Wayward Sons

[Treshure 5817]

–

 

 

A waning sun sighed over Ves. Beams of light scattered through wooden beams and stone arches, washed over windswept waters, and draped across the faces of Kaedrin that walked the streets of that early eve. There amongst them sat one sable cloaked wanderer. An ashen hood fell hung over his hunched head, pulled toward the papyrus scroll beneath him. With every multitude of ink strokes, he cast wary eyes to the townsfolk. He was not of their kind, and he felt that fact thick in the air.

 

Slowly, notices would be found across taverns - from Kaedrin, Helena, and then all provinces beneath the umbra of Empire.

 

“To those of the Rhenyari - that of the Magian Mountains, of South Rhenyar, one who sings praise of Mitras and follows Kitran by starry night - I call you! I have spent my life lost and cast away. I have travelled vast sands and arid mountaintops, hoping to see my people in more than thin passings. 

 

I know that we were more than bands of roving magi. I have heard whispers – of mystic revelations, and lands filled with wayward sons as I. Come, ye of Rhen! Meet me in Ves, so that we may be bring together which was lost at long last.

 

Adio,

Balthazar”

 

 

[BenevolentManacles 2232]

A young Rhenyar writes a simple response to the other lonely islander,

 

Balthazar,

 

Take heed, the folk of Ves, and all of Arcas, have shown themselves to be naught but ignorant barbara... They lack understanding and appreciation for the tides and the stars, and adhere to no code but self-pity, arrogance and a lust for conflict. I will come meet you in Ves, and teach you what I can. My uncle, Simon, and I have plans to establish a campground from which to gather other such wayward effendi as yourself.

 

I’ll have a flute, and a red cloak. Shokran, Bann.

 

Adio,

Cyril Basrid