Torn-Out Pages from a Sarkorian Book

Note · 10 gp · Weight 0

"Years later, into the mountain valley, which for many years had lain uninhabited and had fallen into a state of desolation, rode the prideful Rider. His steed was wild and fleet, his tall steppe helm shone like a gilded mask, and his sharply curved bow could strike from thrice-times three hundred paces away. Dauntlessly did the Rider ride into the remains of the settlement and, drawing up beside the stone pillars into which were carved the images of the ancestors, he bowed low before them, and then he sliced open his palm and blooded those same stones. Then the Rider unbridled his mount and sent him off, for his loyal companion would be of no use to him in the cramped caves. The Rider checked his bowstring, descended into the depths, sat down in the largest of the caves, and waited. Soon the Pack appeared — they were hungry, wasted, and as such even more vicious, for it had been long since they had eaten the human flesh they so favored. But the Rider pulled his bowstring tight and let fly arrow after arrow. The darkness was no obstacle, as he used sound to guide his arm, until each down to the very last was stuck full. Perishing, the last of the Pack creatures opened its maw and in the Follower's voice asked, "Who are you, mighty Rider, who does not fear to tread here and end my cursed and rotten life? Tell me your name, my lord, and tell me from what noble clan do you hail." The Rider removed his tall helm with its gilded mask, and long braids tumbled free from beneath it. It was no man, but the Daughter of the wise Patriarch, who on the brink of death made her swear one final vow — a vow of vengeance. For years she had roamed, bearing in her heart cold malice and righteous fury for all sorcerers and their ilk. For years her arrows had cut down despicable sorcerers, while her conviction had only grown in strength and certainty. And at last the hour had come for her to return and avenge the clan whose name has now been condemned to obscurity. She did not answer the dying monster, for vile sorcerers are undeserving of even a word from a worthy person's lips. She burned the Pack's stinking bodies, left the caves, bowed before the ancestors one last time, and departed, never again to return."