The Terrathune Chronicles: Troubled Dreams - Prologue

Meanwhile, a taller young man walked the endless fields of wheat and barley to a small thatched wooden hovel in the far distance. Straight long brown hair flowed freely past his light brown eyes and darkened and shined with clever as keen as a knife. His build was slender, more or less than average but showed promise for agility. A stick was held firmly in his right hand and cowl stretched over his forehead as the rains slowly grew steady.

Farther out in the fields another farmhouse was barely in view. A young woman slumbered in her small bed surrounded with stuffed animals. Her long hair weaving about her and everything around her, strands of a glorious mixture of red, black, and brown tangled with a stuffed animal; a cat-like animal holding a heart secured tightly in her arms.

Closer to Port Marcia a group of men trained under the blackening sky. A tall young man with blond hair fought hand-to-hand with another man dressed in fine burlap leggings and sandals. The blond-haired man’s blue eyes following the movements of the other man. With a quick jab from the burlap-legged man struck the blond in the face. They continued their sparring though non-the-less.

In the rolling streets of Port Marcia stood the Adventurer’s Guild. High marble walls stood tall with elegance and beauty molded into one. Glass windows decorated the sides of the massive building in between the architectural pillars that kept the slightly slanted roof aloft. Within its great halls a young woman, wrapped tightly in white robes prayed silently to the statue of a great goddess. Her hair a wave of black that hung like a curtain around her unmoving head and slender shoulders, like a marble statue with lips that spoke poetry and peace in muffled tones.

Through the halls and out into the central courtyard another young man lay sleeping under a bear oak tree. Shrugging off the cold with a warm wool tunic and brash posture. His dark skin blending with the dead brown leaves about him. His hair was cropped short and black like raven’s feathers slightly ruffled.

Out of the guild and into the bay front, bells chimed and rang as ships docked and departed. A large muscular young man walked from the docks with a large net of fish slung across his back. His curly black hair ran past his intense brown eyes that gave character to his physique.

The streets of Port Marcia were quiet this time of year. Usually it would be bustling with people of different sizes and cultures bartering and conversing amongst one another in the market, but the frigid cold made it hard for that kind of living. The result in staying in their homes and lay next to a warm crackling fire. The rains were soft; for now since it was only the beginning of winter. The downpour would get harder as the season grew. Every now and then the rains would turn to freezing ice. Soon most trade ways would be closed due to mud and the port trade way would be the only major import and export route; for it was a highly monitored and well-paved road. The running young man made a quick dart across the dirt road before he was soaked from the continuous rain. After a few strides he was through the wheat fields and at a thatched roof house. He opened the door and quickly went on in. Warm air clasped to his cold damp body. Panting freely he went to his room and changed into some dry cloths.

His ware for the afternoon: Brown Leather breeches laced with a coarse wool thread, a Wool Shirt finely kneaded together by his mother, a Jerkin that he had bought for the style around the port. His Leather Boots stitched with a linen thread and lined on the inside with soft fur; a gift for his third season of training as a fighter and made from a badger he had hunted for digging up his father’s farmland. Finally his Green Bracers that he had made himself from scraps of leather he had found in the crafting room of the Adventurer’s Guild with unripe Bolkoth berries (Known for their green hue, perfect as a dye). "Derith! Did you just get back?" a voice called from the back rooms. "Yes I have father." Derith replied back. He finished tying on his other bracer. Derith walked to the back rooms were his father called him.

"How was the run?" Derith walked in and took a seat by the fire. "It was good, I still need to work on my pace." Derith took a deep breath and put his hands close to the heat. Derith’s father smiled "You are doing fine for your age, of course you have been training for what was it – three years now? Don’t push yourself too hard or your going to end up hurt." Derith gave a low chuckle and then stood up from his seat. "Don’t worry I won’t, now I am going to go and read for awhile, and then work on some of my charcoal drawings. I will see you at dinner time." Derith walked to the doorway and turned around "oh, and it has been four years." Then he smiled and walked off into his room once again.

The day slowly passed by and night came around. Derith said his goodnights and went off to bed. There he quickly fell asleep.

Derith tossed and turned in his bed, the images flashing madly in his mind. A nightmare was taking place.

Derith woke quickly from his slumber as he heard cries from outside; the rain had died off as well. Derith thought it to be of the attack in his dream. But listening to the voice closely it was only Brannor. Derith heaved a sigh of relief and got out of bed. He slowly dressed, fatigue grasped his muscles and it made it hard for him to move. The dream felt so real but yet it was unreal. He touched his lower lip and ran his finger down the bloodline in his dream. He examined his finger and saw crimson. Derith’s eyes widened – no, it can’t be? Derith pondered for a moment not moving from where he stood. Brannor called again. Derith trembled and looked at his hands, they seemed to be fine. Brannor started to yell even louder. Derith finally shouted back and got dressed and rushed to the doorway. Brannor stood and was holding his quarterstaff with both hands and smiling brightly, eagerly waiting to train once again. He was soaked from head to toe from his little travel in the rain. Brannor had always wanted to train with Derith. They knew each other for at least seven years now.

Derith grabbed his quarterstaff nearby and made his way outside. Brannor removed his cowl and grinned "So, what are we doing today?"

Derith groaned "I don’t really know right now. I don’t really feel like training."

Brannor raised an eyebrow "Then why did you bring your quarterstaff out?"

Derith looked at the quarterstaff and shrugged "I don’t really know why. I have other things on my mind. I guess it is my walking stick today."

Brannor scratched his head and shrugged "Okay, if you say so. What other plans do you have?" Derith thought for a moment and took a deep breath.

"What is everyone else doing today?" Derith asked slowly, turning his head to Brannor’s and stroking his moustache. The vision of his dream crept into his mind. The images plagued his thoughts and he turned away from Brannor. Brannor saw Derith’s discomfort, but he paid no heed to even ask. Derith shook his head and regained control.

"Why don’t we go and see if everyone wants to get together to chat, maybe even to spar."

Brannor’s eyes sparkled like a shiny copper coin. "Alright that sounds great." Brannor extended his arm and patted Derith on the back. "Good boy. I like that idea." Brannor had always done this when Derith had a good idea. Derith didn’t really like the idea of being praised like a dog though (Except when Jorielda did it, his one and only lover.) But he took it always as a compliment therefore having no objection to the appraisal.

Brannor rested the quarterstaff on his shoulder and began racing to the Jorielda’s house. "I’ll see you at Jorielda’s!" Brannor teased as he ran off. Brannor knew better - Derith was an athletic young man and had many years’ practice with running. Derith started his stride and made his way to Brannor. The exhilaration was the thrill of it all. But the images came again and again racing through his mind as fast as his feet were carrying him, making it hard for him to really concentrate on his efforts.

Derith continued to run and as he crossed the endless fields of wheat and barley he could feel a chill run down his spine colder than the late winter frost.

The fog rolled in; but Derith was too troubled – and too occupied to notice.