Oldborne

One

Eira slammed the practice sword into the wooden training dummy with a grunt, the sound echoing through the sparsely furnished training yard. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the chill that clung to the early morning air. Her breath formed wispy clouds as she attacked the dummy with a relentless fury. Each strike was a silent scream of frustration, a desperate attempt to push back the encroaching darkness threatening her people.

The relentless winter had gripped Oldborne Keep in its icy claws for a year and a half now. The once-proud granaries lay empty, the normally bustling courtyard eerily quiet. The faces of her people, etched with worry and hunger, haunted Eira's every waking moment.

Suddenly, a harsh croaking sound pierced the air. Eira whirled around, her hand instinctively going to the worn hilt at her hip. A large raven, its feathers black as night, perched on the weathered battlements overlooking the yard. Its eyes seemed to bore into her, sending a shiver down her spine.

"A raven from the Ravenbornes," muttered Bjorn, a grizzled old warrior and Eira's closest confidante. He limped towards her, his weathered face etched with concern. "What news does it bring?"

Eira lowered her sword, unease gnawing at her. The Ravenbornes, cunning diplomats and masters of intrigue, rarely sent ravens to such a remote outpost. She approached the wall cautiously, extending a gloved hand. The raven hopped onto her arm, its sharp claws digging through the leather. It squawked once, then dropped a rolled parchment tied with a red wax seal bearing the symbol of a raven in flight.

Eira unfurled the parchment, her brow furrowing in concentration as she deciphered the elegant script. It was a summons, demanding her presence at the Ravenborne court within a fortnight. The message was brief, offering no explanation for the sudden urgency.

"What does it say?" Bjorn asked, his voice gruff.

Eira met his gaze, a mix of apprehension and determination flickering in her eyes. "A summons. The Ravenbornes request my audience within a fortnight."

Bjorn's one good eye narrowed. "The Ravenbornes have little interest in the affairs of the north. Why would they summon you now, Eira?"

Eira didn't have an answer. The Ravenbornes were a mystery, their motives often shrouded in secrecy. Could it have something to do with the harsh winter? Or perhaps, with the whispers of a prophecy that echoed through the land, a prophecy that spoke of a weapon of immense power hidden in the frozen north... a weapon known as the Frostreaver.

Eira gripped the parchment tighter, the weight of the Ravenborne's message settling on her shoulders. Whatever their reasons, this could be an opportunity – a chance for the Oldbornes to reclaim some of their lost influence, perhaps even secure aid to help her people survive the brutal winter.

"We leave at dawn," she declared, her voice ringing with newfound resolve. Bjorn looked at her for a moment, then a flicker of pride sparked in his eye.

"As you command, Lady Eira," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "The Ravenbornes might be a nest of vipers, but they won't best an Oldborne so easily."

Eira returned the smile, a sliver of hope warming her heart. The journey south would be perilous, fraught with the dangers of the unforgiving winter and the ever-present threat of bandits and rival Kinbornes. But for the sake of her people, she would face them all. The legacy of the Oldbornes, the fate of her people, rested on her shoulders. And Eira Oldborne, heir to a fading lineage, was determined not to disappoint.