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, but 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, and you begin to feel as though you are being watched. But no challenge comes from the brush, and at last you come to a clearing surrounded by charred trees, where pups caper in the sunlight and older wolves rest in the shade. One of them, a reddish-brown male, approaches you with a friendly wave of his tail. Though his eyes are welcoming, there is a strange uncertainty in his stance you can't quite place.
"I'm so happy to welcome you among us," the wolf says, as if he's been expecting you--and perhaps he has. Another wolf melts from the brush behind you to join the others. "I am Mirzam, and we are the Heralds of the Burning Heart. That gentle force has surely guided you here, and so you are as much family to me as anyone else." His tongue lolls open as he gives you a sniff, greeting you, indeed, as if you were a long-lost sibling. "You must have traveled far, cousin! Please, come and sit in the shade, and drink from the spring. Can I offer you 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...
| Pack Leader Gwawriad | ||||||||||||
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