Agariel's Story

Each figure's head had snapped to the second the door was disturbed. The wovles bristled, and the women glared. They seemed frozen for a moment, but after an exchange of nods, one of the "Druids" rose. She was tall, even for their kind, and her skin was an ash-blue, startling against her crimson robes. They denoted her as an Arch Druid, but the other wore black, a colour not used in the Druidic Order.

She eyed the intruder, a wave her hand silencing the wolves. Their minds still emitting hostility into the room.

"And just who the damned do you think yo-" She fell silent, her eyes immediately falling to her feet. She seemed to shuffle uneasily before turning to her comrade. "Yes, you are right.." The other woman nodded, before turning her attention to Arlen.

"So this is vision come to pass, how strange life can be.."

She stood up slowly, her movements graceful, but aggressive. One of the wolves snarled in response but, a glance from the her silenced it, the room seeming to grow calmer. It amused Agariel, really. The man who entered had no idea the conversation he interrupted, the grimness, or even who he addressed.

Not that it was his fault, the mystic smelling tent, all adorned in old tomes, hanging herbs, and crystala, wasn't the place one looked for a Queen. And yet so often she was there.

"Silarlence," much unlike the other Druid, who had a somewhat croaking voice, Agariel's was what you'd expect from a Queen. Although she always sounded tired. So very tired. "Has spent long on the borders of our Wood," She curtsied. "Forgive our welcome."

The Queen's mind brushed Silarla's. "A Druid's duty is to their people." She chided.

Turning her attention back to the new comer she eyed him up, and down. Not at all what she had expected. By now the wolves had calmed, one shambling over, and collapsing at her feet. She bent to pet it as she spoke.

"A story or two may do is well, friend. For the only stories we have to tell are very grim indeed.." She trailed off, wondering if he would take the bait. "But tell me, did you truly come to The Cursewood to amuse a few strange women," she was rarely so blunt, but it suited the image of a Druid.

"Or have you business?"

Arlen let the figures speak, hoping the uncomfortable feeling of regret he had would soon settle. Somehow, he always found the friendliest people on the road. He smiled haphazardly, focusing on the Queen. He didn't recognize her in the slightest. As the wolves settled down, his body language became less rigid as he began to answer some of the queries imposed upon him.


"Well, uh..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"First off, allow me to introduce myself! I am Arlen."

He pulled the mandola into the playing position from off of his back, striking a chord.

"And I attempt to entertain anyone who has ears to listen. But I must admit it's a long road, and I'd rather be in the city. More coin to be made there."

He smiled, beginning to play a soft song on the stringed instrument. He had entertained rough crowds before, but even the very books within this tent seemed tense and full of pent up despair. As the notes continued to float through the air, he cautiously entered the tent. The music he played was simple, but it was bright and honest, well rehearsed and full of heart. To some who have listened before they might say it reminded them of simpler days, and may even give them some sort of nebulous feeling of hope. Of course, that all depends on the ears it falls upon. He played for a few minutes, trying to gauge how he was doing, rather unsuccessfully.

"So I've divulged my intentions and reasons for being here, what about you?" He attempted to keep up his cheery demeanor, despite his fatigue, awaiting a response.