Asherons Call: New Player Fiction

Asheron's gift of the lifestone doesn't mean immortality. Many can recall with nostalgic intent those who used to battle by their side that have now fallen. That dashing vagabond, humorless warrior, battling archer, or honorable blade master who is no more. As time moves on the list grows even as new faces introduce themselves. The ghosts of the past linger in the dark recesses of our memory. Time dulls the image and memories are lost with the passing of friends. The spirits of the past can slowly die in a sea of un-remembered souls. I guess this is as it always has been, nevertheless I can't help but try to keep legends alive. It is why I write.

In my youth I spent a good deal of time in Al-Aqars, it's a beautiful oasis in the Amun desert. There is a desert path marked to Uziz. This was where I would hunt the creatures of the desert. I would go from sand dune to sand dune slaying my foes, retreating when necessary, until the building of Uziz came into view. There my comrades and I would head into the tavern for a toast. It was tradition and a good one. Sometimes I head back to the oasis that I briefly called home and run the trackless desert as I did then. It's my attempt of keeping alive a memory that I alone hold.

The creatures that proved such a challenge then are laughable now. I even forgo the protection spells that where so needed once upon a moment. When the road drops into Uziz I again stop at the tavern and toast the reminiscences of so many runs. It's a sad celebration of good times tinged with a anticipation of new era's to come. Where my forthright fellows have gone I cannot say. I know only that Dereth no longer feels their footfalls. The heady laughter that we would share as adventure echoes with the ghosts of memory now.

I travel town to town to visit the spirits of what went before. Drudges and banderlings overrun the well-hunted road from Holtsburg to Glendenwood. There was a time when even the lowliest squire could shuffle along that road confident that the warriors there had hunted the woods to near extinction. Dungeons that once bristled with activity are now dank refuge for those creatures that dwell within.

Hunters leap is now safe haven for the banderlings inside. The Green Mire Grave is a silent tomb where mosswarts contemplate their lives in relative peace, where they once where slaughtered hourly for the keys that they held. The Lugians at the Q'alabar outpost enjoy their time free of Isparian harassment.

Taverns that once held many a tale and jokes until the wee hours of the morning are now empty lonely places where some drink in solace of busier times. Lifestones now hold fast as the place to find folk. To these eyes its remarkable how the times have changed.

I journey to Yaraq and recall a time when a Hunter Shreth had been lured into the town proper and the havoc it created. It began to kill one after the other as the clientele scrambled to get out of the way or equip armor and weapons. Screams for a savior to kill it rang out. Finally squads of warriors formed and drug it down. It shattered my illusion that towns where safe retreats.

Then there was the time my guild finally made it to the great work of Frore and prepared to assault the Crystal there. After carefully preparing themselves, throwing wide the doors and charging down the hallway only to see it shatter before the first sword could be brought to bear. They all turned to the lone archer standing back at the doorway. Who just shrugged at their shock of anti-climax.

My mind can still recalls the crowded Virindi fort and when a Tusker broke free of its self imposed prison and began killing the draining mages. We all huddled around a corner wondering what to do. A lone mage, in an unbuffed matty robe increased my perception of what was possible by casting a single vuln spell. Running to face the monkey and bringing it down in a single bolt of flame.

All of these reflections may seem a tad quaint now. I mean who fears the Hunter Shreth? Is there Trepidation when assaulting the city of Frore? How often is a single Tusker considered a threat? Yet, there was a time when giants walked Dereth. Hero's whose tales those who have passed this way never to return only record.

So at the deserted Plateau Village I sit and have a Mug of ale and toast those forgotten hero's whose forgotten tales where lost with the passing of their comrades. May your spirits dwell in peace knowing that those of us still treading the ground of Aubrean will someday join you in oblivion.