Rhyyss and Lukas rush off to their respective places of refuge in hopes to meet up again. The fates of their companions uncertain, but unlikely to be good as they were laid to waste. Hope lingers though, even in the darkest hours, in the darkest storms... a candle still burns for them.
The storm outside rages. Windows drawn and barred with great care as the winds pick up. The lightning illuminating the sky above, and reflecting off the multitudes of raindrops which cascade down.
The next morning...
Lukas awakens at the Temple of Ehlonna. The weather has cleared and everything seems to be going about normally. The grass is greener than can be remembered, and a long awaited blossom on the Eberling vines has come to the Temple.
The blossom about the size of a caltrop. A vibrant white with pink venation on the five petals, and dense green color to the five excessively large sepals. The petals are adorned with dabbled specks of golden brown across their surfaces. And there, in the middle, one long white pistil and three short golden brown stamens with similar pollen lean away from the superior ovary. The smell inspires greatness, and the sight inspires poets... and amidst this blossom, a solitary vermin, a long lost relative of the large Aranea adorned as the petals, awaits its prey.
Rhyyss ran into someone from his past - a man from his home village, somewhat of a friend of his mother, and a storyteller - Hobart Kerf. He invited the now grown Rhyyss to his place for the night, and promised to help him find Lukas in the morning.
The morning has come, and Hobart brings Rhyyss breakfast. A humble meal of eggs, bacon, toasted rolls, and a tankard of bettle-melon juice. Rhyyss's room is the far nicer looking of the two bedrooms in Hobart's small abode not far from Jadderville Court. His past travels are marked by the trinkets he has kept - a broken spear from his years in the militia, a ring from his work with the nobility, and atop the dresser inside a glass case, a tattered leather bound book with fine gold chain weaved into the binding with enough left to hang it about your neck, a hand with an eye inside embossed on the front... beneath it, a small piece of gold roughly etched with the pen beside it reads "To Hobart, May these words teach you. Bethem"
From Rhyyss's memories -
Bethem was one of Hobart's more modest exploits. An elderly wizard from some distant plane, and procurer of words arcane.
The storm outside rages. Windows drawn and barred with great care as the winds pick up. The lightning illuminating the sky above, and reflecting off the multitudes of raindrops which cascade down.
The next morning...
Lukas awakens at the Temple of Ehlonna. The weather has cleared and everything seems to be going about normally. The grass is greener than can be remembered, and a long awaited blossom on the Eberling vines has come to the Temple.
The blossom about the size of a caltrop. A vibrant white with pink venation on the five petals, and dense green color to the five excessively large sepals. The petals are adorned with dabbled specks of golden brown across their surfaces. And there, in the middle, one long white pistil and three short golden brown stamens with similar pollen lean away from the superior ovary. The smell inspires greatness, and the sight inspires poets... and amidst this blossom, a solitary vermin, a long lost relative of the large Aranea adorned as the petals, awaits its prey.
Rhyyss ran into someone from his past - a man from his home village, somewhat of a friend of his mother, and a storyteller - Hobart Kerf. He invited the now grown Rhyyss to his place for the night, and promised to help him find Lukas in the morning.
The morning has come, and Hobart brings Rhyyss breakfast. A humble meal of eggs, bacon, toasted rolls, and a tankard of bettle-melon juice. Rhyyss's room is the far nicer looking of the two bedrooms in Hobart's small abode not far from Jadderville Court. His past travels are marked by the trinkets he has kept - a broken spear from his years in the militia, a ring from his work with the nobility, and atop the dresser inside a glass case, a tattered leather bound book with fine gold chain weaved into the binding with enough left to hang it about your neck, a hand with an eye inside embossed on the front... beneath it, a small piece of gold roughly etched with the pen beside it reads "To Hobart, May these words teach you. Bethem"
From Rhyyss's memories -
Bethem was one of Hobart's more modest exploits. An elderly wizard from some distant plane, and procurer of words arcane.
