Mohryn's tale pt3

… It had been months since ‘the voice on the wind’. Days had passed with little to no occurrence and in the maw of boredom I could but only spend my free time thinking of the past. Amidst the haze of the azure sun my eyes would spot images of a young, spiteful elf deep in the rigors of Talon’s Den. I was poor, humiliated, a shadow of what once was filled with the hate that at that time resided in me. I had sat in the halls of noblemen, dined with what mortal men would call kings…and now was reduced to the passing grains of sand and dirt.

I spent all of 10 years there. I lost my mother within the first. The torrent of my hate knew no bounds other than what my will dictated. I hated my people but that hate knew its place…beneath the veil of my smiles. ‘I will one day reclaim my honor’ I oftentimes told myself when the candle light no longer stayed the depth of the shade.

I learned much beyond what my father instilled in me and I was wise to not demonstrate what magic I managed to gain from him before the ignorance of my people took him away. I was broken…tamed and molded from what my mentor had told me. I had become what all druids aspire to be…but still the shadow of my past followed me and still my hate sought ways to destroy my own.

Rynthariel the Keymaster, the beautiful enigmatic teacher of wayward druids. Who knows by what means she saw through the obscurity of my soul or by what means she came to know my true name…and who knows by what power she redeemed me from my path of hatred? I look back to her now and wonder if Elune herself had taught her the knowledge of compassion and the strength of ardent patience. She never withdrew from the venom that filled me and she never loathed me for the harms I caused her. She instead day by day filled me with hope and light until no other could remain. By her I learned of Elune’s grace and wrath…and by which to live.

My time at Talon’s Den ended and I was left to now go out and heal the wrongs of war. I had heard of a small outpost in Feralas that had need of hands. So there I went and offered what service I could for 2 years. I befriended Quintis Jonespyre quickly and with him we made quick work in helping build Feathermoon. But, word had come to me of my father…in the form of his journal. It was early morning on a day in mid-spring that I received a package from Rynthariel. There I found the writings of my father when he was no further along the passage of time than I. He spoke of Winterspring and the Owlkin…of archaic magic long brushed beneath the knowledge of our people. Rynthariel urged me to follow his path. Where she came to possess my father’s writings she has yet to say. Why did she urge me to follow my father’s path? Again, I do not know but to those ends the story has been told.

Along the road from Winterspring I constantly recalled the happenings of days before. I thought myself crazy for leaving when the remnants of my father were so near. Yet, it was the call of ‘the voice on the wind’ that entranced me to follow. What other means could beckon to those steadfastly on one path to seemingly follow another? Entranced, I followed to Auberdine where I worked for nearly a year until I found myself aboard a merchant ship traveling towards the Eastern Kingdoms and the realm of man. Beyond the hopeful rays of sun that beckoned to the sea I would find ‘the voice on the wind’… but that is yet a story beyond another.