Exciting New Adventures!

abbey-1160492_1920.jpgHello my far-traveling friends! I am very excited to share some good news with you today. I told the beginning of a tale where Fhoust starts a great journey, called The Quest, which I think all of you will find very interesting. But, even more important than that, (!*Prepare for major Time Warp/ Stepping out of Character Mode*!), I have made several social media accounts.

You can follow me on Twitter, Facebook, Reddit, Pinterest, and I may be working on an Instagram some time in the near future. All of my usernames are Yeoman Jeod, so feel free to say hi, and check out what I post on those places as well!

Now before I hop back in time, I just want to say thank you to my followers, I really do appreciate it!

(!*Major Time Warp/ Back in Fantasy Adventure Land*)

I shall see you all again soon! It is time for me to go gather berries for a potion in the forest…

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The Quest

Fhoust was staring out the window of his chambers, pondering the encounter that Gorundor had in the Great Hall the previous day, when someone knocked on his door. He opened it, and Gorundor stood in the hall looking grim.

“I need you to write a letter to Baldor.”

“My lord, I would happily do so, except I have no clue of his whereabouts.” Fhoust explained.

“How did this happen?”

“During the battle of Fallkirk, we made it into the woods outside the walls of the city. He had a gash running down the side of his leg, and could barely walk. The fire was spreading through the city, and orcs were combing the woods, looking for wounded soldiers. They were approaching our position, and I knew Baldor would not be able to out run them. I bound his leg tightly, and covered him with leaves and mud, disguising him into the forest floor. Then I ran as fast as I could to bring reinforcements. By the time I got back with a group of spearmen, he was gone.”

“So the orcs could have gotten to him?”

“They could have, but Baldor is the most fearsome warrior I have ever seen. It took a whole tribe to give him his wounds at Fallkirk. If they had him, there would have been signs of a struggle.”

“Fhoust, listen to me, I need you to find him. Alanon’s return could easily bring war to this kingdom. If we are to go to war, I want trusted individuals like Baldor by my side.”

“My lord, I completely understand, but Baldor is the only person to have ever become a Royal Scout, and a Knight of The Realm. If he does not want to be found, I do not know if I can find him.”

“You must find him for all of our sakes.” Gorundor turned and strode away, cloak fluttering behind him.

Fhoust took a deep breath, and began to pack his things. He was going to find his long lost brother in arms.

A Beast of The North (Part 2)

Why hello again! I sorted out those shaman shenanigans from the other day, and I think it is time to finish the tale of Alanon, and the White Beast of the North.

“Alanon’s eyes grew wide, as he stared into the faces of a pack of orcs.

He fell backwards in fear. The orcs towered over him, wielding large clubs and axes. They spoke rapidly to each other in a guttural, harsh language. One smaller orc was pushed to the front of the group. “Where do you come from?” Asked the orc, who had scars running all over his arms,

“Hawthenshire”

“Southern territory, what brought you all the way into orc lands?”

“I was banished from my holdings…”

The orcs engaged in a rapid fire conversation which Alanon could not understand. Then the scarred orc said, “Our chief will kill you now, and suck the marrow from your bones.” A different orc stepped forward with a massive spiked club.

“Wait, wait… I can be of use to you!” Alanon desperately shouted.

The chief turned to look at the orc who was translating. “How?” He grunted.

“I know the lands in the South, and I can give you information about guards, and villages. I know the areas left undefended that will be easiest for you to raid.”

The orc translator relayed what Alanon said to the chief, and the chief pulled out what seemed to be a rope made of dried rawhide. He stepped forward and gave Alanon a mighty blow across the face, splitting open a cut above his eye. Then he tied him up like a woodsman tying up a hog for the slaughter. Alanon was barely conscious, and the blizzard was taking its toll on his strength. As the orcs carried him back to their camp, he bled from his wound, and exhaustion truly set in.

Alanon was dumped unceremoniously onto a bare patch of dirt where the snow had melted. His blade had been taken by the orc chief, and his clothing was not near warm enough for temperatures that far North. The orcs debated in the center of their camp, and the volume rose quickly. The chief was very agitated with a few of the other orcs. One of the orcs stepped forward to the chief and spat in his face. The chief casually reached behind him, grabbed his club, and then savagely struck the orc’s head so hard that it ripped partly off the shoulders.

An orc dragged the corpse off to the edge of the woods, and the argument was over after that. The scarred orc walked over to Alanon, and said, “They were arguing over whether to kill you now, or wait to get information out of you.”

“They aren’t going to kill me now are they?”

“You are scum, since you so readily offered to bring orc raids onto the villages of your people, and we would like to see your blood spilled. However, Chief wants information. I think you will be dead by morning.”

The orc strode back to camp and tore into a hare that had been roasting over a fire. Alanon shuddered with fear and cold. He had no blade to cut through the tough rope and free himself. Even if he did manage to get free where would he go? He was farther north than he had ever been, and had completely lost his bearings.

Night fell, and Alanon could hear wolves howling in the distance. The chief orc stood from his place at the fire, and motioned for the scarred orc to come with him. They strode over to Alanon and the scarred orc said, “Chief wants to know about the villages you said would easy to raid.”

Alanon stuttered, “Fallkirk should have only a couple men to defend it right now because of the passes being blocked by snow… and…”

“What is the quickest way to get there from here?”

“I don’t know where we are…”

The chief said something in orcish, and grabbed his club.

“Hold on!” Alanon pleaded, “I can give you more!”

The translator said, “Chief does not care, he wants you dead now.”

Then an orc ran into the camp from the woods. He yelled in orcish, and the orcs grabbed their weapons, and followed him back into the woods. The chief hesitated, and struck Alanon on the head again, before heading after the other orcs. The camp was empty now, but Alanon bled even more than before from his head, and he was still tied tightly. He struggled against the rope, desperately trying to free a foot or hand. The orcs would be back soon from what he assumed was probably a raid on innocent travelers, or a battle with another tribe.

Alanon braced himself and pulled his foot from the rawhide with all of his willpower. His foot slipped out, but it twisted his ankle, and it left a gash down his foot. He pulled himself to his feet, and hobbled out of the orc camp. He bled from his multiple wounds, and he knew that once the orcs came back, his blood would stand out on the snow, leaving a clear trail.

Alanon limped through the snow all through the night with no sign of the orcs. The only thing that kept him going was pure fear. Eventually he found a road that had been freshly dug out of the snow. He collapsed into a bloody heap onto the road, accepting death. His body could not take any more.”

Now, my traveling friends, this would have been the end of Alanon, if it was not for a certain woman named Alura, but that is a tale for another time. This concludes Alanon’s adventure with the beast of the North, and how he escaped from both the beast, and from the orcs. I would like you to keep in mind the well-spoken, scarred orc, for he will come up in tales in the future. I wish you all happy adventuring!

A Beast of The North

Hello travelers! Today I shall tell you a tale of Alanon’s trials in the North. I have not heard it from him, but from a mutual friend and I think it should give you good insight into how he became the hardened warrior that he is today. It begins after fleeing his old lands, and he is wandering through the ever-so-dangerous Northlands.

“Alanon pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Snow had managed to find its way into all of his clothing, and he shivered so bad he could barely walk. His fingers were purple on the ends, and his feet had gone numb. The blizzard had been going for hours with no reprieve. He shuffled up onto a small rise overlooking a gulley and spotted a patch of sparse trees. They howled slightly in the wind, but would provide just enough shelter for him to ride out the storm.

Then he heard a growl. It came from the trees, and some of the apparent snow began to move, more than snow should, even in a blizzard. A four-legged beast rose out of the trees. Its eyes were yellow, and it had fangs the size of daggers.

Alanon stopped in his tracks. He tried to make as little movement as possible, but it was obvious that he was the disturbance that woke the beast from its sleep. The beast drew nearer, pawing through the snow. Alanon could see its muscles and sinew through its thick white pelt. He drew his sword, and the beast growled again. Fear and adrenaline quickly warmed Alanon. He was sure he was going to die, as he could barely hold up his sword due to Mother Nature fighting him with everything she had. The beast grew closer and closer. It gathered its strength, and its hind legs flexed- The beast was about to pounce. Alanon stared death in the face.

Out of nowhere, three arrows flew into the beast’s chest. The white pelt turned to red, and the yellow glow faded from its eyes. Alanon, in shock turned to see his rescuer…”

Oh I must apologize my traveling friends! I must finish this tale another time… It seems that a certain shaman I angered a while back has caught up to me! He is brandishing a very large stick that seems to be dripping a bright blue liquid- I must be off!

Fhoust’s Royal Scout Training

Why hello my far-traveling friends. Today I would like to tell you a tale of Fhoust. Fhoust has been King Gorundor’s seneschal for more years than I can count now, but I sat down with him at a tavern one day long ago and he told me a tale of when he was in the Royal Scouts. It was a tale that I think gives interesting insight into the Scouts, whom are still held in very high regard to this day. Well, enough babbling, here is the tale of a young, Royal Scout by the name of Fhoust:

“Our Lieutenant woke us before sunrise with a hearty yell to get our lazy backsides moving. It was never smart to keep him waiting so our company grabbed our quivers and knives and rushed out to the training grounds. After the stragglers came running out of the tent the Lieutenant explained our task to us. He said that he had sent out a courier with a message for the Earl of Mensfield. The courier was on horseback and had about half an hour’s head start. Our mission was to track the courier on foot, intercept him on the way to Mensfield, and return back to give the Lieutenant the message before sunset. The land between the castle and Mensfield was swampy mire, caused by the Dhur Thorim River. Then he told us that the task was to be completed in pairs, and that we would sound the horn to start on the count of 5.

I looked to my right, and a bearded Scout by the name of Heath asked me to be his comrade. I agreed and the horn sounded. “Shall we be off then?” I asked as other pairs sprinted across the training yard heading for city gate.

“Wait”, Heath responded. “How well do you know the lands between here and Mensfield?”

“Not that well, I was raised in Wesley Village”

“Damn, there must be a quicker way to get to Mensfield beside the swamp. We will never catch a horse if we get turned around in the mire.”

“But if we don’t follow the horse, how will we pick up its tracks… Unless we beat the courier to the Earl, and wait for him.”

“Aye, that’s clever thinking. And what if we follow the Dhur Thorim, we can run along the banks until high tide comes.”

“Alright it’s a plan” I told Heath.

We set off for the river’s edge, and once out of the city we maintained a steady jog for the whole morning. The ground was wet and our feet sank in the mud, but it was way faster than traversing the swamps. Heath was built like a bear, and had a surprisingly large amount of endurance. We made very good time, until the tide began to come in. Water filled in our path, and we had to move into the marshes, but we still kept the river in sight as a guide.

The going got a lot slower once the river banks filled up. Parts of the swamp were deep, and we had to wade through them, at other times we had to climb over massive tree branches. Our boots filled with mud, we finally approached a small hamlet on the waterfront. Although we were miserable in our soaked clothing, and were exhausted from the run, and trudging through the swamp, we stopped only for a minute to buy salted beef from an inn keeper. We didn’t have time for a meal, so the beef we could eat on the move and it would keep well for days.

It was nearing late afternoon, and Mensfield was nowhere in sight. Heath and I guessed that we had passed the other recruits due to the river route, but we had no clue if we were going to intercept the message or not. Everything seemed to ache, and the deadline, put an immense pressure on us.

We had about three hours of sunlight left, when Heath spoke between ragged breaths, “I think this is where the marshes turns into a main road. The road from Aldouin should meet with the swamp paths over that rise.”

I grunted an affirmative, and we trudged on. Heath was right; we saw a road that would make our travel a lot easier. Heath gave a hearty yell of joy. Then I heard the sound of a horse trotting. I told Heath to quiet down, and the trot became louder.

All of a sudden a courier appeared from behind us on a horse. “Halt!” Heath and I yelled.

The courier slowed his horse, “Scouts I presume?”

“Indeed, what is the message?” I asked somewhat impatiently.

“Tell your Lieutenant that a sparrow flies away from the sun as to not get burned.”

Heath asked the courier, “Is that the same message you are giving the Earl?”

“You’d better get going” said the courier and spurred his horse.

Heath turned to me and asked, “How are we going to get back in time? There is no way we will make it before sunset.”

A crazy idea popped into my head. “What if we swam back?”

“What?!”

“The Dhur Thorim’s flow will have reversed due to the tide going out, which means it can carry us very fast down the river.”

“How are we going to stop and get out of the river? I don’t want to get washed out to sea.”

“We could break off a large tree branch each to help guide ourselves down the river. That way we can keep ourselves near the bank.”

We hiked back to the water’s edge, stripped down to our trousers, and packed everything else into our quivers. Then we each broke off a branch, about as tall as ourselves, and then jumped in. The water took my breath away at first but fighting hard to not get swept out into the middle of the river made me heat up quick. The swim down the river went by very quickly, since we both had so much adrenaline pumping through us.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, the city walls came into view. We drove our sticks hard into the bed of the river and struggled to get ourselves onto the bank. Once we made it, we laid on our backs, just breathing for a minute. The sun had almost set by then, so we put our semi-wet clothes back on and took off running for the training ground. The run quickly turned into a shambling walk, as we were both so exhausted.

Finally just minutes before sundown, we made it to the training ground. The Lieutenant was there waiting for us, and we gave him the message. As a reward for being the only ones to finish, Heath and I both got hot dinners, and a pint of mead, which were very rare occurrences when going through Scout training. All through the night, other scout teams came back into the tent miserably tired having failed the task.

That was the day where I think I fully recognized that I wanted to be a Royal Scout. I had no clue that I would meet Gorundor, and become seneschal.”

Well that was a tale from Fhoust’s training to become a Royal Scout. I hope you weary travelers enjoyed the story. I have no doubt that in time you shall hear more of Fhoust’s adventures. I wish you all merry adventures!

Gorundor, and Alanon

Hello weary travelers, alas I am returned from a long voyage. I must apologize for my unexpected period of no communication. The trolls of the West do not have a very good courier system. But HA what trolls do have a good courier system? I do make myself chuckle. Anyways, I will put off telling you of my travels, to tell a rather interesting story of King Gorundor.

Now, as you may know, when interesting happenings of the lands are going on I do tend to enjoy seeing them play out. This makes me no stranger to the courts of most of the major nobility around the Kingdom. On one such day when I visited Gorundor’s court, I sensed that happenings were about, and good information was to be learned. I spent most of the day listening to common folk pleading with the King about their cow that died, or their brother who died in a skirmish with Cuarac, etc. It was trying for my own patience, let alone the King’s. Gorundor loved his people though, so he dutifully heard each individual out. It had reached closing time for public appointments, and Gorundor, the nobility, and myself all arose to leave. Then a scribe burst into the great hall, with a scroll in his hand, breathing heavily and red faced. He bowed, handed the scroll to Fhoust, the King’s seneschal, who gave the scroll to Gorundor. The King took a moment to soak in what was written on the scroll, then said, “Let him in.”

The scribe mumbled an affirmative and raced out of the hall. Fhoust gave the King a look of curiosity, but Gorundor was too unnerved to notice. After a few tense minutes of silence, the sound of boots clicking on the marble floors of the hallway became audible. The massive oak doors of the Great Hall opened, and a black haired man in furs strode proudly into the room. Chainmail glinted under the fur, and a long sword rested on his hip. “Gorundor”, the stranger said.

“Alanon”, the King replied.

“What of Hawthenshire?”

“You shall not have it”

Now the man Alanon clenched his fists and shook with fury. “You dare keep my birthright under your greedy paw!” He raged.

“The last time you gained land to govern you drove its people to starvation, and let your men at arms run amuck pilfering and murdering. What gives you the nerve to step into my court and demand land from me?!”

I had never seen King Gorundor this upset. The massive Great Hall was filled with a tension greater than the Hall itself. The guards gripped their blades until their knuckles were white.

Alanon’s face turned grimmer than before, “I have changed. I am not the man I once was. The Northlands took from me everything, but gave me a strength I never had before. Now I give you one last chance… give me Hawthenshire, or woe betide you and your kingdom!”

Gorundor rose sharply to his feet, and started to speak at a whisper, gradually building up into a full grown roar, “First you demand land, and then you threaten me and my people. Get out of my sight before I have you clapped in irons and stoned by those you so awfully mistreated in the past!”

It was extremely rare for a king of the Nycean Council, to carry out a stoning, but I think Gorundor, even being the forgiving man he was, may have followed through on this day.

Alanon turned on his heel, furs fluttering in the wind, and strode quickly out of the Great Hall. When he was out of sight and earshot, the whole hall took a collective breath out. The guards seemed as if they might pass out. The king returned to his throne, and quietly asked for the hall to be cleared. No one hesitated, and the nobles practically ran out. Fhoust approached Gorundor, but was waved off and followed the rest of the nobles.

After the spectacle in the Great Hall I headed to the White Naga Inn, for a brandy. I pondered the day’s events while a mediocre lute player attempted to provide musical entertainment. It was rare for Gorundor to raise his voice, and even rarer for him to close the Great Hall. If only I knew at the time, what was to become of Alanon, and Gorundor’s feud…

But, friends, travelers, and the like, that is a story for another time. I hope you enjoyed hearing of the time that King Gorundor was reunited with an old acquaintance by the name of Alanon. It is time for me to get back to brewing this especially strong batch of tea, and I wish you all happy travels.

The Candle Stump

One evening I sat watching the embers of my campfire burn out and turn to ash. I hadn’t seen any travelers on the road for a good while and began to get a little lonesome. This was solved immediately when a man in a dark blue tunic trotted along on a bay horse. When he saw me he turned his horse off the road and said, “Hallo stranger!” I replied with a greeting of my own, and the man asked, “Would you like to know why I am the most clever man in all of the moors?” As the curious soul that I am I could not help myself, but invite the boastful stranger to have join me by the campfire and tell me a tale. His story went like this:

When I was a lad, I had two brothers. We were raised by our father on a modest farm, and although we did not have a lot of money our father was determined to send his sons to become educated folk, so that we could live a far more comfortable life than on the farm. So one day my father, while my brothers and I were out in the fields, called upon an evil spirit. He made a deal with the spirit that he would give his life so that his sons would get the funds to become educated. Years passed and we had no idea that this event had taken place. My brothers and I had gone and gotten our schooling in the royal academy and my brother who was trained to be a priest went back to the farm one day to see our father. As he approached the farm he looked upon the evil spirit about to take our fathers life because the deal had been completed and we all had an education. He rushed towards the spirit and prayed and begged at the feet of the spirit, and the spirit eventually gave in and told my brother that he would spare my father for a few more years. The spirit left, and my brothers and father tried to keep the thought of the spirit out of their minds. A few years later, my brother that was a doctor came to visit my father, and he saw the spirit coming to take my father’s life. He, just like my brother before him, begged with the spirit and my father was allowed to live for just a few more years. These years passed with the same foreboding feeling as the ones before, until one day I decided to go visit my father. As I approached the house the evil spirit appeared for a third time. I was educated to be a lawyer mind you, so my mind was much sharper than those of my brothers. I picked up a candle that had only mere minutes left until it burnt out from the sill of my fathers window. I begged the spirit to give my father time to live until the candle burnt down to nothing. The spirit thinking that I just wanted to say good bye to my dear father agreed. Both the spirit and my father were startled when I swiftly took hold of the candle, blew it out, and put it in my pocket. A look of hate spread across the face of the spirit, as he realized he had been outsmarted. My father was thrilled to have more time with his boys, and we have not seen the spirit since.”

Now, the stranger stood up and pulled a stump of wax out his pocket. “This is how I outsmarted a spirit of evil coming to take my father to death”. The stranger laughed and strode off as I thanked him for his story. I pondered the truth in his story as he donned his cloak over his tunic and got on his horse. The stranger spurred his horse and seemed to be off until his horse, almost at full gallop, tripped and fell. The stranger was thrown from the horse, and his neck snapped with a resounding crack. He never got up from his fall.

Now, dear reader you can take what you like from this story, but I do not think I will try outsmarting death anytime soon.

Adventures and Ramblings

Hello weary travelers, pompous royalty, sly wizards, and comical jesters alike- My name is Yeoman Jeod. I have recorded the happenings around me and many stories told to me by other folk. Some of my writings could be sagas of characters, others could be language guides, and even maps, or whatever else has perked my interest. If you, dear reader, have any requests or ideas for me to take on, please do not hesitate to use the Send-A-Scroll tab at the top of the page, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

I look forward to great adventures with all of you!

-Yeoman Jeod