The Lord of Wynter, you say?

[Valindor-Rishka]

You gather around the fire with a bunch of travelers that were upon the same path as you - Although your destinations are different, the place for which you have chosen to spend the night is one at the same. You had thought that the night would be boring but no - For a storyteller is in your midst.

The grizzled old man wielding an ancient walking stave asked about, for who, or what you people would want to hear about for his stores of lore and epics are great, so great that he cannot choose.

"The Lord of Wynter, mister!"

A boy sitting in the lap of his mother waved his arm and shouted this out towards the old man. The old man replied with a kind smile as he cleared his throat, nodding his head. First, he removed a pouch from his belt and he untied the string, revealing some sort of glimmering powder within.

"The Lord of Wynter. A tragic tale that reminds us that the world is not always fair. Your brightest day, the day you rise the highest may very well lead into your darkest hour - The moment where you fall the lowest, and may not ever get up again."

The old man paused, pulling out a handful of the glimmering powder, throwing it into the fire. The fire flared for a moment, before it projected the image of a man.



"The Lord of Wynter, or less commonly known as Kael Brumalis was born the son of a Blademaster - Novrafell in a small, unnamed village. It was from young that the boy took an interest in his father's arts. Ever since he could wield a stick he had been trying to imitate his father's actions and yes, he had a gift for it. He proved to be an exceptional swordsman. At fourteen, the only person that could still beat him in the area was his father - And even then he coiuld give his father a run for his money."

Raising his waterskin to his mouth, the old man took a small sip of it, wetting his mouth before he began to talk once again.

"The boy left home at the age of fifteen. He wanted to be an adventurer, a hero! His father disagreed - His father said that it was too dangerous for a fifteen year old boy, so did his mother, so did his younger sister. After a fierce argument the boy left, packing up his trusty blade, Blizzard,"

Pausing, the man threw another handful of the magic dust into the fire, and once again an image appeared before he continued:



"He set off upon a great journey in which he would have his name sung within the ballads of the bards for the centuries to come. His feats are too many to mentioned - The slaying of the Troll of Bel'hosk Forest, the Duel between Wynter and the tyrant Lord Kosh, just to name a few but, but the quest that would become his legend."

Another sip of water.

"The Massacre of the Ice Golems. A village that had been plagued by a year-long winter caused by the arrival of the Ice Golems taking up refuge within their mines had called for help - They called for armies and armies to take out these monsters and save their land from the everlasting cold but they failed. Until Kael arrived. In a previous adventure he had had his sword imbued with the power of fire and enchanted such that it would not break and would cut through the hardest of metals. Furthermore, the fact that it was a difficult quest had made it even more the attractive to the aspiring young man, now eighteen. Eighteen, and already a legend!"

A short, dry laugh.

"The battle went on for a three days and three nights, Kael singlehandedly charging into the mines and instigating war by himself. The odds? Almost a hundred to one. However, at the end of the three days the frost faded, and the villagers rejoiced, but they did not forget about their hero."

A short silence ensued, as the surrounding people sucked in their breaths - Even you. What had happened?

"They found Kael in the depths of the mine, the prized blade he called Blizzard now encrusted in ice, and blue, instead of red. A sword of the coldest winter - That had been his prize, but not his greatest prize. Before him knelt thirty ice golems, now subject to the command of their new King."

"But no. This man did not want to be King. As he sat upon his throne, thinking, he realized how empty his life had been. What were his accomplishments, without loved ones and kin to share it with? After banishing his 'subjects' to the coldest ends of the realm, Kael left without another word, heading home."

"What he saw was a massacre. His entire village was burning, in ruins! Running over to his old family home, the Lord of Wynter, as now the villagers called him fell to his knees and wept, for the very first time since he had left home. He could barely make out the burnt figures of his mother and his sister - His father laid not very far off from the house, still moving from the grievous wound in his gut. A slow, painful death."

Tears had begun to stream down the cheeks of some who listened to the story. A hero that only realized what was truly important when it was too late.

"His father smiled when he saw Kael. But the smile faded immediately, as his father gripped his son's arm with a conviction that betrayed his weak state. Unable to speak, his father mouthed the words 'Bandits. Mountains. Avenge us.' before he let go of his life and left this world, having met his son for one last time."

"Bitter. The Lord of Wynter now took up his title and rode off. It was said that the snow was tinged red with the blood of the small army of bandits. Wynter had came for them."

Throwing the remnants of the dust into the fire, one last image formed:



"And that was how the Lord of Wynter's legend came about. A tragic hero, a only king. Not much was known of him after vengeance was fulfilled - Some said he went mad and killed himself. Others still see him skulking about, looking for some way to fill the void that has been left within him.