Sworded Tales

“Zulian, if you would, please,” Erellia directed the half-Elf.

With an affirming nod, Zulian led her mount by the reins, passing slowly between the two misshapen trees and onto the narrow ridge beyond.  The remainder of the party followed her lead and in due course, the entire company was strung out in a single file line, trickling over the terrain.  Erellia watched over the procession as it formed and was the last to pass through the trees and on to the path that led to Anquilla. Continue reading

Having been refreshed by an undisturbed evening of rest and the promise of a rain free day ahead, the party departed the camp in heightened spirits, anxious to continue forward on their journey. At Erellia’s request, Zulian and Borlak exchanged positions at the head and rear of the column, and the slender half-Elf lead the way along the murky flow of the Wicked Way.

Travel was swift as the sun’s rays and the gusting winds began to dry out the terrain, and the lay of the land became considerably less cluttered. Despite a noticeable increase in elevation, the morning hours passed rapidly, and a quick lunch was consumed astride mounts as the scribe of Deneir anticipated. With little sign of trouble throughout the journey, a mounting sense of tension began to form amidst the ranks. Surely something must be lurking nearby in these inhospitable hills to threaten this small group of travelers. Continue reading