The Apple Does Not Fall Far From The Tree

[SteelMarshall 190]

The rain poured relentlessly upon the already damp ground, drowning out almost all noise save for the howling of the wind. The torrential downpour saturated the rich earth, churning the fertile soil, which mixed with broken twigs and leaves to form a chaotic mass of mud and foliage. The creaking of trees could be heard as well, as they strained to hold their roots against nature's onslaught. The sun was blocked by dark, heaving clouds, whose gray monotony matched the colorless hue of the cobbled road that snaked through the soft hills. A singular pair of boots, blacker than even the angriest storm clouds, thudded softly against the slicked road.

 

The lone man leaned against the powerful gale, though he walked slowly and unhurriedly. His clothes were similar to his boots; he was garbed in featureless black. Stygian cloth, interspersed by segments of hardened, coal-black leather armor, hung soddenly from the figure's muscled form. Plated pauldrons sat on the man's broad shoulders, and the stormy gray metal reflected what little light was able to shine through the thick and brooding clouds. The man looked like a carrion crow; the only thing decorative about him was the bright silver clasp of his hide belt. From this belt hung a scabbard, with a detailed silver design at its mouth that seemed molded to fit the hilt of the sword that it carried. A mighty longbow, made of yew and unstrung due to the storm, hung across the man's back; his thick upper body made it evident that he had plenty of practice with it. He would have been a sobering yet otherwise unremarkable figure, were it not for one distinguishing feature.

 

He was completely bald; not a hair could be seen on his face save for his thick black eyebrows. His startlingly pale skin was drawn tight across his skull, only accentuated his soaking and smooth head. His face was angular, with a brow that hung heavy over a hawkish nose and focused hazel eyes. High cheekbones beset his thin lips, which were drawn back in a grimace.

 

There had been another in Anthos who had been set apart by his stark baldness and frightening features; Brigham Hadwin, the soft-spoken yet deadly leader of the Valden Company, a mercenary band that had formed during the crossing into Anthos and had once possessed a reputation for its brutal work and underhanded practices. Many still remembered the name of the Valden's founder, as well as the face that went with it. The lone figure had an uncanny resemblance to his distinguished predecessor; Kellerman Hadwin was the spitting image of his wicked father. 

 

He knew little, he mused as he pushed through the storm, of the events that wracked the kingdoms of men. The politics that embroiled the courts and consumed the lives of the nobility were foreign to him. Ever since the Holy Oren Empire had shattered, things had been jumbled and hectic at best. The human species was fighting for its very survival, working admirably to pull itself back to its rightful seat of dominance over the other races. One thing Kellerman did know was that this state of affairs provided a plethora of wealth and opportunity... especially in his line of work.

 

Hadwin's thoughts were interrupted by distant shouts. Further up the road he could see the signs of a vast construction project. Throngs of workers toiled tirelessly despite the lashing rain, and the downpour could not hide the continuous thud of hammer on nail. Enormous quantities of stone and wood were being carried to and fro, and a crooked smile tugged at the bald man's mouth. New Abresi was being brought to life, and with it, an age of wealth and power was sure to come. Kellerman could feel it.

 

Just a quick post to commemorate my return to Lord of the Craft. It's good to be back.

[Galendar 631]

((Welcome back good sir! Pull up a chair!))

[Altiak 1648]

((Welcome back! Nice to see a fellow like yourself joining us here again.))

[Lark 2227]

((UHTREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED))

 

[SteelMarshall 190]

((Thanks for all the warm welcomes, lads! Like I said, it's good to be back!))

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.