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Description
Vrann Krodus and The Hollow
At the end of the long mountain range known as the Worldspine, at the westernmost point of the Lands of the Eagret, lies The Hollow – a place steeped in mystery. It was said that, at the heart of The Hollow, a traveller could find the Well of Souls, the waters of which could heal all ills and grant long life to those who dared to try and take it. It was also said that the water was guarded by a strange being, born of ancient magic.

It had never been the intention of Vrann Krodus to journey to The Hollow, for only those with a longing for death sought that place of their own free will. It had been a combination of ill fortune, and patrols of the Domanian army that had forced him to take a detour in his journey. He had left Honeydale far behind within the safe borders of Arodar and way beyond his beloved homeland of Shiria. He had felt confident as he wandered through the forest and reached a narrow pass that led into the mountains, but after following that trail for several hours he was forced to admit that he had lost his way. The mountains refused to part for him as he wandered one rocky path after another, with no sign of any other traveller, and he was forced to continue along those rough trails, in the hope of finding one that would lead him out of the Worldspine.

Vrann wondered, as his supplied began to run low, whether he was fated to die in this seemingly lifeless place. He also wondered whether he was still within the safe borders of Arodar, or if he had strayed further than he had intended. His latter question was answered when he eventually found the mountains giving way to more verdant grasslands, but when the Worldspine was finally behind him, all he could see for miles was an open plane and no sign of civilization. Another day of travel led him to encounter his first Domanian patrol. He could see them in the distance, the red feather-like plumes on their helmets swaying in the afternoon breeze as they marched across the landscape. Alone, Vrann was almost impossible to spot from such a distance, and he changed his course to head back towards the mountains and more cover than the open plains could offer him. When he spotted a second patrol later that evening, and a third early the following morning, he was sure that he had ventured into hostile territory, since even the Domanian forces knew better than to cross into eastern territories governed by the Mages of Arodar, and would not dare to set foot on the land that was ruled by the Lych-King.

Vrann had little choice other than to divert from the plains and back into the mountains of the Worldspine. He had begun to feel hunted, as one patrol after another barred his path and, as the weather turned against him, he wondered which of the Gods he had offended. The sky turned grey, and even the guiding paths of the three suns of Rengarth were hidden from him.

A week of living on fungus and small animals took its toll on the hardened warrior. Vrann prayed to the God of Travellers for three nights in a row, begging for guidance – something he had not done since he was a child, but he saw no sign of a divine intervention until his path took him further through the mountains and into a colder climate and denser woodland. Mountains gave way to trees unlike any that Vrann had seen before – trunks that twisted around each other and towered above him so high that they almost blocked out the suns; leaves so big that he could have taken two of them and used them as a blanket; and cracks in the bark that bled sap as thick as black syrup, and not dissimilar in colour. Rocks, which he presumed had fallen from the mountains were strewn here and there. He almost missed the signs of an old settlement, and would have done had he not tripped on a large stone slab that was almost completely buried in the soft, almost swamp-like ground beneath his feet. A careful scan of his surroundings revealed another slab, and then part of a column that had been almost consumed by the ivy and undergrowth that grew around it. He tested it with a foot and when it refused to sink or otherwise give way he stepped up onto it with his full weight. It refused to yield and so he moved from one stone to another, testing each for its ability to bear him, until he heard the sound of running water some distance ahead. He hoped that, where there was water, there might be some form of life that was more palatable than rodent, and struggled through the overgrown foliage until he found himself walking on a stone pathway that was almost as devoured by nature as the stones he had found earlier.

The stepping-stone path he followed ended at the edge of a stretch of water – smaller than a lake but larger than a pond, with crumbling pillars, ruined stone walls, and a winding spiral of stairs that reached around a tree and led nowhere. Apart from the sound of the water against the stone and trees, he heard nothing, saw no movement, and could only smell a musty dankness in the air that promised nothing more than more fungus. Carefully he reached his hand into the water near to his feet and lifted it, only to find it cloudy and uninviting, despite his growing thirst. Vrann lowered himself onto a stone slab and hung his head. He had hoped to die either peacefully at home, or in some battle against Shiria’s enemies. He had dreamed of dying in bed while making love to the beautiful man he had met… how long ago…? It felt like months… but that had been nothing more than a fantasy. How could a man from so wondrous a place like Arodar have feelings for him? In his growing despair, Vrann had to admit that he had never imagined he would die of thirst and starvation in such a forsaken place as this.

“Does the water not tempt you?” said a voice.

Vrann was both hungry and thirsty, but that did nothing to hinder his instincts as he rose, drew both of his swords and turned, all in one smooth motion, to face in the direction of the voice. It was only what he saw that caused him to hesitate – a shape like a man, its skin seemingly made from nothing but water, and two glowing orbs for eyes. In one hand it held a staff of metal with a gold dragon headpiece curled around a shining blue orb.

“Who… what are you?” Vrann growled, both of his swords raised and ready to strike.

“I am the spirit of dark and lonely waters… a shadow of what once was… a memory… I am the Sentinel of The Hollow,” the watery figure spoke, “and you are the first to trespass here in a generation.”

“Trespass?” Vrann repeated, questioningly. “I do not come here by choice. I do not think anyone with an ounce of sanity would come to this forsaken place by choice.”

“Oh, many have come here over the years to steal water from The Well of Souls,” the shape replied. “None have departed the same as they came… and few have ever departed at all.”

Vrann glanced again at the murky water around him as he recalled childhood stories and realised with a growing fear where he was. “I do not want your water,” he said loudly. “It looks undrinkable, anyway.”

The gurgling sound that came from the being in front of him disturbed Vrann, and he soon realised that the creature was laughing at him. It took a step closer, and Vrann readied himself to strike. But then the being held up a hand with an open palm. “Lower your weapons, Vrann Krodus of Shiria. You have nothing to fear… you will not be dying today.”

Vrann did not lower his weapons, but he did relax his stance just a little. Perhaps it was his weakening state, or perhaps it was fatigue that caused him not to question how this being knew his name. Instead, Vrann slumped his shoulders. “Maybe not by whatever passes for your hands,” he answered, “Hunger and thirst will take me before you get close enough.” Again the being gave out a haunting, gurgling laughter, and then it gestured to a small pool of water to the side of the rocky stairway where it stood.

“Those who steal the water of the Well of Souls meet a swift end,” the creature said, “but the water is mine to give. Look again, kinsman. Things are never as bad as they first appear.” The being turned away, still disregarding Vrann’s guarded stance, and walked up and around the stone stairway, out of sight. Warily, and unsure as to why the being had called him ‘kinsman’, Vrann took a few steps towards the patch of water that the being had indicated and as he looked down he saw the cloudiness in the water disperse, leaving behind pure and crystalline water in its wake. Vrann kept one sword raised as he laid the other down, reached a hand into the water and brought it to his lips. He took a careful drink, followed by another, and another. Soon his other sword lay beside the first as Vrann’s attention was focused purely on quenching his thirst, and each mouthful of water tasted better than the last. He barely noticed that his hunger dwindled along with his thirst. A warmth spread within his belly as he drank deeply. He even stopped looking up to see where the watery creature had wandered to. When he had finally drank his fill he looked back towards the winding stone stairway. The figure was standing at the top, and looked down at him.

“Leave now, Vrann Krodus of Shiria” it said. “You will want for neither food nor drink, nor sleep for many days. The gifts of the Well of Souls are many. I ask only one favour of you now.”

“What is that?” Vrann called up to the being.

“Should you ever meet him, give my regards to my brother.”

“Who is your brother?” Vrann asked. “How will I know if I ever meet him?”

The being grinned. “If you ever meet him, then believe me, you will know.”

Continued here: Vrann Krodus at Omyd's Maw

Description
Vrann Krodus and The Hollow
At the end of the long mountain range known as the Worldspine, at the westernmost point of the Lands of the Eagret, lies The Hollow – a place steeped in mystery. It was said that, at the heart of The Hollow, a traveller could find the Well of Souls, the waters of which could heal all ills and grant long life to those who dared to try and take it. It was also said that the water was guarded by a strange being, born of ancient magic.

It had never been the intention of Vrann Krodus to journey to The Hollow, for only those with a longing for death sought that place of their own free will. It had been a combination of ill fortune, and patrols of the Domanian army that had forced him to take a detour in his journey. He had left Honeydale far behind within the safe borders of Arodar and way beyond his beloved homeland of Shiria. He had felt confident as he wandered through the forest and reached a narrow pass that led into the mountains, but after following that trail for several hours he was forced to admit that he had lost his way. The mountains refused to part for him as he wandered one rocky path after another, with no sign of any other traveller, and he was forced to continue along those rough trails, in the hope of finding one that would lead him out of the Worldspine.

Vrann wondered, as his supplied began to run low, whether he was fated to die in this seemingly lifeless place. He also wondered whether he was still within the safe borders of Arodar, or if he had strayed further than he had intended. His latter question was answered when he eventually found the mountains giving way to more verdant grasslands, but when the Worldspine was finally behind him, all he could see for miles was an open plane and no sign of civilization. Another day of travel led him to encounter his first Domanian patrol. He could see them in the distance, the red feather-like plumes on their helmets swaying in the afternoon breeze as they marched across the landscape. Alone, Vrann was almost impossible to spot from such a distance, and he changed his course to head back towards the mountains and more cover than the open plains could offer him. When he spotted a second patrol later that evening, and a third early the following morning, he was sure that he had ventured into hostile territory, since even the Domanian forces knew better than to cross into eastern territories governed by the Mages of Arodar, and would not dare to set foot on the land that was ruled by the Lych-King.

Vrann had little choice other than to divert from the plains and back into the mountains of the Worldspine. He had begun to feel hunted, as one patrol after another barred his path and, as the weather turned against him, he wondered which of the Gods he had offended. The sky turned grey, and even the guiding paths of the three suns of Rengarth were hidden from him.

A week of living on fungus and small animals took its toll on the hardened warrior. Vrann prayed to the God of Travellers for three nights in a row, begging for guidance – something he had not done since he was a child, but he saw no sign of a divine intervention until his path took him further through the mountains and into a colder climate and denser woodland. Mountains gave way to trees unlike any that Vrann had seen before – trunks that twisted around each other and towered above him so high that they almost blocked out the suns; leaves so big that he could have taken two of them and used them as a blanket; and cracks in the bark that bled sap as thick as black syrup, and not dissimilar in colour. Rocks, which he presumed had fallen from the mountains were strewn here and there. He almost missed the signs of an old settlement, and would have done had he not tripped on a large stone slab that was almost completely buried in the soft, almost swamp-like ground beneath his feet. A careful scan of his surroundings revealed another slab, and then part of a column that had been almost consumed by the ivy and undergrowth that grew around it. He tested it with a foot and when it refused to sink or otherwise give way he stepped up onto it with his full weight. It refused to yield and so he moved from one stone to another, testing each for its ability to bear him, until he heard the sound of running water some distance ahead. He hoped that, where there was water, there might be some form of life that was more palatable than rodent, and struggled through the overgrown foliage until he found himself walking on a stone pathway that was almost as devoured by nature as the stones he had found earlier.

The stepping-stone path he followed ended at the edge of a stretch of water – smaller than a lake but larger than a pond, with crumbling pillars, ruined stone walls, and a winding spiral of stairs that reached around a tree and led nowhere. Apart from the sound of the water against the stone and trees, he heard nothing, saw no movement, and could only smell a musty dankness in the air that promised nothing more than more fungus. Carefully he reached his hand into the water near to his feet and lifted it, only to find it cloudy and uninviting, despite his growing thirst. Vrann lowered himself onto a stone slab and hung his head. He had hoped to die either peacefully at home, or in some battle against Shiria’s enemies. He had dreamed of dying in bed while making love to the beautiful man he had met… how long ago…? It felt like months… but that had been nothing more than a fantasy. How could a man from so wondrous a place like Arodar have feelings for him? In his growing despair, Vrann had to admit that he had never imagined he would die of thirst and starvation in such a forsaken place as this.

“Does the water not tempt you?” said a voice.

Vrann was both hungry and thirsty, but that did nothing to hinder his instincts as he rose, drew both of his swords and turned, all in one smooth motion, to face in the direction of the voice. It was only what he saw that caused him to hesitate – a shape like a man, its skin seemingly made from nothing but water, and two glowing orbs for eyes. In one hand it held a staff of metal with a gold dragon headpiece curled around a shining blue orb.

“Who… what are you?” Vrann growled, both of his swords raised and ready to strike.

“I am the spirit of dark and lonely waters… a shadow of what once was… a memory… I am the Sentinel of The Hollow,” the watery figure spoke, “and you are the first to trespass here in a generation.”

“Trespass?” Vrann repeated, questioningly. “I do not come here by choice. I do not think anyone with an ounce of sanity would come to this forsaken place by choice.”

“Oh, many have come here over the years to steal water from The Well of Souls,” the shape replied. “None have departed the same as they came… and few have ever departed at all.”

Vrann glanced again at the murky water around him as he recalled childhood stories and realised with a growing fear where he was. “I do not want your water,” he said loudly. “It looks undrinkable, anyway.”

The gurgling sound that came from the being in front of him disturbed Vrann, and he soon realised that the creature was laughing at him. It took a step closer, and Vrann readied himself to strike. But then the being held up a hand with an open palm. “Lower your weapons, Vrann Krodus of Shiria. You have nothing to fear… you will not be dying today.”

Vrann did not lower his weapons, but he did relax his stance just a little. Perhaps it was his weakening state, or perhaps it was fatigue that caused him not to question how this being knew his name. Instead, Vrann slumped his shoulders. “Maybe not by whatever passes for your hands,” he answered, “Hunger and thirst will take me before you get close enough.” Again the being gave out a haunting, gurgling laughter, and then it gestured to a small pool of water to the side of the rocky stairway where it stood.

“Those who steal the water of the Well of Souls meet a swift end,” the creature said, “but the water is mine to give. Look again, kinsman. Things are never as bad as they first appear.” The being turned away, still disregarding Vrann’s guarded stance, and walked up and around the stone stairway, out of sight. Warily, and unsure as to why the being had called him ‘kinsman’, Vrann took a few steps towards the patch of water that the being had indicated and as he looked down he saw the cloudiness in the water disperse, leaving behind pure and crystalline water in its wake. Vrann kept one sword raised as he laid the other down, reached a hand into the water and brought it to his lips. He took a careful drink, followed by another, and another. Soon his other sword lay beside the first as Vrann’s attention was focused purely on quenching his thirst, and each mouthful of water tasted better than the last. He barely noticed that his hunger dwindled along with his thirst. A warmth spread within his belly as he drank deeply. He even stopped looking up to see where the watery creature had wandered to. When he had finally drank his fill he looked back towards the winding stone stairway. The figure was standing at the top, and looked down at him.

“Leave now, Vrann Krodus of Shiria” it said. “You will want for neither food nor drink, nor sleep for many days. The gifts of the Well of Souls are many. I ask only one favour of you now.”

“What is that?” Vrann called up to the being.

“Should you ever meet him, give my regards to my brother.”

“Who is your brother?” Vrann asked. “How will I know if I ever meet him?”

The being grinned. “If you ever meet him, then believe me, you will know.”

Continued here: Vrann Krodus at Omyd's Maw