Evela

The foothills of Evela are a sparsely populated area north of the central mountains. Considered by some the southern borders of the lands of ar’Turas, and by others part of the Lawless Lands north of the Midlands. The area consists mostly of small farming villages spread throughout the fertile ground of the fringe. Farther into the hills, the land becomes less suited for farming, so the population eventually drops off to nothing.

Normally, minor nobles live in this area, keeping a small garrison of trained soldiers, and protecting villages in exchange for a small percentage of the crops grown in the area. Their manor houses are also the centers of education and culture. They normally hire schoolmasters as well as priests to educate their own children, and many times the peasant children also. Also, they are the sites of many of the feasts and festivals that happen throughout the year. Instead of being the strained serf to master relationship like in some areas, the relationship between the nobility and peasants in the foothills is much more relaxed. The lord is normally looked at as the first among equals, and, although treated with respect by the townspeople, is rarely paid obeisance to, or addressed with formal titles. The lord functions as more of a mayor than a true noble.

The foothills are often the destination of many sorts of adventurers: hunters, trappers, bards, historians and even treasure hunters frequent the hills. Many of the locals are able to make their living as guides for these types through the difficult-to-navigate terrain.

The namesake of these hills is the ancient city of Evela. Around campfires late at night it is said that Evela was the first and greatest stronghold of men in these lands. Great in might and culture, it is said that the deeds of golden Evela were sung throughout the lands. Nestled at the base of the great mountains, it was said to glitter in the sunlight, and shine brightly in darkness, able to be seen for miles. The minstrels of Evela composed some of the greatest songs among men and elves, and their Magi were among the best ever trained. Evela was home to one of the binding stones.

However, Evela could not last forever. Their pride overcame them, and their downfall was utter. It is said that the gods rained fire on the streets of Evela, and reared mountains to surround its gates. The walls were broken down, and The Pride of Evela was written in stone on its gates. So it sits in the mountains of the midlands, a broken reminder of the pride of men.

For generations fortune seekers and treasure hunters have sought there fame among the ruins of the once great city. A destination for only the most hardy of adventurers, its streets are the graves of countless misfortunates. Said to be the habitation of dark beast and deadly enchantments many fear to enter the shadow of the ancient Sun Tower, however not a few of the brave had made their fortunes in the chatacombs of Evela.

Although it has been ravaged for generations, the ruins of Evela are still said to hold limitless treasure in their deep holds, and caverns in the mountains, and the the fabled golden binding stone of Evela, the fate of which was never determined, has been the quest of many an adventurous young caster.


*I honestly have only a vague idea where this is going, so if anyone wants to jump on with some good ideas feel free.

Of Elves and Men - Part 2

Night had fallen over the foothills by the time they reached the Old Road. Luna was bright in the cloudless night sky, casting shadows like long hands over the countryside. With thousands of stars adding their glow, the road was illuminated in front of them. Apart from the occasional owl in the distance, and the clapping of the hooves as they rode down the dust covered road, the night was silent.

The heat of the day had been replaced with a pleasant coolness. The air was full of smoke as they had begun to see the lights of farmhouses in the distance. An owl hunted somewhere in the twilight, letting out its calls for the two companions to hear. It was a perfect night to be riding home.

The rode ran out of sight into shadows of the trees ahead of them, snaking into the gloom like a river of darkness. Caden had always imagined himself riding down this road forever. As a boy he had wondered where it would take him if he just kept on riding. He had asked Frey one time, in very much this same spot. “It will take you the same place any other road will.” He had said, “All roads are the same.”

Frey was looking at him now, with the steady gaze that was so unnerving in those that didn’t know him. His blue eyes seemed amused. He looked like he was about to say something, then turned away to look ahead of them. A few seconds later he turned back. “You know a strange thing about humans. Out of ignorance, you give meaningless names to things, without thinking, never stopping to think if they should mean much more.”

Caden had heard things like this before. Frey had not been his schoolmaster, but he had learned more from the elf than from wizened Master Lukahn. He seemed to know more about the world and all of the things in it than any other person Caden had ever seen. His knowledge was imparted randomly at the weirdest times, and was almost always preceded by a statement like this. Caden took the bait.

“For example?”

He gestured around them. “You men call this merely the Old Road. It is a name fit for cart path or fishmonger’s alley. This road has seen ages rise and fall, has seen mountains tumble and kingdoms rise only to be torn down again. Before your people ever set foot in these lands, this road was here. It is older than most things in this world. It is even considered old among my people, and when the Nulori consider a thing to be old, you know that it is very old indeed.”

“It has been traveled by kings and armies, by wizards and poets. Troubadours have sung great songs, monsters have been slain, kingdoms divided, fortunes won, relics lost never to be found, maidens saved, and true love realized. Yet, you men call this merely the Old Road. Not out of spite, merely of ignorance. It seems to be the way of your race, to assume the worthlessness of something until proven otherwise.”

Some would take offense to those remarks, but Frey did not mean anything by them, he was just stating what he thought. And he was usually right.

“Why, if all that is true, is this road not bigger?” Caden enjoyed these talks and usually did his best to keep them going. “I mean it’s not nearly as wide as the King’s Road north of here and it ends before you get to the mountains.” He finished with a gesture behind them.

As they road over a hill, Frey drew them to a halt. The valley below them was littered with lights from a dozen farms, and in the distance the lights of Ruefort on the horizon. The road ran into the night.

“This road is much bigger than you would think, although it is known under different names. North of here at eventually becomes known as the Beggar’s Road, and runs all the way to the shattered sea.” His eyes glowed for a brief moment, “Even beyond, if you believe some tales. South of here, it ends, in the mountains, but eventually resurfaces as the Traveler’s Highway, passing through Adria you will travel on it under the name of the Low Path, along the banks of the Sendri it is called the Coastal Road or sometimes the Bard’s Road, and a thousand other names that have been given to it by the three races since before human records begin.”

“It once spanned the whole continent, running from somewhere north of the Haji to deep in the southern mountains. It runs even to Ancient Evela in the mountains. And as for being a large road, it is said that once it was paved the whole way with stones carved by the Dwarves of the mountains, and was wide enough to ride 10 horses abreast.”

“It has been here since before the Sundering. Some say that when the Kin first walked over the land, this was the trail that they blazed. Over the years mountains have reared up where it once ran freely. It has been split by rivers, forgotten in places by scholars, and left to dwindle in the twilight of ages. If it could speak, more history it would tell you than all the Magi of all the races combined.”

“And men call it the Old Road. They ride it day by day and never realize that they ride on the road of kings and scholars.”

Frey started them back down the path, and they rode in silence for a while, listening to the sound of a fiddle from a farmhouse in the distance.

“Eventually your will take over for your father. You have the potential to be a great man. I can feel it in you, and I believe great men will be needed in the times to come.” The elf looked him in the eyes. “Never forget. The value of all things cannot be judged by what you see in the here and now.”

As they turned the corner, the lights of Ruefort blazed into view. The watch fires all burned, and even before the messenger reached them, they knew that something was wrong.