Aeolin - [RP Story]

[ChainedDragons 1374]

[[This is just a fun prompt I wanted to write based on thoughts I had of Hart whilst exploring the map today in secret - The images are AI generated as I wanted to see how I felt about them. AI image site Try it out - I think this would be useful to those who want to depict scenes but have a hard time drawing - art block hits hard at times]]

 

Aeolian

“The sweet clarity of mind is found in the deep roots of the wilderness.”

- Robbie George

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"Where are you going?"
"North. I'm hunting for tundra hare. Ser Thomas granted me his blessing."

"...alright.. be careful."

"of course. I will be. It's been some time since I've run into any after all."

 

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It wasn't long before the young squire snuck across the Haensei roads into the territory of Celia'nor. He had taken this path many times, each more mindful than the last. Yet with all his caution he never saw hide nor hair of the patrols rumored to traverse the roads time to time. He either had a guardian anguel or a profound amount of luck. The elk knew its masters desire. Climb the hill side past the barns. Cross the pair of streams weaving between purple roofed homes before sliding down the rocky mountainside into the Undying Lands that Hart once knew to be home.

 

Hart clicked his tongue, urging the black pelted elk onward, the sound of crunching snow under hoof with the grunts of the animal forging a path for them both. The nordling knew of his set out task of collecting tundra hare. What little leather the animals would provide would aid in creating whistles he desperately needed. Even with this urgency in mind Hart found himself allowing the elk to aimlessly wander, guiding him through slopes of snow and pine. Hart blinks. How long had they been walking? The petran squire looked around, surprised to find that he and his mount had wandered onto a lonely set of rolling peaks. In the distance he saw shapes of structures. Small ones to sure but structures nonetheless. 

 

"Closer Fram." He utters to the elk, the cervid shaking its head as it obeyed its masters order. It did a small jump from a ledge onto the other, leading Hart into the soul of the campsite. It was empty. Though embers hinting at once burning, snow had since snuffed out the warmth from this place. Wind whipped the fabric tents into a frenzy, empty crates and boxes hinting at maybe a group of three or more individuals that were once here. 

 

Hart frowned as he investigated the site. What had happened here? How long ago was this? There was no signs of violence, that or the winds of the mountain had stripped the camp of all evidence. The elk shifted nervously, letting out a squeak of annoyance as Hart tugged at the reigns to keep Fram in check. "Easy friend.. we'll leave soon." Could he come back to this place? Hart thought it over, looking to the frozen valley below. Perhaps not. He wasn't even sure where they had ended up. Best to move on for now...

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Departing the mountain peak,  Hart had his elk trot along a barely visible cobbled road. Hooves clicking and crunching against stone and ice. There were times his mind wondered if he were being followed along the lonely road, the warnings of many telling him to stay off the roads during these stressful war times. Yet... Hart felt an old confidence that there wouldn't be anyone from the war all the way out here. Why would they be?

Perhaps they were seeking an escape from the troubles like he was. Pretending that out here in this expanse of tundra and pine there was no war. Just the wind and frost, singing to the weary who embraced the lonely lands.

 

Hart's head snaps to the left, his arms lifting a hunting bow drawstring right up by his eye - the weapon trained on a sound he had heard behind a small drift. The elk stopped, its ears pricked forward as his master held his breath. 

One.

Two.

A small white rodent with a black tipped tail crawled out from behind the drift.

Hart's eyes dilated.

The bow string creaked with stress.

Three.

Four.

 

Hart released the arrow - watching it streak through flakes of snow as the tundra hare bolted, only bit of fluff left behind from the hunters attempt to catch its prey. The squire frowned, irritated that he hesitated to lose his arrow a moment too late. Climbing off the elk, he leads the creature behind him to retrieve his arrow.

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch went the snow beneath his boots. The noise soft, only drowned out by the song of snow being whipped into the air. Scooping up his arrow, Hart's eyes fell on another site. An abandoned town or fort from the looks of it.

 

Hart catches a glimpse of the hare darting into a wood pile within the town. Despite his own instincts saying to leave the place wear it lie, Hart pressed forward with elk in tow. What was this place? Debilitated houses. Sunken in wells. A church in ruins. Hart found himself stopping before one building in particular due to a glimmer. It was the town bell. Bronze and tarnished with the weather exposure, frost was visible on the metal. Wisely Hart kept his gloved fingers to himself. Bare skin on metal that cold would surely rip away, leaving blood and raw flesh exposed to the world to take advantage of. The 16 year olds grey eyes flick to the nearby door frame. Large jagged marks made him think of a mighty bear swiping the door down. He prayed it was a bear at least. The squire was awoken from his thoughts from a nudge to the shoulder, his steed snorting out a puff of frosty air. It was time to leave.

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Hart shook himself to stay awake. The sun was setting and the hunt for tundra hare had proven unsuccessful due to his wandering attention span. It was wiser to head home. Even if he wasn't entirely sure where the path home was at the moment. The trick to getting out of being lost was to keep moving. Staying still only worked if you were close to civilization. If you were away from it well it was a death sentence. The squire traversed mountain after mountain. Valley after valley till he begin to smell something. Something burning. Ash. The tangible taste of warmth in the air grew, forcing the frosty breath out of Hart's throat. 

As his elk ascended the next mountain, Hart found his animal coming to a stop. His eyes flicked up, wondering why the pause. Understanding was quickly found. It was a crater. A large one. Full of fiery magma and broiling smoke. This wasn't here before. Was it? He looked around. Indeed some of the area was familiar but this.. this was new. What could have forged a bowl of fire such as this? Harts mind wandered yet again. Logical answers - nature forms such things when the ground becomes too hot, belching forth flame to form volcanoes. More frightening answers - a dragons wading pool perhaps? He could imagine the giant reptilians bathing in the lava as if it were water. Or at worst demons or mortals meddling with magics they shouldn't be. Any of the answers were not exactly ideal. Hart turned the elk away after a while of staring and pondering, darting across a nearby rickety bridge. The elk let out a screech, its leg popping through a broken plank. It sent the squire's stomach to his throat as he struggled to urge the beast onward, encouraging it to lifts leg. By the grace of God the elk was able to get its leg free, carrying them away from the bridge that bore the sign "this way for the dutchy of lumbridge".

 

By the eve Hart had returned home to Petra, the cold of the north leaving his bones. But the image of fire cradled within frost didn't leave him.. he would have to go back to investigate.

 

Edited March 28, 2025 by ChainedDragons
word edits