the utmost faith: "Farcus and the others can hold their own; we must be patient and hopeful." Though some remained skeptical, the whole of Frostborne submitted to their Jarl's content.
This is where our story begins.
A messenger appeared over the snowbanks overlooking a Frostbornian barracks, Fort Hiryla. This small fortress of sorts was the last settlement between Naklin and the missing pilgrims leagues below. Messengers came and went around the territory; it was not a spectacular sight, particularly to the guardsmen who let him in Hiryla as he hailed them. The minifig was draped entirely in white camouflage, almost perfectly blending in with the snow and ice that covered everything. He bore a large pack useful of carrying items of various uses and a tattered messenger’s bag carrying obvious contents.
With a gait that suggested utmost importance, the man hurried into the fort and almost ignored some of the inquisitive faces the guards gave him as he rushed into the main room of the barracks. It was until the messenger reached a staircase that led below Hiryla that he was stopped, directly at the foot of the steps.
“Halt,” ordered the guard stationed outside a heavy iron door, turning toward the scout and pointing his sword threateningly in the man’s direction, “What business do you have with the Jarl?” It was probably very rare for the Jarl’s quarters in Hiryla to receive visitors, mostly because this was where Barbous went to avoid visitors and the troubles they brought with them. This was where the Jarl stayed to think upon things, who would dare to interrupt him?
“I bring important news,” the messenger stated, producing an envelope from his bag and holding it up for the guard to see, “the Jarl must see this straightaway!”
The guard scowled at the paper. To him, it was just a piece of parchment. Sure, it was stamped shut with the legitimate seal frequently applied to rather important documents, but he felt he had the right to know what it was. “Well, what the bloody hell is it?”
“It is from the pilgrims,” the messenger replied impatiently. He traveled long and far and didn’t appreciate being questioned by a lowly guard.
“Oh... Well shite.”
The guard was quick to gather his wits and he gripped his shield. In one motion, he turned toward the iron door he stood in front of and banged the front of his shield against it twice. The harsh sound echoed off the underground walls and pierced the silence, the scout shifted in discomfort. The guard waited until the sound subsided, then nodded toward the messenger.
“Go on, he’s waiting for you.”
