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The Hinterlands was filled with treachery and peril. Far from any semblance of law and order those that carried themselves as vultures found a rightful home in the backwoods. They were the cruel sort of criminals too, the kind that’d cut your throat without a word just because they could. But, though they were dangerous, the Rule of Man was not recognized here. No, men forfeited their right to the top of the food chain when they chose to venture into The Hinterlands. Instead this was a place of creatures, a place where monsters and demons alike made their homes. Theirs was the Rule of Beasts, a ruthless and implacable force where the strong devoured the weak. It was not cruelty that drove them. Merely, it was an overwhelming desire to persist. This was something I could respect. The world was a heartless place, but at least with monsters you knew what you had.
Despite this respect and the apparent clarity of man’s relationship with the wild I, for the life of me, could not fathom why anyone would settle in such harshlands. However the denizens of Ackwood did not seek my approval. They simply did what mankind always tried to do when faced with something they could not control - they tried to control it. They had cleared away the land. They had established homesteads. They hunted and they lived where they were unwelcome.
It was an admirable pursuit, and I was glad to have found them. Maxwell and I had stumbled upon Ackwood through mere chance. The sun had gone low, and we had become lost. It was only through the providence of fate that we were not devoured by whatever nocturnal beasties lurked in the dark. We were welcomed, and found room and board at the village's tavern. It was an intimately small establishment, with the majority of patrons being local frontiersmen.
Maxwell retired to his room while I found a place at the bar. I ordered a drink, took a long draw, and simply relaxed. The barroom was unusually somber. Most seemed more interested in nursing their own drinks than conversing. Besides me sat a thin man, with old leathery skin and calloused hands. He was staring at me and I offered him a nod.
"Where ya from stranger?" He asked in a way that was not unkind.
"Arcadia," I answered, "Sort of, anyways."
The wrinkles of his face scrunched together and he asked, "How are ya 'sort of' from Arcadia?"
"The Arcadia I grew up in is long gone," I answered.
“I’ll drink to that,” He said and raised his glass, "Things like to change don't they?"
"That they do."
We shared a moment of silence. Physically he was older than me, but having spent centuries in stasis, the Arcadia I referred to was no doubt the one that his great-grandfather lived in. It was a strange thought, but one that I chose not to dwell upon.
“Name’s Beau, by the way,” He said.
“Anders.”
“You’re a swordmage, aren’t ya?” Beau asked suddenly.
I offered him a surprised look.
He quickly answered, “I only ask ‘cause of your sword, dark iron ain’t it?”
“It is,” I answered, “How do you know? I don’t think I’ve seen another swordmage for years.”
“Our founder was a swordmage, Anders,” He explained, “She and the rest of us grew… tired of Arcadia, this land was the only land that’d have us.”
Now that was phenomenal news. Perhaps there were still those worthy to wield magic. With a smile I finished my drink in one long draw.
“Where is this fellow swordmage?” I asked, standing up, “I must meet them.”
At this Beau became withdrawn, sinking in his chair and shaking his head. A coldness seemed to wash over the patrons as they had no doubt heard my question. Did they see me as a threat?
“She’s… no longer with us,” Beau explained, causing me to sit back down.
“My apologies,” I answered, “It has been a while since I’ve seen a fellow swordmage, and I was just excited.”
“Couldn’t have known,” He responded solemnly, “Let’s get another round.”
Despite this respect and the apparent clarity of man’s relationship with the wild I, for the life of me, could not fathom why anyone would settle in such harshlands. However the denizens of Ackwood did not seek my approval. They simply did what mankind always tried to do when faced with something they could not control - they tried to control it. They had cleared away the land. They had established homesteads. They hunted and they lived where they were unwelcome.
It was an admirable pursuit, and I was glad to have found them. Maxwell and I had stumbled upon Ackwood through mere chance. The sun had gone low, and we had become lost. It was only through the providence of fate that we were not devoured by whatever nocturnal beasties lurked in the dark. We were welcomed, and found room and board at the village's tavern. It was an intimately small establishment, with the majority of patrons being local frontiersmen.
Maxwell retired to his room while I found a place at the bar. I ordered a drink, took a long draw, and simply relaxed. The barroom was unusually somber. Most seemed more interested in nursing their own drinks than conversing. Besides me sat a thin man, with old leathery skin and calloused hands. He was staring at me and I offered him a nod.
"Where ya from stranger?" He asked in a way that was not unkind.
"Arcadia," I answered, "Sort of, anyways."
The wrinkles of his face scrunched together and he asked, "How are ya 'sort of' from Arcadia?"
"The Arcadia I grew up in is long gone," I answered.
“I’ll drink to that,” He said and raised his glass, "Things like to change don't they?"
"That they do."
We shared a moment of silence. Physically he was older than me, but having spent centuries in stasis, the Arcadia I referred to was no doubt the one that his great-grandfather lived in. It was a strange thought, but one that I chose not to dwell upon.
“Name’s Beau, by the way,” He said.
“Anders.”
“You’re a swordmage, aren’t ya?” Beau asked suddenly.
I offered him a surprised look.
He quickly answered, “I only ask ‘cause of your sword, dark iron ain’t it?”
“It is,” I answered, “How do you know? I don’t think I’ve seen another swordmage for years.”
“Our founder was a swordmage, Anders,” He explained, “She and the rest of us grew… tired of Arcadia, this land was the only land that’d have us.”
Now that was phenomenal news. Perhaps there were still those worthy to wield magic. With a smile I finished my drink in one long draw.
“Where is this fellow swordmage?” I asked, standing up, “I must meet them.”
At this Beau became withdrawn, sinking in his chair and shaking his head. A coldness seemed to wash over the patrons as they had no doubt heard my question. Did they see me as a threat?
“She’s… no longer with us,” Beau explained, causing me to sit back down.
“My apologies,” I answered, “It has been a while since I’ve seen a fellow swordmage, and I was just excited.”
“Couldn’t have known,” He responded solemnly, “Let’s get another round.”