"Black Wolf will do my friend, I no longer bear any other name." You state with lifted chin.
The old captain looks at you for a moment, gauging your resolve it seems and then nods. "I've no doubt there's a story behind that lad, but I will not stick my nose where it's not wanted." Shoving the bowls to one side the old man leans forward on his elbows. "Now on to business that does concern me, why have you come to my tower?"
You tell the old soldier of your encounter with the Frost Giants and of the news coming up from the Dale, of a plague ravaging Easthaven, a new Spokesman in Bryn Shander, the growth of the Lonelywood and a dozen other small matters that the folk of Kuldahar might not hear from the Druids.
As you regale him with your tale of escaping the Giants he laughs heartily shaking his head, seeing your raised eyebrow he relents and raises a hand. "Oh I do not mock lad, but I have to tell you those ice blues eyes of the Giants can't see very well at all, were it not for your sparkly magics they'd have probably not noticed you at all."
You share his grin, it is worth knowing for future use, even though the storm might have ended your trek before even the Giants boulders.
All too soon you are once more on the path to Kuldahar, waving goodbye to the old man at the gate and striding down into the farmlands. You set a leisurely pace, it is after noon now and you should reach the great Oak by evening, so there is no great hurry. Indeed there never seems to be any urgency when walking in the shade of the tree.
Your mind cannot help but think back to the captains question, and the oath you have sworn, to remain nameless so long as the shame of your ancestor endures. It seemed such a little thing when you made it, but the oath carries so much more than anonymity, a resolution to redeem a name that is centuries later still whispered in fear throughout the north. No normal life for you, no wife or home, only the bitter futility of the quest. It took your fathers life, and you fear it shall take yours.
How can any one man redeem Kresselack the Black Wolf? For though he united the barbarians of the Dale under his blood soaked banner, built Bryn Shander and bore the sacred blood of Jerrod in his veins, in his last years he was the cruellest of tyrants. In the end he sacrificed thousands to assure his place in the afterlife, and corrupted the ancient vale where the Druids of old once laid their dead, to this day it remains a place of shadow and undeath.
"Wanderer."
The greeting catches you unawares, so caught up in your ponderings were you, but the greeter is no threat. She sits beside the trail upon a large old milestone, legs crossed and hood pulled low, a great unstrung bowstave of yew across her knees. Dressed in dull russet and faded green robes she seems to fade into the shadows, and you are hardly surprised that you failed to spot her.
"Friend, what passes?" You inquire, resting one hand on the hilt of your great ancestral sword, something about her voice put your teeth on edge.
She looks up, shaking back her hood and you are shocked to see the long canines and cruel inhuman features of an elf maiden smiling back at you. A Pathfinder of the Lonelywood, it is rare to see them beyond their forest home, but here in far Kuldahar, you did not see even one in all your years. By the way her eyes flash with amusement you guess that she is quite aware of your shock, and somewhat enjoying it.
After a moment she speaks in the sing-song manner of her people. "My apologies for startling you stranger, in truth I was resting here having outrun a great storm in the pass, and did not notice you until the last moment." She smiles once again revealing the long fang like canines, and runs a hand over her shaven skull. "I do not wish to intrude upon the Archdruids domain, and he may not yet know of my coming, what say you to sharing the path and making introductions?"
What is your answer?
