Thursday, 30 June 2016

Trollbane - Part 2

The mercenary band rode their horses along the winding roads that led away from Blackcliff and into the heart or Orland. Reven sat astride Fang who loped along at a slowed pace so as not to outdistance the slower horses. It was a bleak morning. Grey cloud blanketed the sky for as far as the eye could see and a fine rain was the riders constant companion. Droplets of water dripped from saddlebags and the array of weapons that were strapped to the sides of the mercenaries mounts. The riders themselves looked bedraggled but their spirits were high. They sang songs of women and war and exchanged barbed jibes as they travelled to pass the time. Only Reven stayed silent. 

Reven was almost the youngest in the group but his ferocity in battle and his keen intellect has seen him don the mantle of command. He already had a fearsome reputation amongst his peers and his legend was growing. Only one of his band were younger, Orwin, but he unlike Reven acted his age. The commander was lost in thought. He rolled in the saddle as his huge warhound Fang trotted along the path. Reven paid no mind to the passing countryside, his mind focused on the task at hand and the promised riches that lay at the end of the journey. 

Gandleson's Trove was the prize they sought and was legendary throughout Orland and beyond. Gandleson was an elven explorer who had spent his life gathering riches and famously took them with him wherever he travelled. It is said that by the time he reached Orland his train of followers was over five miles long and every cart and pony in it was laden with gold, antiquities and items of such rare beauty and extreme power that just a handful of Gandleson's treasure would be enough for a man to live like a king for a lifetime. Legend has it that one night whilst travelling through a valley Gandelson's men were brought to a halt by a ferocious storm. Riders where sent ahead of the main body of travellers to scout out the lands that lay ahead of them whilst Gangleson and his men hunkered down for the night. When the scouts returned in the morning the valley was empty. The only sign that they were there were the furrows left by cart wheels and the hoof prints of horse and pony. 

The map Reven had in his position revealed the location of the valley. It had taken weeks to decipher the landmarks scratched onto the ancient parchment but they valley had finally been pinpointed, lying between in the wilds between the cities of Kynmarch and Fording. What perplexed him is what he would do once he had found it. The legend was just a story after all and adventurers had spent centuries in search of the treasure without finding a thing. Reven feared he was leading his men on a foolhardy quest that may have little gain but he couldn't ignore what may lay at the end of their journey. A treasure of such fortune would see he and his men written in to the history books as heroes. Glory awaited and Reven would grasp it with both hands.