The Heralds
the path splits before you.
You are traveling through a burned-out grove of trees. The towering skeletons of old growth loom above you, creaking in the wind, little more than blackened bones that reek of char. At their feet, fresh ferns and budding larkspurs have begun to unfurl, filling the air with the scent of new growth. The trail so far has been winding, but certain, climbing over and under fallen branches and weaving betwixt brown grasses and heaps of black charcoal. Now you have a choice to make.
To your left, the path travels deeper into the burned grove, where new growth has started to overtake the old. Birds sing in the crumbling forest, and fresh pines are already sprouting up in the ashes and providing shelter for countless little creatures. But the smell of char and the warmth under your paws leave you with the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps the fires have not burned themselves out just yet.
To your right, the path leaves the grove altogether, and travels out into the open. From that direction, you can hear the howls of many wolves: from the sounds of it, a mighty pack. In one way, perhaps that's the safer path. In another way, it is the far more dangerous one. Which way will you travel?
the charred clearing
As you follow the trail deeper into the forest, the scent-marks of a small pack grow clearer. At last you come to a clearing surrounded by charred trees, where pups caper in the sunlight and older wolves rest in the shade. At the center of this clearing, against all reason, burns a tiny calamity: a fire, crackling away in a hollow scrape, one cleared of brush and hemmed by stones. Despite the danger in their midst, the wolves seem calm. A few even bask comfortably in its warmth.
One of them, a copper-brown male, takes note of your arrival and approaches with a friendly wave of his tail. He has an easy stance, and his tongue lolls from his mouth in a grin. "Afternoon," the wolf says, a rustic twang to his voice. "Don't suppose you're looking to rest a spell? We got a place for you 'round the fire if you wanna settle in." His ears flick back, just for a moment. "If you're after my da, sorry to say he ain't around here no more. But we keep the fire going."
"I'm Gwarrie, by the by. We're the Heralds of the Burning Heart. It's a religious thing--" here he pauses to scratch his ear-- "but we're just a loose sort of family, for the most part. You're welcome to stay and go as you please. Can I getcha something to eat?"
the open road
Following the rightmost path, you leave the charred grove behind, setting out for the open road and for more familiar terrain. As you travel, however, you begin to encounter a myriad of scents--the scents not just of one pack, but of several clans, seemingly all vying for territory. Their marks lie thick across the trail, and in them you can read a history of conflict just over this one trail. If you encounter any of these wolves, perhaps it would be wise to stay neutral, or at least find a way to play the field.
As you walk down the path, you encounter a strange, red-furred wolf, one who doesn't smell like any of the clans you've scented so far. "Well met!" she calls, and (perhaps sensing that you're a newcomer), immediately begins slinging offers. "Hey, I can sell you an introduction to the politics in this region if you're interested, you know? Only five hundred silver cones! A real bargain!" You express some astonishment at the price, but she only grins. "Well, that's just business!" she says. "A merchant has to make a living somehow!" An intense round of haggling commences...
| Leader Gwawriad | ||||||||||||
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