The Valiant-The early years

Chapter 1

 Two men sit around a table closest to the fire in a small tavern. One, a burly man with a beard and hair tied up in a short ponytail, sits with his hood up on his forest-green and brown cloak, a longbow leaned against the table next to him. The other has a well trimmed beard, and short cut black hair, he's dressed in chainmail armor, and has a sword belt with a longsword in it draped over the third chair at the table.

"So you claim it's in here?" The first man asks, tapping a finger on a large dark patch

on the map laid out over the table. He has a thick Northern accent, near impossible to pin down to one particular part.

"Its gotta be, otherwise I have spent the last 30 years chasing something that's a legend." The second man's accent placed him as a native of Inara, probably the Easternmost providence.

"And where, exactly, do I come in?" A third voice cut through their conversation, and both men looked up into the eyes of the Valiant. A holy warrior who serves all the gods, the Valiant changes only when the current wielder of the sword falls in battle--as once they are deemed worthy and have claimed the sword, they are immortal.

"We need a swordsman. The second man said, which caused the Valiant to glance pointedly at the sword belt draped over the empty chair. The second man snatched it up and the Valiant sat down, "Then what are you, exactly, Gathnar? Besides a man chasing legends."

"You know very well who I am, Soren." Gathnar said, nodding at Soren's pack, "why'd you bring that?"

Soren's only answer was to flick Gathnar's map off the table at him and unroll his own onto the table, showing a sprawling complex in the mountains in place of the dark patch. "One skill you get after a century as the Valiant, mapmaking." He stood up, pointing to a spot just outside of a city in the lower right quadrant of the map. "I have a few friends who will meet us out here just before we cross the Yengarn River." He slid his finger up to a point just before an area labeled 'Tinvell Pass'. "We should be able to make it to the pass before dark if we get moving at dawn, at which point we'll have to cross the pass on foot."

"Why not ride through up here?" The Northman said, standing up and pointing at a thoroughfare further north. "It'd take 3 days riding at a hard pace that your pack horses would collapse after an hour at, Emyr." Everyone knew of the extensive training Paladins and their warhorses went through, and how one could handle a hard sprint for 48 hours without showing signs of fatigue. Emyr nodded, knowing that Soren was basically telling him they were going to have to walk much of the way.

The next morning, Soren was sitting outside the inn, sharpening his longsword while he waited for his companions. Gathnar was the first to emerge from the building, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "its not even light out yet, why do we gotta leave now?"

A glare cut anymore questions from Gathnar's mind as Soren spoke up, "because we have to meet up with the others and make the Yengarn by dawn if we want to make the pass before dark." He said, standing up and sheathing his sword as Emyr emerged from the building, and Soren stepped over to the black and white war horse tied to the fence, and he swung up into the saddle. "You two go get your horses and meet me back here in 5 minutes." He said, turning his horse and trotting off a few feet.

Just as dawn breaks over the horizon, the three canter up to a small band camped by the southern bank of the river, and one of the people holds a hand out to flag them down. The three people all nod at Soren, and the female, a short woman with shoulder length red hair, vivid sapphire blue eyes, is carrying a black wood staff.

One of the men is wearing gloves and has his hood pulled up to conceal his face, though his cloak is a dark midnight blue, that seems to ripple with every movement.

The only other of the three pulls a dagger out of a log he's using as a target, and turns to the group, "Soren, I would ask why you're late, but then I see the two guys you're travelling with and I see why." He said, tilting his head so his brown hair fluffs up slightly. He's short, but skinny and wirey, and his face has tribal paint on it, something odd for a King's Spy.

As the 6 sit down for breakfast, Soren introduces everyone. "Gathnar, Emyr, These are my friends, Naerie," The woman waved her hand slightly, "Onr," the man wearing the gloves gave what could best be described as a snuff, "and Wilyas." The short guy smirk and tossed his dagger in the air, catching it by the grip.