In the Archives of the University

Going through the old archives I found a few pages from a journal written by some unknown scholar back in the early 1st Era. Not much is known of their journey, beginning or end, but a small parchment attatched, most likely written by the scholar called Mataijas here, hinting that only a few of them returned, and empty handed at that.

Day 302

Once we had the Dark Claw behind us we headed straight north for a few weeks, then turned northwest to reach the highlands between the Dwarven Mountains and the Goblin infested mountains to the northwest. If one can trust the tomes in the University's archives we should be the first men to walk these hills for at least three or four hundred years, but most likely much longer. Inspired by the

Status update

As you may have noticed the 20th of the past months has passed rather uneventfully here on the blog. Due to things like studies, work and marriage (you know, life-stuff) its been difficult getting our stories to the standard we would like to see them at and the level our faithful readers deserve. This does not mean work has come to a complete stop, we have about six texts that are close to being done of which three are already being polished to the previously mentioned standard.

On my own and Sanlade's behalf I thank you for hanging in there and recommend that you regularly keep checking for updates here and on our facebook page (www.facebook.com/TalesFromHelitheren).

//RcaH

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The Withering

     From where the wide Uon slows down over the lowland to the coast where it washes out into the Sea of Donir there is nothing but inhospitable marshlands as far as one can see. In all of southern Donir, from Ferman Forest in the west to the eastern reaches of Ohren's Plains everyone has heard tales of strange inhabitants living deep inside the mazes of waterways and swamps. Most call them the Withering, for it is said that they are the remains of some ancient evil created by Eri-Ogori himself before he disappeared from Romesia.

      When travelling these lands one will hear storytellers speak of heroes of old and their encounters with these creatures, but most of all the stories of Ohren himself.

Rúh, son of Bann

        

The door opened, letting the storm spray the room with rain, leaves and anything else it could carry. The lightning cast a large shadow into the room and one not so large. Their owners, Homen and Pep, stepped into a well filled room.

     “Close the door already!” An angry fat man shouted, “if you were the ones to clean it up every time someone opens the door you'd understand why!”
     The two remained calm, took a step forward and closed the door.

     “You must be the innkeeper.” Homen walked up to him and extended his hand to greet him.
     “And you must be new here. But yes, I am indeed the innkeeper, Ludor is the name. What do you want?”
Homen's hand was not met.
     “Why would anyone in a storm like the present one enter an inn like this one?” Smiling he looked up at Ludor the innkeeper, for he was indeed the owner of the shorter shadow, “we simply want a room for the night.”
     He held up a well filled pouch and Ludor's face lit up.
     “Well you do know the way to my heart, and now that you mention it we do have available rooms for you and your...”
     “Associate.”
     “I am no one to ask questions, your business is yours alone.”
     “We would also like to meet potential swords to come with us westwards when this storm has passed.”
     “I see. I will bring the best we can offer.”