Shanadar's Scratch Pad

Disappointment with Mass Effect 3

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 21 May 2012 08:55:00 +0000

I did not write a piece of Fiction this time around. I finished off Mass Effect 3 and was incensed enough about the ending to write this:

A discussion of what I think is the main source of disappointment in Mass Effect 3. Be warned, this contains spoilers for all three games. If you have seen the videos about the ending of Mass Effect 3 I am not ruining anything for you. If you have not, well, continue reading at your own risk.

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The Traveller - Week 1 - 646 Words

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 07 May 2012 03:00:00 +0000

Okay. Jumped the gun on starting the 2K-A-Week challenge. Started it halfway through a week, on a whim, the week that followed we ran into some technical challenges and I was sick as a dog, and the week following that I was on vacation. Bad time to try and kick this off. We're going to start this all over again. Ready? Go!

The Traveller - Have you ever noticed that when you have been traveling for a long time, your perception begins to change. Moving along a road, up and over hills, past trees and bushes, across bridges and past farm fields, eventually the senses begin to dull.

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Strike Team - 297 Words

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 23:52:00 +0000

Maj. Williams held her breath and froze briefly as the focused beam of light swept across the rough bark of the Oak she leaned into for cover. She couldn't feel the harsh surface of the tree, nor the chill of the night through the meshes and laminated plates of her hard suit - thankfully the enclosed helmet meant she didn't have to worry about clouds of breath vapor giving away her position. Echo location algorithms estimated that the approaching sentries were three hundred feet away, judging from the crunch of gravel under their boots. The light moved on and darkness returned. Maj. Williams popped out from behind the tree as the sentries were between strides. Aiming and firing quickly, she placed the kill shots while they were still off balance. The only sounds were the near silent mechanical pumping of her pistol as it pushed fresh rounds into the chamber, and the soft shifting of gravel under the bodies of the fallen sentries. The Major waved the rest of her squad forward, wasting no time.

The squad swept forward along the descending path towards their target. Valdez and Ortega paused along the way only long enough to kill the lamp packs on the fallen sentries. The exterior of the entire site was unlit, aside from the lamps carried by the few sentries - which had all been quenched. The briefing had described the location as a dig site, but, it looked more like the entrance to a bunker to Maj. Williams. The entrance was nothing more than a set of simple steel doors at the end of a narrow descending road that had been dug into a seemingly random patch of forestland. Whatever this installation actually was TriSigurius Corporation was trying to keep it off the radar.

2000 Words a Week - Go

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 04:27:00 +0000

After a year and a half it's time to get back at it.

The plan is to every week and try to get as close to 2000 Words as possible. Once I manage to hit that limit on a regular basis, then, it's time to up the quality. It will be Draft Quality, so, read at your own peril!

After the Fall of Arachtballa

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 20 May 2010 09:44:00 +0000

Scaalia lifted a small glowing orange piece of iron from the the forge with a pair of tongs. Turning it over in the air he inspected it carefully before placing it upon the anvil. His smith's hammer fell upon it rhythmically shaping the tiny piece blow by blow. After a few moments what had been a small lump of iron was now a four inch nail, satisfied with it's shape Scaalia dunked it in a nearby barrel of cool water where it hissed violently as it took its final shape. He scavenged another piece of scrap metal and thrust it into the coals of the forge.

Working the bellows gave his mind time to wander. When it wasn't bent to the task of shaping metal it constantly returned to the recent news of the fall of Arachtballa; swarmed by thousands of Consumed - Fallen stalking the hallways corrupting the solders within and sending them forth to do their bidding. It had been less than a handful of months since Scaalia had left the mountain fortress of Arachtballa for the School of Seven Virtues.  Arachtballa had been home for only a short time but it had left its impression on him. He could still hear the snap of the blue and white pennants in the wind, and smell the freshly baked bread from the bakery across the drill yard from the small forge he'd been assigned to.

His gaze dropped into the hot glow of the forge as the faces of his former militia unit members haunted his memories; Mullens, Ten-Penny, Connigh, Tarts, Crannagh, Bags, and Mundsie.  Did they made it out? Were they sent to evacuate the civilians?  Were they Consumed and turned against Braemoor and the rest of Armandy like all the other damned souls the Mahori had subverted?  Had they turned upon one another, choosing to end the life of their wounded friends rather see them return as mindless versions of their former selves? Scaalia could only pray that some of them survived. He pulled the now glowing iron from the coals and began pounding it into shape, forming the beginnings of a "J" hook. Simple implements provided the distraction he needed, and were always in demand around the school grounds.

He hoped that the noise of the hammer would drive the visions from his mind, but it did not. He could hear fragments of their voices in the ring of the metal; Ten-Penny's long winded explanations, and Tarts' exclamations over discovering something exotic in the pantries.  The voices changed after a while and were replaced with Bags recounting one of his grand escapades, late night at the local pub, with Mundsie's lilting and distinctly feminine laughter and Crannagh's bass rumble of a chuckle accompanying him. Just when he thought his friends had left him for good he heard Master Smith Connigh speaking to him. 'You're swinging too hard, not so much force.' she said, as she had many times before when they'd been working in the armory. He focused on his work; she was right. He had pounded to iron flat, into a useless mass that was rapidly cooling.

Scaalia muttered to himself and quickly dipped the scrap into water to disipate the remaining heat and then dropped the mostly cool iron into the scrap tin for later use. He made a warding and supplicating gesture with his hands as he left the small forge, "Barmorean give me strength."  Scaalia let the door bang closed behind him. He shook his head a little, trying to finally rid himself of the phantoms. He pointed himself towards the Bloody Knave, "Oi, I need a drink."

Review: The Infernal City

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 06:57:00 +0000

Title: The Infernal City: an Elderscrolls Novel
Author: Greg Keyes
Length: 288pgs
Rating: 4 Stars

I am a fan of the Elder Scrolls, I have been since I played "Arena" back in 1994 (on a side note: Elder Scrolls 1 and 2 are available free for download here released on the 10th and 15th anniversaries of the Elder Scrolls) and I had never herd of Greg Keyes. I understood the potential for how colossally bad this particular book could be. Typically novels based on video games tend to fall on the shadier side of quality, but at the very least I knew that my fanatacism for the elderscrolls setting would mean that no matter how mediocre the tale might be I would probably enjoy it. Even if it was terrible, it was only 288 pages. Who knows, maybe this Greg Keyes was even an published author, if he was, he might even be decent, maybe even pretty good. So, with that in mind I shelled out the $10 and went on home.

Upon inspecting the inside of the rear cover when I got home, I discovered that Greg Keyes had indeed previously published books, infact he'd even won some presteigious awards; looks like rings are coming up roses. So, as I was travelling to Massachucetts I settled down with this little ~300 page gem. I must say, I am thoroughly impressed. Keyes' style is suprisingly similar to my own (I think) and it made for a very enjoyable read. Pacing started out slow, which I believe was quite intentional. He initially dumps the reader into the new political situation since the fall of the Septim Dynasty as well as the cultures and languages of Tamriel but then gives time for you to catch your breath. He ramps the action up slowly at first, character development follows a similar pace, initially leading you to believe that you're going to read about a bunch of flatly archetypal characters the whole way through and then begins bleeding in more depth as the plot starts to twist and weave.

Keyes does a brilliant job translating the setting to paper. He captures the brutal magesty of The Elder Scrolls very well. Mystical and fantastic while at the same time being brutally honest. Yes it is a land where there is magic and spells and elves and all that, but yes people die, sometimes they die horribly, and sometimes thats not the worst thing that happens to them. The new portion of the setting he has created (or at least brought to life), Umbriel, is like a twisted version of Wonderland and he does a wonderful job of making the people inside of it perfectly real yet simultaneously insane. This is only compounded by dropping an 'Alice' type normal person into this madness. These people are not silly, loony, insane. They are a very real and disturbing insane.

I was pleasantly suprised by this book. It was a great read, and there were some passages where I simply could not put it down.

Missed Deadline

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 21:17:00 +0000

Last weeks deadline was missed though there was something written. Impromptu Christmas celebration with my "Family by Choice" as they have been called in Massachusetts. "Apotheosis" is currently about 1200 words and could be posted, but is not yet finished. It is sort of at an in between state where one could argue that it is finished, but it would be a weak arguement. Also I believe would be a lot stronger with some more time, thus, it will wait and perhaps shall be posted this week. I am planning to write a short review of "The Infernal Island: An Elderscrolls Novel" this week as well to make up for lack of posting by Sunday. It's a heavy week at work though, so we'll see what there is time for.

The Darkest of Days

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 02:27:00 +0000

Over and over, fingers worked to fold pieces of twine into concentric circles winding, around a shimmering bead placed in the center of the coil. Scaalia and his siblings were busy winding the little sun charms that were traditionally crafted by their clan during this time of year. This year supplies were short and so the charms they crafted were small but no less complex. Their size was another reminder that the year had been tough and would only get tougher.

Soon the snows would come in earnest to blanket the Lostwood. With luck, the hanging of charms and the ritual prayers would remind the Sun of just how much the denizens missed her presence above the wood. Hopefully after a time their devotions would warm her heart and she would brave the cold once again and emerge from the great cave that she had hidden herself in to melt the snows and warm the land once again. It would take time, some years it took longer than others but those of the Lostwood knew that nothing with lasting power came quickly.

With this in mind they prepared for the festival on the darkest of days, when all the families of their clan would gather to celebrate. It would be a day full of feasting and raucous celebration. There would be a feast to honor the Sun when it was at its brightest to show their appreciation for the day light. Following that the stories of their ancestors would be told, epic poems of how their clan had come to be. As the sun set a great bonfire would be set alight to carry on the light of the sun and ward off the dark. All around it they would dance and with the sound of their drums and voices they would call to the Sun to return to them, return life to the land, and end the harsh cold of winter. The spirit of the celebration was most important; not the size of the fire, or the roar of the drums, but the love, and the joy of those who danced and sang. As such the darkest of days was not so dark, and the light would only grow brighter as the year passed on.

Missed Deadline

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 09:58:00 +0000

No Post last week. My Grandmother passed away and I was attending a funeral and comiserating and re-connecting with family members I have not seen in a few years. There will be a post made in the 4 remaining days of this week.

Scaalia Bloodwood

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 23:14:00 +0000

Scaalia Bloodwood stood at the top of a small rise and gazed over the trees of the Lostwood towards the Citadel of Niallan. The citadel's presence was massive, a vast island of rock within the emerald green and tree bark brown sea. Eons of erosion had worn the surface of its stone towers to the same texture of any mountain. Even though the citadel was still miles off Scaalia could still feel it. It pulled at his senses whenever he was near. Faint as the perceptions might be he could almost see the Aether ripple and swirl around it even from this distance. Whenever he approached the citadel the faintest whispers of events from the last two thousand years played at the very edge of his senses simultaneously. They were like a faint echo heard but not distinctly discernible from the other sounds of the forest, except for the distinct impression of age that was left behind.

Scaalia's taloned grip tightened on the trunk of a nearby tree, the tips of his claws sinking gently into the rough bark. The wind picked up and tussled his mane. It carried the scent of travelers from outside the Lostwood - Humans from Braemoor likely by the smell of things. They would have goods for trading and news of the "outside" world as they called it. Scaalia began the decent back to the clan dwelling, eager to confirm the rumors that he had heard. News had reached even the heart of the Lostwood that the School of Seven Virtues had re-opened it doors to those who would take up the Path of the Hero. These traders might have information but there was only one way to know for sure. The spirits had told him that a journey waited in his future, he assumed that they had meant the trip, but something about that particular card reading hinted at more.

Learn more about the world of Seven Virtues: http://www.carusoking.com/sevenvirtues/Seven_Virtues/World.html

New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 15:14:00 +0000

Well, this didn't go very well last year, so in the famous words of Monty Python "Start again!". Monday is the start of a new week, and is nearly almost a year from the last time I posted here. So... lets try this again shall we.

The Fall of Abelestran Bluesummers, Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 09:01:00 +0000

One foot in front of the other; this was the most important thing to keep in mind. If he did not keep moving he would be left with no choice but to face what had happened to his caravan. The images of carnage and destruction were burned clearly into his mind.

Families were slaughtered, torn apart like pieces of meat thrown to dogs. One unfortunate soul looked as if it had been smeared across fifty meters of rock. There wasn't much in the line of gore that indicated who it might have been, but there were enough scattered fragments of bone and what seemed to be either hair or fabric to tell that they hadn't survived. The most puzzling were the large splashes of blood on rock, dust, and sand with no bodies or remains of any kind nearby. He wasn't sure which was more troubling, the lack of remains, or the remains that were so easily identifiable. Abelestran had found the forearm and hand of thirteen year old Geneveve Truskani being picked at by vultures. She always wore a bracelet full of small metal charms that was given to her by Alehandro Belluskuro, a fourteen year old boy who fancied her. Alehandro's left arm had been found next to a ruined caravan wagon, his distinctive cord like tattoo still recognizable even though the end of the arm had been chewed up. In amongst some large shredded pieces of metal he found what resembled a torso dressed in the favorite outfit of the wagon master of the caravan, Bellasia Gerathurk. Abelestran had known four generations of Truskanis and Gerathruks, and five generations of Belluskuros. To have entire family lines wiped out in such a violent manner was simply grotesque. None were spared. Not the elderly nor the young.

The only wagon in the whole caravan that was left mostly undamaged was the one that Abelestran Bluesummers and his daughter Julianna inhabited. The wheels had been destroyed but nothing had been overturned inside. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be, though slightly jostled. Julianna's favorite teddy bear sat prominently displayed in the middle of Abelestran's bed. Its innards had been torn open, most of the stuffing pulled from its insides. The majority of the right half of it's face had been burnt away and it's left leg hung limply only attached to the body by the barest of threads. There was a note underneath the bear scrawled in a child's messy handwriting: "I love you Daddy."

Abelestran walked through the driving wind, one off-white gloved hand held his wide brimmed hat in place. He stalked the Wasteland a grim, resolute figure dressed in black. With the collar of his great coat turned up and the hat pulled down close to his eyes the magics resident in the clothing came to life shielding him from the blowing dust and sand. Abelestran could sense the beast far ahead of him, the gifts of the Great Defender allowed him to perceive it. He knew exactly where it was headed. It had sent a message that it was coming for him, but not until it had destroyed everything that he cared about first. It was headed for his eldest daughter, Evangelene, in the town of Volag Mines. Thankfully it seemed as if it had not discovered where she was yet, as it was veering off course. Abelestran's body was sustained by magics, he did not need food, and he would find no restful sleep, so he continued to walk on.

Madrigal

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 09:30:00 +0000

No post this week as I was running around like a fool getting ready for Madrigal! Next Deadline Nov 2nd.

Findings from the Archaeological Dig at Ashin'Volag, Maraekesh

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 13:18:00 +0000

The following are transcribed excerpts from what appear to be diaries of Evangelene Bluesummers, a notable Post War era mystic. The documents were recovered at an archaeological dig site to the south west of what is currently Ashin'Volag, Maraekesh (map). The majority of the information contained within the diaries is irrecoverable simply due to the age and condition of the documents. Entries are displayed in chronological order.

=================================================================

[Date unintelligible](1)

I am entering my fourth year of service to St. Alomimous the Great Defender. Compassion, severity, reserve, dedication; these are the major qualities of the Great Defender. It is a hard path to walk sometimes. It makes me wonder how my teacher has managed to walk the path for over one hundred and fifty years. He remembers the times before the Great War(2), however he does not speak of them often. Abelestran(3) tells me that in time I will grow to become a fine servant of [The remainder of this entry is damaged beyond recovery]

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Eversun: Day 4, (Cycle) [Remainder of date unintelligible](4)

We have a new addition to our family today! Abel and I found a baby girl in the wreckage of a small caravan. We called her Juilanna. She can't be more than three or four years old.

We almost missed her in our search of he battle site. The wreckage was pretty fresh, so we were on alert for any attackers who had lain in wait using the wrecked caravan as bait. The little girl was mostly buried under the sand and some debris which shielded from the elements. We dug her out and cleaned up her wounds as best we could.

She seems to be doing fairly well physically, though mentally she is probably still in shock. She seems to be mostly numb to everything that is going on around her. I asked my Father if I was like that when he found me out in the sand. He said it was much the same, though not exactly. Abel said that when he came across me enough time had passed since the initial attack that I was up and moving on my own. Sometimes I wonder how long [The remainder of this entry is damaged beyond recovery]

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Eversun: Day 8, Cycle 5, 103 AD(5)

Julianna is doing well. She seems to have finally adjusted to her new home and is beginning to open up to other people. It is good to see that she has not been traumatized too badly by the attack the took her from her family.

Father left for his pilgrimage(6) this morning. He will be gone for the next three days. I'm not sure how he can stand to go three days without food or water. I guess I'll have to figure it out though, he told me that next year I am to come with him if I am ready. I have a lot of training to do before I am ready for that. Well I suppose there is no time like the present. We're going to be waiting here for Father to return, I may as well start my exercises in the morning.

=================================================================

1. Carbon dating of the ink used to scribe this entry places at -147 Common Era, one hundred and twenty three years after the start of the War of Elemental Power

2. The War of Elemental Power, better known to the people of that era as "The Great War" (See War of Elemental Power)

3. Abelestran Bluesummers, reported to be the sole worshipper of St. Alomimous who survived the Great War. (See: Abelestran Bluesummers)

4. Carbon dating indicates that this entry was penned with ink from the same time frame as the first entry, though its composition is slightly different. This entry was placed second in order after reviewing the contents.

5. AD in this case refers to the colloquial year designation "After Destruction". There was such large scale destruction during the Great War that some residents of that era thought the world would never recover.

6. This passage may refer to the "Journey of the Faithful". Records on the subject are incomplete, however it is known that worshippers of St. Alomimous would make an annual pilgrimage to a holy place of their patron. (See: Veneration of St. Alomimous)

Writing Postponed due to Illness

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 20:35:00 +0000

So no writing posted this week. I was pretty ill with a nasty cold for most of it, so, I have a good excuse. Also Comments have been enabled on the pervious post. Not sure why they were disabled to begin with. Must go settings hunting I guess.

Character History - Alexander Elric

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 03:00:00 +0000

Unfortunately this took a little longer than a week to put together. However I didn't want to post it "unfinished". This is mostly unedited.

So, you want to learn more about me, eh? About my past? The Grand Adventures of Alexander the 'Gypsy King'? I'll let you determine how grand a tale it is.

I grew up amongst a typically Gypsy family; large and on the move. We travelled all over Aerune, from Trechelle, to Avanlei, through Rhoemurgh and even through old Naporea. My father was a Gypsy Elder, his father's before him a long twisting line of Gypsys. He held little influence with the council but was well respected. My mother's family, hail from Avanlei, I have been told that at some point in their history they were servant's to the Galanar family of Avanlei. Try as I might however I have never been able to find any records to prove such, if this occured it was likely more than four generations ago. When my mother joined the Gypsy caravan with my father she became our resident herbalist, teachings that were passed on from her mother, a Druid of the Green. I learned much from my parents, and spent the majority of my time with family, both immediate, and extended. However the time comes when everyone must leave home.

I was young and foolish, as everyone must be, and I had heard of the Free Commons of Belik Hills that gained its freedom from the tyranny of Mhurkiel. Being young, rebellious and freshly incensed with the History of the Gypsies, I made it my mission to go to Belik Hills and at the very least witness the freedom they had won for themselves. Some of my mother's family, the Richardsons, live near the southern border of Avanlei so I was familiar at least in part with the territory surrounding the town. I didn't tell my family where I was going. They were both loving and supportive and didn't ask too many questions. As Gypsies they understood that sometimes the wanderlust took people and demanded that they go on their own journey. They only demanded that I send word from time to time so that they knew I was still alive.

Fortune smiled upon me in my travels. I met a lovely woman on the road through nothern Rhoemurg, by accident. She was a Bayastri Shoathri from the highlands by the name of Vaalen Shadowstrider. I stumbled across her camp in the middle of the night. She had most obviously heard my approach and lept out of a nearby stand of trees in her animal form hoping to scare me off. It would have worked except, I tripped over some roots in my fright and was unable to run. Towering over me, a mass of sleek black fur, coiled muscle, and bared claws she allowed me to explain my intentions.

After a few tense moments we determined that our goals were similar. She was also travelling to the Free Commons in Mhurkiel, however she intended to enlist with a company attempting to free slaves. Initial misunderstandings aside, she had a pleasant personality and an intense sense of justice. We became fast friends over the course of our journey through Rhoemurg and southern Avanlei. I discovered she was from Locksmoor, and she always wore a thick Scarlet red ribbion in her hair. Shortly after we crossed the border into Mhurkiel we had a brief run in with some local Ruffians in a small town; I inadvertantly claimed her as my property to avoid a confrontation. She did not seem to be bothered by this, I knew at this point that we had indeed become close.

We stayed at the same inn within the free commons throughout our stay. Vaalen joined a company that was fighting to free slaves from Mhurkiel, using Belik Hills as their base of operations. Eventually she convinced me to join as well. We worked with the company on a regular basis and helped to liberate several slaves. Typically I helped with transporting those who were liberated out of Belik Hills and Mhurkiel; I was not as skilled at sneaking, deception or combat as others within the company. When we were not assisting the company we spent our free time enjoying each others company, and working odd jobs together to pay the Innkeeper.

The end of our second year in Belik Hills was nearing its end. Our relationship was the strongest it had ever been. Feeling confident one evening, I proposed to her. She accepted. There was a Druid in the area Vaalen had come to know well, we went to see her the next day and performed the ceremony. Happily married, Vaalen and I lessened our involvement with the company for a time, allowing us more time to enjoy our new lives together. It was the greatest time of my life. I was married to a strong, beautiful woman, we were living our lives as we saw fit, and fighting for what we believed in. What more could a man want?

Months passed, life was good. We were approached by one of the memebers of the company. There was a large scale mission taking place in a few weeks. A large number of slaves were to be liberated from a single master and they needed the help of all that were willing. We agreed to help. The weeks passed quickly in a flurry of planning and strategizing. It was truely a massive undertaking, we planned to evacuate the slaves from Belik Hills five or so per wagon, one wagon per day. With the projected numbers it would take us almost a week to get them all out of town. As the day approached, we said our temporary goodbyes and Vaalen and the others who were doing the liberating trickled out of town as was common practice. They would gather as the appointed place within the wilderness the night before the mission was to commence.

I was tending to the wagons we would use to evacuate the slaves when I heard the shuffling approach of someone who was obviously injured and limping. It was Cedric, a friend and member of the company. We had been on many missions together, Vaalen Cedric and I, he was a woodsman from Naporea, a Ranger I think, and better than I in a fight. His face was ashen, as he approached he held one bloodied hand over a gash in his side.

"Cedric!" I moved to assist him, but he waved me off.
"Alex ... run. We've .... Betrayed." His breathing was laboured.
"But you're..." I tried to help him again but he shoved me away.
"Too late for me ... Poison." His limbs were starting to stiffen and slow he lacked his normal grace.
"But... What about the others?" Cedric leaned his weight against me a moment, his voice little more than a raspy whisper in my ear. Cedric simply shook his head. He angled me towards the side entrance of the stables with his last steps.
"Go!" With his whole weight against me Cedric shoved me towards the doorway. I felt his fingers trail across my shoulder and heard the heavy thud of his weight crash to the ground. I turned long enough to look over my shoulder and see his still form, blood beginning to pool beneath him, and then I fled.

I lept upon the first horse saw and proceeded at a somewhat casual trot away from the City. I held on to my composure as long as was possible, so as not to look as though I was fleeing for my life - which would have been a dead give away for someone who was looking to stick something pointy and metal into my flesh. Finally when I could no longer supress the instinct to flee I urged the horse into a full on gallop and we disappeared into the night.

Vaalen and I had planned for this. We had designated a place where we would go if we had to flee the town. It was distant enough from eveything that it would likely not be found by any passers by. I sent the horse on its way back towards Belik Hills and made my way into the wilderness to our appointed spot still scared out of my mind.

I reached our meeting place and I waited. She will come here. It might take her some time but she will meet me here. I repeated it over and over in my mind. We had planned for this. She will come. My heart jumped at the sound of every woodland creature, at every shift and russle of branches. Vaalen will come. I just have to be patient. I laid awake until late in the evening staring up at the stars thinking that as soon as I slept she would arrive. As soon a sleep took me she would sneak up upon the little hollow I was resting in and nestle herself in beside me. I would be awoken by the warmth of her body and the soft silky touch of her hair against my cheek as had happened so many times before. Sleep would approach and then anticipation would brush it away. Eventually sleep took hold, my only company was the cold wind and the stars above.

I waited in the wilderness for nine days. After three days I began to scavenge what food I could during the dusk and dawn hours and construct a temporary shelter to help avoid the rain. I was greatful for the teachings my mother passed on to me long ago when I had wanted to be a herbalist like her and for the things that my father had taught me about living in the wilderness. I was forced to range further and further to find food enough to sustain myself.

On the tenth day I gave up hope. I had to leave the shelter. Not knowing what happened was worse than knowing that she had died. Maybe she was dead. She might have been injured, a broken leg would slow her down quite a bit. It was possible that she was only half an hour away. Perhaps she and the others had fled into Old Naporea instead of north into Avanlei. Perhaps she had been captured and enslaved by the Masters they were attempting to liberate the slaves from. Of all the possibilities that was the worst. She would have fought to the death before she allowed herself to be enslaved. I would not let myself believe it at the time, but now that I am more distant from the event I can see that this - or something similar to it - is the most likely outcome.

Gathering what meager supplies I could, I left the temporary shelter behind. I headed north East to Rhoemurgh toward my cousins Sasha & Grum Volsung's home. I had shared many stories about my cousin Sasha with Vaalen. She knew that were I to run into trouble, I would go to Sasha. It was a long jounrney, thankfully I was able to join up with a passing caravan for a good portion of the trek. I'm not sure what I would have done if I had been left alone with my thoughts on the road for so long. I stayed with Sasha, Grum and their young children for a few months off and on, though I never strayed far from the area.

In the time I spent there Vaalen never came calling. Sasha and Grum told me stories about Shadowfane and all of the strange happenings within. I thought, what better place to silently wait for whatever fate might come than in Shadowfane? If she couldn't find me in Rhoemurgh what better place to find a wandered than the land that eventually calls to all wanderers? Perhaps I might even learn something about the fate of Vaalen Shadowstrider.