A Crooked Path Leading To A Fresh Start

The Tale Of Dirk (“The Deserter”)

Dirk stumbled numbly through the scorching Levem Vale. As he pushed himself, lurching forward, each step felt as if his feet were loadstones. His thighs ached. His back and shoulders were stiffened and rigid from the three days climb through the Silvered Mountains. His tongue dryly clicked inside his parched mouth covered by his tender cracked lips. His survival instinct was dimly struggling within him and he knew if he did not find water today, he may not see tomorrow. Already, he was in no shape to defend himself from the wild beasts that roamed the Desert Vales…or worse, the nomadic tribes and occasional bandit troupe that combed the mountain passes.

At some point in the past 10 or so days, he’d fled from his fellow tribesmen on the Silvered Plains. Dirk was readily recognizable as a plainsman. He was very tall, with long skull, a light well-muscled build, blue eyes, and long wavy auburn hair. He wore his hair in the typical fashion of the Plainsmen, all bundled and tied back. His fox skin tunic was taken off, wound up, and tied in a knot around his waist. He’d had enough of his wits about him to keep his skin leggings and moccasins on, despite the dust and dirt making its way into them during his trek. He knew if any other tribesmen saw him, they would immediately recognize him as a deserter as his totem was not around his neck.

The three tribal warlords directly answered as one to Soren, the Hierophant of the Steppes. Long ago the tribes of the Silvered Plains met with the desert-dwelling tribes of the northern vales and the sons of Tee’tchosek, the “swamp-men” of the south. They initiated a treaty at the foot of Mount Olóige with the first Hierophant of the Sands, Kyreeus. She was born of the desert vales and was exceedingly wise. It was said she understood the balance both of men and nature more than any other of her time, before or after. The other two Hierophant druids – of the Stepps, and of the Dredges, agreed to construct a treaty with man through nature. They erected a druidic altar dedicated to balance and peace at the top of Mount Olóige. Every child born to a tribesman is given a totem by their tribal shaman or sage. The totem binds them to the stone altar of the treaty of Mount Olóige and identifies the tribe they belong to. Every tribesman is accountable for any bloodshed of their fellow tribesman through this binding treaty of their fathers. To remove the totem is to reject the law of the tribal fathers, and is tantamount to treason. It effectively made you “dead” to the tribunal and your fellow tribesmen.

Dirk knew he was running from something though. It was not a beast or a specific person that he could recall. He only knew he was terrified and that he did not want to remember. Every time he tried to understand why he’d fled his brethren and his homeland, his mind would fade to gray and fear would grip so tightly his stomach knotted-up and his limbs shivered in waves of anxiety. “I am a barbarian. I am a hunter. I fear nothing.” He’d shouted his uncle’s chant to himself over and over again as he ran northward out of the plains and away from…what? He still could not remember why he was running. The more he tried to remember it, the more dread and hopelessness would fill his heart. The only fragment he was able to hold onto was the memory of ripping his totem from his neck and hurling it to the ground. There was still a scorched and charred patch of skin on his chest and right hand, where he’d gripped the crystal totem and yanked it from his neck.

He was so grateful he could at least remember his uncle Jaecee and his teachings on how one survives off the tribunal lands. Jaecee had taught him which berries to avoid in the plains, how to forage for mushrooms in the southern swamps, and which cacti fruits could offer nourishment in the northern desert vales.  His uncles voice faintly lilted through his mind…”Dirk, if you are in the desert, find the Fickle River or one of her tributaries. Dig into the riverbed near any shaded area, or perhaps where the water would be the deepest during the rains when the river is running. You can often find water if you dig just two or three feet down.” Dirk mindlessly came to, his hands moistening as he dug deep into the cool riverbed underneath a rock outcropping. The cool water against his grimy nails pulled him from his warm reverie and his uncle’s memory drifted back into his mind. Carefully Dirk dug deeper and deeper until he had a small basin in the “dry” riverbed which the groundwater seeped into and filled. That night, refreshed by the water and clinging like a child to the memory of his uncle Jaecee, he slept under the stars…falling asleep under the gentle waxing moon.

For the next month, Dirk trekked over 350 miles through Desert Vales towards the southern base of the cold and dry Sapphire Mountains. He was cautious, and kept off the roads, narrowly avoiding bandits and desert tribesmen via stealth and his wits. He knew that traveling alone both made him suspect to tribesmen as well as an easier target for bandits. The farther he went from his homeland, the more he felt he could think clearer. Although his mind seemed more focused, his heart was clouded with a deep homesickness.  He would often dream in the night of the silver grasses of the plains and hear the gentle voice of his uncle in his mind, calming him and instructing him, even in his memories.

Dirk deftly skinned the desert hare he’d pulled from his deadfall trap. He stared up from the southern base of “Mount Titanus,” the massive mountain at the center of the Sapphire range.  To the West was the “Western Sister”, a mountain noticeably smaller than “Mount Titanus.” To the East were two even smaller peaks right next to each other and staggered, one smaller than the other.  These two smaller mountains to the East of Titanus were called “The Sisters.”  There were three mountain passes associated with these.  The first pass was on the South side at the base of the Titanus and went straight into the Dwarven settlement inside the mountain and then through a complex and trecherous cave network to emerge on the Northern face of Titanus.   The second pass to the East wound upward and then between Titanus and the Sisters peaks.  The third and final pass Dirk knew of was a narrow pass that wound over and hugged the West slope of Titanus.

The dwarves that live in the great mountain of Titanus do not take kindly to humans and have held a grudge specifically against all tribesmen since losing the battle of the Desert Vales two generations ago. Dirk knew it would not matter to them that he was from the Silver Plains and his barbarian tribe had nothing to do with that war – the fact that he was a human barbarian would ample proof of his guilt and they would likely attack, kill, or even enslave him.  Logically, this ruled out the Southern pass into and through Titanus directly.  During this time of year, the Eastern pass between Titanus and the Sisters Peaks would be filled with “displacer beasts” as this was a breeding ground for them. These bizzare and foul-tempered panther-like creatures had six feline legs ending in razor sharp claws, two barbed tentacles growing from their frontmost shoulders, and a magical ability that enabled them to “displace” themselves so you could never be sure if you were actually striking the beast or just its magical image.  Dirk reasoned his best option was to go over the Western pass that hugged the western face of Titanus, although he’d have to make a very intense climb initially to do so, as from what he could tell the dwarves had destroyed the ramps, caved in the bridgework, and made the Western pass nigh unuseable and difficult to access.

Dirk braved the heights of Titanus, pushing his climbing skills to their peak. It was a perilous week of climbing, and every day he faced different challenges with the terrain, the winds, and the cold. Survival is what Dirk was born and bred for on the plains. He knew if he was going to carve out a future and figure out his past, he’d need a home base. His uncle had traversed this very path on his own adventures before he decided to settle down, marry, and have his own family. Deep down he felt keenly that the key to unlocking his future was over the mountain – and nothing would stop him from conquering it.

Having reached the summit, Dirk took in the view. To the south stretched the Desert Vales, and he could see the distant shadowy teeth of the Silvered Mountains jutting up from the distant horizon. He knew over those distant mountains were the Silver Plains, the place of his birth and a host of spectral memories he’d like to leave there – for now. Looking northward, he could see the lush forests and The Green Dales of Yuden. As his eyes swept across the horizon, he noticed castle and citadel nestled in the valley below. He could see a beautiful river winding its way around the base of the mountainsides north of Titanus.  The air here was crisp and smelled of water and mists…vastly different than the deserts and plains to the south he’d grown up in.  Dirk decided he liked it and pressed forward, down the slopes and into the valley.