Shredders of Destinies

6. Ashes of Reckoning

Outskirt of Rohan, 2940 TA, September 19

Xena set off from the village, a flurry of emotions mingling within her as the quaint familiarity of Agnes's tavern gradually slipped away. Her steps echoed softly against the cobblestones, marking the beginning of a journey that bore the weight of uncertainty and possibility in equal measure. The landscape unfolded before her, a canvas of rolling hills and distant, mist-shrouded peaks. It was a world that whispered tales of adventure and peril, drawing her deeper into its embrace.

The sun's gentle rays painted the horizon in hues of gold and amber, casting elongated shadows that danced alongside her. The map she clutched was a tattered relic, a gift from a generous patron of Agnes's tavern, its frayed edges a testament to the countless journeys it might have witnessed. It unfolded in her grasp, revealing faded ink lines that traced a rudimentary path towards Rohan.

With a wry smile curling her lips, Xena muttered to herself, "Well, at least it's a start."

The gown she wore, a gift from a child in the village, billowed around her as she walked, a vivid sapphire amidst the muted greens of the countryside. Over it draped an ancient coat, its fabric worn but sturdy—a parting gift from Agnes, a token of warmth in both sentiment and practicality.

A gust of wind swept through, ruffling her dark locks as she adjusted the strap of her bag slung across her shoulder. The supplies nestled within—a meager assortment of bread, cheese, and a flask of water—would sustain her only for a fleeting moment in this vast expanse.

As she traversed the winding path, Xena's thoughts were an unspoken dialogue, her mind racing through the uncertainties that lay ahead. "Rohan," she murmured, the word a mantra against the unknown. Armor, gear, and boots became her whispered necessities, each step a purposeful stride towards fulfilling these needs.

The terrain unfurled with each passing mile, a patchwork quilt of meadows and woodlands that seemed to stretch endlessly. The silence was her companion, occasionally broken by the rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird—a symphony of solitude that underscored the gravity of her quest.

In the distance, a figure emerged—a solitary traveler ambling along the same road. Xena quickened her pace, closing the distance until they stood at arm's length.

"Hey," she called out, her voice a melodic timbre that echoed across the landscape. "Could you spare a moment?"

The traveler, a weathered face etched with stories untold, regarded her with a curious glint in their eye. "Aye, lass, what brings you to these parts?"

"I seek passage to Rohan," Xena replied, her gaze steady. "I've a map, but it's seen better days. Do you know the way?"

The traveler's lips quirked in a knowing smile. "Rohan, eh? That's a fair journey. The map may guide, but the roads here tend to twist and turn, playing tricks on those who trust 'em too much."

Xena's brow furrowed, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Tricks?"

"Aye, tales tell of travelers who've found themselves a league astray, following maps that led 'em to places uncharted. Best have more than just ink on paper to guide your way," the traveler advised, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom.

Xena's gaze fixed upon the traveler, a mixture of determination and curiosity shining in her eyes. "More than ink on paper? What else should I rely on?"

The traveler chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of ancient wisdom. "Your instincts, lass. The lay of the land, the whispers of the wind—these are your true guides in these parts."