Post by Morreion on Dec 6, 2008 0:33:03 GMT -5
Aluric was a character in Vanguard: Saga of Heroes.
All places are different, and yet all places are the same. It has taken me a lifetime to learn this truth.
In my youth, I wandered the hills around Derogar's Post as many a young restless Varanjar has done, and will do. The yellow plains stretched far away, even when seen from the highest hill. Halgarad, home of clan halls and the Jarl of my people, was a day's walk away. Dakhnarg, home of the Vulmane, lay further away to the south. Half Giants were a not uncommon sight, making even the brawniest hillman warrior look small. Far, far to the west lay the rest of what other peoples far away called Thestra. The occasional caravan came and went, but most of my people were content with the hills, the plains. The clans.
But youth has its own impulse, questions that those who are older smile at or shake their heads.
"Why are clans so important? Aren't we all Varanjar?"
"You sound like a drunkard in The Stone Mug. Now that is a 'clan' for you!"
My father was a trader, away often. My earliest memories are of imagining myself riding on horseback across Thestra with him, though he had little time for such things. My love of travel more than likely comes from his example. Mother was kind, soft-spoken, particularly so in the rough-and-tumble world of the clans. From her I received the love of learning, Druidic Knowledge, and of speaking when you knew it was time to speak. Eventually learning that...
We were of the Hadaul clan.
Hadaul is an ancient game among the Varanjar, and our clan has from early times been judges and devotees. The game is not so common now as it once was, and the clan is not one of the foremost. And clan position is often one's destiny among the people of Halgarad.
It was mine.
All places are different, and yet all places are the same. It has taken me a lifetime to learn this truth.
In my youth, I wandered the hills around Derogar's Post as many a young restless Varanjar has done, and will do. The yellow plains stretched far away, even when seen from the highest hill. Halgarad, home of clan halls and the Jarl of my people, was a day's walk away. Dakhnarg, home of the Vulmane, lay further away to the south. Half Giants were a not uncommon sight, making even the brawniest hillman warrior look small. Far, far to the west lay the rest of what other peoples far away called Thestra. The occasional caravan came and went, but most of my people were content with the hills, the plains. The clans.
But youth has its own impulse, questions that those who are older smile at or shake their heads.
"Why are clans so important? Aren't we all Varanjar?"
"You sound like a drunkard in The Stone Mug. Now that is a 'clan' for you!"
My father was a trader, away often. My earliest memories are of imagining myself riding on horseback across Thestra with him, though he had little time for such things. My love of travel more than likely comes from his example. Mother was kind, soft-spoken, particularly so in the rough-and-tumble world of the clans. From her I received the love of learning, Druidic Knowledge, and of speaking when you knew it was time to speak. Eventually learning that...
We were of the Hadaul clan.
Hadaul is an ancient game among the Varanjar, and our clan has from early times been judges and devotees. The game is not so common now as it once was, and the clan is not one of the foremost. And clan position is often one's destiny among the people of Halgarad.
It was mine.
