Tale of the Gathering
From Spiritwood Wiki
Tale Of The Gathering
As told by: Kvrian Koven
As long as bards can remember, rangers have traveled the lands of Sosaria. Some times in packs or clans, other times alone. Occasionally, they come together in force, with a cold burn in their hearts and the bitter taste of death on their weapons. Rangers have always been, and gathered, as brethren.
Not too long ago, a few winters passed, there existed a group of rangers that existed as very close friends. These rangers roamed the forests in force, clearing like lightning the wretched from the woods. They were led by a ranger named Kelmvor. Kelmvor insisted these rangers function as one unit, moving like symphony in battle and toil. Kelmvor gained a renowned reputation for his good deeds, was even called the Orc Bane in many taverns. His men, happy to serve, acted almost before he command,
synchronically with his tactics and poise.
Kelmvor's fleet of rangers began to grow. Solitary rangers sought to fight at his side. Yale Mistraven, lndra Yama, Erimel the Bold and the Machiavellian Knight traveled afar to see this Orc Bane, to wield blade and bow in his forests. All was well. By day, these rangers explored the sacred grounds, memorizing paths, and trees. By night, they turned the tides on terror itself. The numbers continued to grow. Hardy rangers like Wraith, Kvasir, and Wolverine heeded the call as well. Healers with talent like Edward the Good came from the far north to clean the wounds of these men. Many tried to find them, to
rob them of precious jewels and gold that was assumed to have been their from the slaying of evil beasts. If any had found these men, they would have seen their pockets were lined with nothing but berries, and arrowheads ...
A day came where Kelmvor felt that this group of sage warriors should have a name. In his heart he knew these soldiers of the wild would always be rangers, and he felt they should be called the Etemal Rangers. He appointed his most faithful to positions of rank, giving them rangers to command. Still, the days flowed like a fine wine. Yale Mistraven, and his men, hunted the hart and gathered foods. lndra Yama's faithful scoured the countryside, turning every rock over, memorizing in heart every stump and
ledge. Erimel the Bold trained warriors in the arts of combat. His sword was never seen, only heard of, for those that saw usually did not have a chance to tell. The numbers of the Eternal continued to flow like a warm spring.
The arouo started takina on some personality. with members like Quej. the iollv barkeep that found only pleasure in dropping large trolls for fun. ~ r d m the mountains came deltaris, ferocious ranger that wielded humor, sword and magic. Kaiya the Healer and Jessaphine D'Stry joined the ranks along with others like Tynnian the tongue, Kyrian Koven a fearless ranger of action, and many others.
One dark day, Kelmvor grew impatient with his faithful followers. Several men had returned from a long journey, and were greeted wryly by the Orc Bane. They sought rest, and water, but Kelmvor would not have it. He was enraged, called out insults, he was not himself. I saw him on that cold day, his eyes were dark. I could tell his soul had been touched, from what I could not tell. Perhaps it was something foul had corrupted him, or just the endless killing of Orc. It does not matter, for Kelmvor drew blade on his
own men, restrained only by his truest brother, the Machiavellian Knight. Many rangers rushed to see the clamor, none could believe their eyes. Their champion had surrendered. Kelmvor denounced all of the men that had fought under him. He stormed off, never to be seen again. The Machiavellian Knight, torn, followed after him with head hung low. Grown men cried on that day, others grew dark hearts of their own and left, never to be heard from again. What happened to them the Gods only know.
Some men stayed on, urging strongly that the group remain. These men were heroes in their own right. Ginsu, Yale, Erimel, Xavior, and more. They kept the campfires alight, singing songs and handing out ales. Those were the darkest days, many left for a small walk-a-bout, questioning their own hearts and the reasons behind the actions of Kelmvor. The group slowly began to return, like soft grass in spring melting through wet snow. They swore to never again elect a leader, and that no ranger would ever be commanded, or ordered. They renounced the name Eternal Rangers, labeling it as a chapter in time.
They moved on. The fletcher's carved new shafts, the smithy's: new blades. They decided to not go by any name, for glory or not, they were only a gathering of rangers, and what they are called today is at best what others call them.
There are countless numbers of them now, but still fiery of heart. They go unheard, almost unspoken, usually unseen. They still drive Orcs in droves from the forest, and they still travel the wilderness abroad, always willing to help. Offer them your finest ale, for they have probably already saved your life.
