The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

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The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

Unread post by sweetlikesplenda » Thu Apr 03, 2014 7:00 am

What is a life, without words to tell its story..?

A great many years have passed since I have made record of myself, aside from the black leather bound journal wherein contains the stratagems and tactics used by myself and my comrades in combat.

Contained within this journal will be, my thoughts, my actions, my past, my present. All these things, and many more, are what have lead me, for better or worse, to the man I am today. To begin, I will recount my childhood, as far back as I can recall. These memories are precious to me, moments that should never be lost.
Aaron Lyonaler - Favored of The Red Knight, Tactician of the Lady of Strategy, Bastion of Light, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Order of Lions Member, Former Commander of the Order of the Silver Rose Bio, Journal

"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler

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Re: The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

Unread post by sweetlikesplenda » Thu Apr 03, 2014 7:00 am

My name is Aaron Lyonaler, son of shipping industrialist Marcus Lyonaler, heir to the WhiteLyon shipping fortune. I was born the only son to Captain Marcus and the Lady Elise Lyonaler, twenty two summers ago. The Lyonaler estate is located twenty two miles from the stone walls of Baldur’s Gate, along the shore of the Sword Coast.

My earliest memories are pleasant ones; playing games with the few local children, house servants, and my mother and father. My father was not present in the household often, as his time was spent at sea conducting the family business. I would spend my evenings on the shoreline staring out to sea, imagining great escapades and sea battles that my father might be involved in. My imagination of my father returning victorious over many pirate ships where always dashed, as he rarely encountered any troubles in his travels. Though, I was always pleased to see him returned home safely.

While home, my father and I would engage in strategic games. Our minds locked in battle over games of chess and cards. My father, for all his love and care, never went easy on me. I often thought he was overly harsh to me in our bouts, though, as an adult, I look back and appreciate his methods, for they helped me develop and grow in ways I could not, should I have been coddled. It was not until I reached the age of twelve that I finally bested my father in a game of chess. The game we played will forever be burned in my memory…

I had made a risky move, a bishop sacrifice for a pawn to check his king, in an effort to draw out my father’s knight. After a moment’s consideration, the knight was moved forward and my white bishop removed from the board. My queen moved diagonally to the row the knight had moved from, the knight no longer safe to return, nor move again to prevent a forced check. Several moves later my knight was pressed forward aggressively to check his king again, forcing his queen to take the knight piece, the trap was set and his pieces moved into it without fail. My hands moved awkwardly in my anticipation and excitement at the prospect of victory over my father. My queen took his queen, and supported by my bishop gave me the game. I cried out “Checkmate!” and my father, with a grin on his face, tipped over his king piece. Time seemed to slow, almost to the point of stopping, as I watched the king fall, fall as if into a void that would never end. Then it dawned on me, along with the king, I also was falling.

I seemed to fall for some time, as if I had slipped down a well, I looked up to see the light quickly fading, my body continuing on into the darkness like a stone. When I felt as if I would surely perish, once I reached the bottom, my eyes opened to a massive lit room, as if a great many torches burned along the walls. The room was that of someone several times the size of a giant, its circumference was enormous. As I looked about the area I realized quickly that I was on what seemed to be a massive chess board, with pieces that seemed to move as if on their own. It took a great deal of effort, but I attempted to make my way towards the edge of the board without being crushed by the moving pieces.

As I began to make my way towards to the safety of the edge, I realized that when I arrived I was in the very center of the board. As I looked up, I observed a great light descending from the sky towards me. Given my circumstances, I was surprised to discover that I did not fear the light, nor my predicament. The light gradually moved closer and closer until I was enveloped within its glow and warmth. I am forbidden from writing or speaking of what I saw and heard within the glow of that welcoming light. But, the teachings and blessings received changed me and will continue to change me forever.

I awoke to find the local doctor hovering over me, my father and mother holding each other near my bedside. I later found that I had fainted after the game with my father, and had been unconscious for over a day. My parents believed I had struck my head when I fell backwards, which had caused my previous state. I was limited in what I could tell them, but was relieved when my parents believed my words. I was raised by a just man and woman, parents who promoted honesty and integrity, parents that knew I held those things dear.
Last edited by sweetlikesplenda on Mon Aug 21, 2017 3:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Aaron Lyonaler - Favored of The Red Knight, Tactician of the Lady of Strategy, Bastion of Light, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Order of Lions Member, Former Commander of the Order of the Silver Rose Bio, Journal

"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler

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sweetlikesplenda
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Re: The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

Unread post by sweetlikesplenda » Fri Apr 04, 2014 5:09 pm

Though my life had changed drastically from the vision I received and the words spoken to me, my parents hid the event from the manor staff and the other households that dwelled nearby. As time drew on I began to notice small changes and odd powers at my disposal. These sudden events surprised me greatly when they would occur. As I began to grow into my manhood, my father would take me on as a crew hand, assisting with the preparation of his ship for embarkment as well as removal of cargo at its return. One evening a rope used to secure several crates broke, and the crates it once held began to tumble. With swift movements my father rushed to catch one of the crates containing fragile contents. His palm was sliced open in the process. I quickly moved to apply a cloth to my father’s hand as the ship’s medic was called for. The moment I touched my Father’s palm a soft, warm light enveloped both mine and my father’s hands. Looking under the cloth held to my Father’s palm we noticed the bleeding had ceased and the wound had sealed itself. Other similar occurrences happened, once with a neighbor child and another time when a house servant's sprained his ankle. My parents were quick to cover the situations up with explanations, as they did not wish me to become a spectacle nor be viewed as some witch or warlock to the more superstitious.

At the age of fourteen my swordsmanship was noted by a renowned tactician and swordsman named Phillip Highthorne, and I was taken under his mentorship within the walls of Baldur's Gate. Sir Phillip and my father had traveled for some time together, while my father was still adventuring. My belongings were transferred to a small apartment within the city walls, so that I would be near to my new mentor. I grew close to Sir Highthorne quickly as he and I shared many similarities, enjoying many of the same things. When not training in swordplay or studying great battles of the past, Sir Highthorne would enchant me with stories of battles he had participated in, his every word playing in my mind as if I could see the battle from his eyes. The longing to partake in actual combat, to hold command, to lay the foundation of strategies used by every soldier on the battlefield; these things nagged at me, that I was consumed with desire.

I had several other mentors as well, as my father and mother spent a great deal of their wealth to ensured that I was to be properly educated, for which I am grateful. Though, I would often forgo my other studies to read over accounts of those that had fought and lived through great battles of the past. Regardless of my habit to give my other studies a back seat to Sir Phillip’s teachings, I was a good student overall. I quickly excelled in horseback riding, writing, arithmetic, mannerisms, history, and so forth.

Sir Phillip was a faithful of Tempus and member of the Order of the Steel Fang, and served in many campaigns for the Order. Through my time with Sir Phillip, I learned a great deal about the God of honorable war and combat. My fascination with Sir Highthorne and his experiences instilled a desire within me to follow in his footsteps. I began to attend the temple of Tempus in Baldur’s Gate, intending to take on the cloth, until such time I was deemed qualified to join the Order of the Steel Fang. I studied night and day for months, in an attempt to gain the focus and connection the clerics in the temple made with Tempus. Though, I felt a very soft connection with the god of war, I could not achieve the demands of those of the Priesthood.

One night, as I sat and pondered, frustrated over my failures, a light appeared within the closet of my room. Curious, I lifted myself from my bed and moved to open the door to the closet. A light spilled into the room beyond the brightness of the sun, as I opened the door. My right hand covering my eyes as a shield from the blinding light. As I lowered my hand from covering my face I noticed that I was standing on a massive chess board, empty of pieces, residing within a large meadow, surrounded by trees so high I could not see their tops. Birds chirped, hoping from branch to branch, deer lifted their heads from their grazing and fled into the safety of the tree line at my sudden appearance, butterflies fluttered about in the air around my head.

As I took in my surroundings, I was, once again, visited by a light that descended from above. As the light neared, I noticed at my feet lay a long sword of craftsmanship beyond that of men or dwarf. Its surface shimmered with a radiance and power beyond words. The blade sharp beyond possibility. The handle crafted of a material that I could not recognize. This, I was told, was Checkmate, and it belonged to the light. As I placed the sword back on the ground at my feet, I looked up to see a woman of striking beauty emerge from the brilliance. Her hair was a ravens black, its length to the center of her back. Her armor was polished to a shine that would make any paladin jealous, its color a blood red. In her left hand she held parchment, though I could see little of it, I could identify that it was a map of some sort.

I will not write the words of the Lady of Strategy, as they were for my ears alone, but will paraphrase. As the Lady stepped from the light, she gestured to the chess board and issued a challenge. Where the board was once empty, pieces now appeared. It was as if a game that was already in process, as the pieces were not in their starting locations. I was asked to discern the next best move that would set the stage for victory. My mind raced with the prospects of the challenge, as I was never informed the consequences, good nor bad, for my choice. After consideration, I moved forward a bishop to entrap an advanced knight piece of the enemy, cutting off its escape and ensuring its capture. To my surprise, the bishop moved of its own accord at my command, settling in the square I had indicated. The Lady smiled ever so slightly and nodded her head. She seemed pleased with my decision, clapping her hands once. I startled, as if I had been dreaming, once again standing in front of the closet, the meadow and board gone, my left hand on the handle of the cabinet door still. An odd feeling of warmth surrounded my right hand that caused me to open my clinched fist. Sitting in the palm of my hand was a red colored knight chess piece, the eyes of which were diamonds that sparkled in the light coming from the window.
Last edited by sweetlikesplenda on Fri Oct 06, 2017 2:35 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Aaron Lyonaler - Favored of The Red Knight, Tactician of the Lady of Strategy, Bastion of Light, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Order of Lions Member, Former Commander of the Order of the Silver Rose Bio, Journal

"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler

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sweetlikesplenda
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Re: The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

Unread post by sweetlikesplenda » Wed Apr 09, 2014 2:46 pm

My parents had made arrangements for me to return home for several weeks in celebration of my sixteenth birthday. The sixteenth year of a male in the Lyonaler family was a large celebration. This would mark the end of childhood, and beginning the long journey of manhood. I had attended several of my cousin’s ceremonies in the past and was a bit nervous to have such a large gathering to celebrate me. I am not one for titles nor for having people make a fuss over me. So, the idea of gifts, dancing, relatives and other local dignitaries, celebrating my ascent into manhood was not something I relished. My parents, for all their wealth, were very generous people, something they had taught me well. I would rather celebrate and give gifts to another, rather than receive them. But, I could not speak my doubts and discomforts to my mother, as she was rather very proud of this occasion.

My father was to return home after a voyage at sea, delivering cargo to the Moonshae Isles, two days prior to the celebration. I bid Sir Phillip goodbye, as he would be arriving for the celebration the day of the event, and I departed Baldur’s Gate with the intent of arriving the evening before the celebration.

For my fourteenth birthday my father gifted me a colt from the great Horse Lords of House KorianthilI, of Evermeet. A favor done many years ago during my father’s adventuring days, allowed him to take one of the finest of the elven breed horses. He was tall for such a young colt, he now stands a statuette of muscle and refined quality. His coat of a light silver that shines in the light of day. On the day of my departure, I quietly lead Rook (Short from Silver Rook for my love of the game, his great silver mane, and the power and drive he exhibits when charging; much like the power of a rook chess piece) from the stables. He had already been brushed down, feed, and saddled by the stable hands. I quickly mounted Rook and made for my family’s manor.

The calm road and bright mild day did not prepare me for what I arrived to find…

With great sadness and heavy heart I, for the first time, recount the events of the day of my return home. Even now as I write, I cannot withhold my tears and grief.

As I rode along the road leading to my family’s manor, I noticed a great amount of smoke rising into the air, as if a great bone fire had been erected. Not certain if this was a planned fire as part of the celebration, I pressed Rook on at a quicker pace. A mile short of the estate, I came upon several men rushing towards my home yelling one to another. Upon reaching the men as they ran, I came to find that they were responding to the manor being on fire. I drove my heels into the sides of Rook pressing him on at his quickest pace to reach my homestead.

House servants and several locals were drawing water in an attempt to put out the fires, forming a line and passing the buckets back and forth. Yelling over the buzz of the fire and people shouting, I asked if the Lord and Lady of the house were safe. None could answer, as no one had seen either since the fire began. Pulling up, I dismounted quickly and made my way into the house. Most of the fires had been put out by this point, though the kitchen was still ablaze. I made my way to my parent’s room, but was unable to locate either my mother or father. Frantically I searched the remaining rooms of the house as best I could, though without luck. My head swam in the smoke and dread for my lost parents.

I made my way out of the house, making for a small enclosure, several hundred yards away from the estate, designed to store some of the family’s fortune and act as a safe house, should an attack on the homestead occur. Four of the house guards lie dead a hundred paces from the safe house, stab wounds obvious on their persons. Next to the bodies lay two men, obviously sailors.

Rushing around the corner, I came upon a sight that haunts me still. At the door to the safe house my father lie dead, a great deal of blood soaked the grass and wall of the structure. His sword was lying next to his body, along with several other men that wore the tags of pirates that I could not identify. After involuntarily retching, I feel to my knees, lying my father’s limp head in my lap. I sobbed. I sobbed as a child would. There was no controlling the tears, there was no stopping the emotions. There would be no more words or games or stories from my father. Looking up through the mist in my eyes, I saw the door to the safe house ajar.

Lying my father’s head back on the ground, I shakily stood, pushing the door open fully and entering. Within the small enclosure, tables were turned, chairs broken, closets opened and the contents, that which was not taken, strewn about the room, a great deal of my parent's valuables missing. In the center of the room lay the body of my sweet mother. Her face had a pleading look, as if begging for her attackers to stop. Her features were pretty, even in death. I had lost the two greatest people these lands will ever known.

I sat on the floor holding my mother, saying my goodbyes, when several of the house servants came upon me. Bowing their heads to their fallen Lords, they then assisted me in preparing the bodies for burial. I returned to the remains of my home several hours later, having buried my parents in the family cemetery. I called any servants and guards that survived the attack to me. It was then that I was made aware of an increase in pirate conduct in the area. Rumor was that my father may have been stalked by several pirate ships from Roaringshore.

The events of the day waned on into the night, and as I meet and was briefed on the situation, the sun rose on the day of my sixteenth birthday. I was the sole survivor of my family, I had buried my father and mother, I was to assume control of the Lyonaler estate in its disrepair, and I had been welcomed into manhood in the worst possible way.

I returned to Baldur’s Gate shortly after, the hurt of being at my home was too great. I took up another apartment within the city. The affairs of the estate were kept in the hands of the current house Majordomo, with gold allocated for the rebuilding of the estate. I had little desire for fortune myself, granting a large donation from my family’s wealth to the remaining house guards that had not fallen to the pirate attack, house servants, as well as a donation to the church of Tempus towards the inclusion of a shrine; one that resembles a black haired woman in blood-red armor, standing atop a chess board.
Last edited by sweetlikesplenda on Tue Dec 18, 2018 11:38 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Aaron Lyonaler - Favored of The Red Knight, Tactician of the Lady of Strategy, Bastion of Light, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Order of Lions Member, Former Commander of the Order of the Silver Rose Bio, Journal

"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler

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Re: The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

Unread post by sweetlikesplenda » Wed Apr 16, 2014 7:53 pm

The months following the events of my sixteenth birthday were dark times for me. My mind was locked away in a prison as dreary as my physical person was becoming, as I contained myself to my apartment, only leaving for meals. Sir Phillip would come to my room to call on me, though I rarely had desire to see him, or anyone else for that matter. I had lost my appetite for life, as much as I had lost it for food, and my physical well-being was suffering for it.

One day, while staring into the smoldering fire in the fire pit of my room, rolling in my hand the red colored knight chess piece that had mysteriously appeared in my palm some years earlier; I came to an epiphany. I looked into the diamond eyes of the knight piece, and they seemed as if they looked back. Many turn to the divines when they are lost and alone, why had I not thought to seek out the woman in red armor for guidance? The glow of her light was soothing and warm, her gentle guidance and blessings had risen me to new heights of elation when she had visited me in the past.

I knelt at my bedside, laid my forehead on top of my clasped hands…and I cried. I could not utter the words of a prayer in that moment, only release the emotions that had boiled within my person for months. Emotions that had eaten at me from the inside like poison. Months of mental torture poured out of me. I released the pains of loss, the anguish of being alone, and the anger towards those that had wronged my family. I cried, letting tears run unabated down my cheeks, drying of their own accord. No words could pass my lips, only thoughts that had been held in check for so long.

When I felt as if I had wordlessly emptied my soul, I began to offer some actual words of prayer, pleading for guidance to the woman in red armor. I went on for some time, days and weeks seemed to pass, though it had only been moments. I felt as if my body was trapped in a time sink, as if the prayer would last my whole lifetime. Slowly, and without knowing, I began to slump, my strength depleting, my mind and body emptying.

I awoke in a state of disarray. My bed, my room, the city, all had gone and I was in a place unfamiliar. I was in a large room dominated by a table in the center. On the table were a great many figurines, and many people stood around the table watching the pieces, shifting them from time to time around a map. At the head of the table stooped over several dozen pieces was the woman with black hair and red armor. She looked up to me, offering a smile, before leaning again to watch the figures, moving them about. As she went about her business she motioned for me to move forward. Hesitantly, I began to walk to her side. As I walked, I passed many others leaning over the table, moving pieces on the table top, speaking quietly to each other. I recognized some of the people I passed, many I had read of in my history classes, or in the stories and lessons from Sir Phillip. Great men and women who had lead soldiers in mighty battles, some were great adventurers that had defied odds to achieve victory over their enemies.

As I approached the table, I looked at the pieces being shifted about, as I passed. The figurines seemed to be alive, and moved about slightly, while waiting to be moved by the people crowding the table, as if tiny living beings. The table was long, though I quickly made my way to the head, to stand next to the woman in red armor. She glanced up a moment at me, then back at the table, making a move that she seemed to have pondered over for a few moments. With her move complete, she turned to me and spoke.

You have sought me and my council. Here I am.

I opened my mouth, but the words would not come. Others nearby turned to look at me as well, but all I could do for the moment was gaze at the beautiful woman, stunned. Pulling myself together slightly, I forced out the words. It came as a garbled mess at first, as if my voice had been dammed up and was released all at once. Clearing my throat I recovered myself.

I am lost...Alone. My family is gone, killed while I was away. But…But, I am certain you already know of this.” I looked down, hoping not to show the pain in my facial expression.

Life is full of pain. No one is free of its grasp. No mortal, that is. Pain is something I too understand, as I was once mortal as well. The question becomes, what will you do with this pain? Will you unleash it on others? Yourself? Or, will you learn to cope with its inevitability?

How can I turn it away? It is ever present. The events always on my mind.

The woman in red turns back to the table, her attention away from the battle she was overseeing for too long. A few thoughtful moment later, a figurine is moved to counter another, and she turned back to face me again.

Busy yourself. An idle mind will turn to past events.

I will teach you to control your thoughts, protection for your mind from outside influences. These skills are not easy to achieve, and they require continual practice to be mastered. Do not let the pains of the past control you, but use them as a stepping stone, a lesson never to be forgotten and never to control you, in your progression.

The woman gently reached forward and placed her index finger to my forehead, a light began to envelope my body, slowly trickling downwards, as a waterfall of pure light.

Her voice was but a whisper at this point “Serve and heal the pains of others. In this, you will lose yourself, in doing so you will find yourself again, as well as your calling. As you do so, you will find joy and relief from the pain within yourself.

I do not even know your name. Who will I say has granted me the powers to heal others?

At that moment my vision began to slip, the room was streaking away from me, from my outstretched hand. I found myself at my bedside once more, my head resting on my hands clasped around the red colored knight chess piece. The voice of the woman in red whispered in to my mind, answering my last question, “The Red Knight.
Aaron Lyonaler - Favored of The Red Knight, Tactician of the Lady of Strategy, Bastion of Light, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Order of Lions Member, Former Commander of the Order of the Silver Rose Bio, Journal

"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler

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sweetlikesplenda
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Joined: Thu Sep 27, 2012 4:16 am

Re: The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

Unread post by sweetlikesplenda » Mon Oct 09, 2017 6:35 pm

Aaron Lyonaler - Favored of The Red Knight, Tactician of the Lady of Strategy, Bastion of Light, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Order of Lions Member, Former Commander of the Order of the Silver Rose Bio, Journal

"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler

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sweetlikesplenda
Posts: 490
Joined: Thu Sep 27, 2012 4:16 am

Re: The Lyon's Roar - the journal of Aaron Lyonaler

Unread post by sweetlikesplenda » Mon Oct 09, 2017 6:35 pm

“Everything passes, but nothing entirely goes away.”

The weeks and months that proceeded the events in Cormyr each seemed an entire lifetime. I lost track, at the time, of the days passing. Time spent with Angel was like a dream that I never wished to wake from. I would have given all simply to lie in bed, holding her, gazing at her perfection.

I would wake each morning to her soft brown hair framing the delicate light skin of her face. A dusting of freckles scattered about her nose and cheek bones. Just seeing the warmth of her smile seemed to lift me to new heights of elation I never thought possible.

Her frame was lithe, that of an acrobat; odd for a woman who portrayed herself as a simple farm girl. She was nimble, agile, but she showed a strength and confidence that alone was attractive. Her eyes had a glint to them and seemed to take everything in. Her quick wit and charm was intoxicating. In my eyes, she was perfection.

I loved her, and she loved me. I could feel it when we held each other, when she simply rubbed my arm, or touched my face. It was a feeling beyond my imagining of what love would be like.
Angel had moved in to my apartment in the city with me. She was always a bit of mystery to me. So much of her past was clouded, so many things left unsaid, unasked. I respected her privacy, respected her desire not to speak much of her past.

Months after returning home from the incident at Grey Oaks, we decided to spend some time together away from the city. Her parents had a hunting cabin they had used, before they passed away. The cabin was located along the north edge of The Reaching Woods, along the River Chionthar. Angel had spent many of summers there learning to hunt with her parent in her youth.

Angel spoke so little of her parents. When brought up she would give little, though once she slipped and mentioned they worked in the court of the king. She was quick to downplay it, stating they held lowly retainer positions of little import. But, there was more to her parents then she was letting on. I had grown to know her well enough to see the changes in her countenance. A great performer, she recovered quickly, but that moment showed there was more to the story then was given. At the time, I considered it might be her way of dealing with the loss. I could certainly relate, given we shared that commonality.

The trip was planned and the preparations had been made for our week at the cabin. Once settled we would be meeting with an old acquaintance of Angel’s, an old family friend was a sort of honorary uncle to her. The man was a ranger of the woods, a caretaker of the wilds that had taught Angel much of her archery skill.

Our travel to the cabin was rather uneventful. A few large gnolls stalked us through the denser parts of the woods. Though, the appearance of our weapons likely kept them from attacking without larger numbers. With the increased activity of the gnoll tribes and the hobgoblins, little wildlife stirred. The famed Centaurs of Reaching Woods had dwindled in number to the point they were not even seen as we made our way through the thick forest.

The cabin was still in very serviceable order. Few seemed to know of its existence and those that did seemed to steer away from it. Within the refuge was a wood or coal burning stove, a bed, table, and several cabinets. We made ourselves at home, shooed out a family of racoons that had taken up residence, and settled in.

My skill at hunting and trapping were meager, at best, not for lack of Angel trying to help me improve; so, Angel had caught our food. We enjoyed each other’s company and the quiet of our surroundings. The first days were pleasant. Then, Angel began to become restless, as he ranger companion had not arrived as she was certain he would. Word had not been sent to him of our arrival, but she was certain he would know we were there.



/// Credit for the quote goes to Jenny Diski
Aaron Lyonaler - Favored of The Red Knight, Tactician of the Lady of Strategy, Bastion of Light, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Order of Lions Member, Former Commander of the Order of the Silver Rose Bio, Journal

"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler

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