BradHatta

The Tales of Gilan Faerondaerl, Thorn Warden

Prologue: “Your Existence”

(About a Century Prior to Present)

As the young Tel-quessir slowly came to, the shooting pain in his head quickly followed. Immediately, his eyes shut once more, this time in agony as his hand reached up to feel where his wound had matted itself closed with caked blood. He inhaled through his teeth as he lightly touched the wound, sitting up and tensing as the pain shot through him once more, this time a little less unpleasant than before.

His free hand moved to prop him up further, and he felt the cool touch of wooden floors below his palm. As he looked around, he realized that he was in a raunchy plank cabin with boarded windows and not much furniture to fill its one moderately-sized room. He stood up finally, wavering slightly as the blood rushed from his head and caused him to become very dizzy for a moment. The elf had a rather slender look to him, some muscle but not quite enough to be a strong worker. His hair, what was not matted in blood, almost shined with silver and blonde tones. Once his head calmed again, he began to observe the cabin a bit further, scanning about it with his hazel hues.. He noticed that the only pieces of furniture that was left in the place had become badly worn over the years that it must have been there, causing it to all but fall apart entirely. There was a small bed with some furs piled atop for an acceptable sleep, a wooden chair beside a small table that had only three legs so that it leaned onto the chair for support, and a wooden carved chest.

After some inspection, the elf had noticed that the chest seemed a little more well-kept than the rest of the place, being the only thing around that was not powdered with a layer of dust. He ran his fingers along the carved surface of the chest before lifting its large brass latch in the center. The chest creaked open to reveal a set of common clothes, a large knife, a quiver with what appeared to be about two dozen arrows, and a solid, dark longbow with a large arch to its form. There was no carved handle to the bow, simply a leather thong wrapped repeatedly around the location that was meant to be gripped while shooting.

Piece by piece, he removed the equipment from its container and placed it aside. Beneath the change of clothes at the bottom of the chest, the elf would notice a folded envelope. It was sealed using wax, impressed with an emblem that depicted an open eye that’s pupil had been pierced through by an arrow. The emblem itself held no personal meaning to the young elf, nor did he discern any meaning from it whatsoever. Gently, he broke the seal and unfolded the envelope, allowing a small, shiny coin to fall down to the bottom of the chest. Disregarding it for a moment, he returned to the envelope in his hand that contained a smaller note. Now unfolding the off-white sheet of parchment, he read its contents: 

“Hello young Tel-quessir,

This is now your existence. I will begin with assigning your new name. You are to be called Gilan. You have many questions, I’m sure. However, I cannot disclose your purpose to us yet. You have been selected to lead a new life under your identity, which should now only be seen as Gilan. Currently, you have been placed at your location for grooming and must endure this lifestyle until I contact you again regarding tasks. I am aware that you have concerns as to your origin, but I have taken the liberty of relieving you of memory involving your previous identity. There is no need to investigate this matter, because I can assure you that your old life has nothing for you to return to. In time you will learn of this, and will eventually understand your purpose to us. For now, you are required to survive, endure, and conquer these forests while honing your abilities as a true ranger. The forests here are perilous, and filled with beasts and bandits of all kinds. There have also been reports of cults forming and luring innocents into the forests for sacrifice. As you hunt, be wary of others, for no one can be trusted but yourself and these letters. I look forward to witnessing your progression in your new domain. Seldarine onta lle lema (Gods create your journey).

Heru (Lord)”

As he read the letter, he realized that the note was not lying to him. He had no memory of his previous life - no friends, family, home, or even his birth name. Gilan, he thought, was all he would be able to address himself as now. He was now trapped in this new alias against his own will and told to strive. However, he did see the irony in it, as nobody chooses their life from birth. As Gilan contemplated his new life, he realized that he was distracted from what was left in his newfound chest of gifts.

Calmly, he reached down and plucked the shiny coin from the base of the chest. To Gilan’s surprise, it was heavy for a small piece of metal. It shined with the glimmer of silver, yet when moved under rays of light would reflect a bright purple undertone. As he inspected further, he noticed indiscernible glyphs on either side of the coin. It was not a language he had seen before, yet it intrigued him all the same. Without much else to find from staring at the coin, Gilan placed it in a pocket and returned to thought.

He realized that there was nothing keeping him from leaving his cabin and finding a way to civilization. There he could simply continue on and live an integrated lifestyle. He would be free, with only a name and his ideas. Indeed, the thought seemed attractive given his situation of a fresh start. However, he was not entirely sure he could settle for a struggling lifestyle on the streets of cities where living was more of a competition than act of a community. Yet, his current situation had provided him with a helpful start: a shelter, equipment, and a means to live. Did he really want to abandon what little he had in this world and change his course? He did not have any reason to. The ones who brought him here did not seem to be a threat. In fact, from the note it even seemed as if they wanted him to survive and to learn. Did Gilan want to satisfy his captors? The only thing he knew about them was that they had bludgeoned him and stranded him in a forest, and he was sure that was enough of a reason to hold a grudge. However, the way they communicated with him was not in a threatening manner. They had physically isolated him and commanded him to train. Was this some form of protection? Or was this some test?

The more he pondered over his situation, the more a slow rumble would build in Gilan’s gut. He proceeded to search through his cabin for anything else that could be of use to him. The cabin was all but bare, only having within its storage minimal cooking supplies, a bundle of rope and a few tools such as a hand axe and a trowel. Upon further inspection of the bed, he found that there was another folded piece of cloth atop the furs. Unfolding it, Gilan saw that it was a cloak of sorts. It was mottled with brown and green and grey in a very uneven and random pattern, as if it would have been simply rolled in the earth for a dye. Deciding to make use of what little he does have, Gilan adorned the cloak and raised its hood over his head. Though he felt no different in stature, once he had settled into the shroud of clothing a small sense of comfort crept into him. If anyone would have been around him, they would have noticed the young elf straighten a little more, though it was subconscious to him. Gilan returned to the main area of the room to gather his equipment. He strung his bow and set it down. The large knife he had was sheathed within a leather casing that was stitched tightly to a belt strap. The other side of the belt strap was pushed through a leather loop that was stitched onto the quiver of arrows. He tied it around his waist and adjusted the knife’s positioning, and then replaced the bow in his hands. With a deep sigh, and a stiffening of his body, Gilan opened the door and exited into the forest to hunt.