New Beginnings

[Letho]

((Closed to Ozoric and Josette))


The fog was breaking. Standing on the shore of Bradbury Lake, a mere dark outline amidst the grey shades of misty predawn, Letho Ravenheart watched as the world around him gradually regained its daily vibrancy. With the sun still a brightening notion on the eastern horizon, there was a chill that was not unusual for early spring, but Letho didn’t mind it. He found that it gave a sort of crispness to his thoughts, the fresh air dusting out the cobwebs of the mind and tossing out all the doubts of days past to make room for a new start.

A new start. Up until several months ago, Letho had doubted if such a thing was truly possible. He had heard stories of people beginning their life anew, inspiring yarns that spoke of leaving the debris of old life behind and striking a new page, but listening to a tale and living through it were two very different beasts. Nobody ever talked about what happened when the day passed and the stillness of the night took reign, bringing with it all the regret, the remorse, the memories of things done so wrongly the mere thought of them brought a burden of shame so heavy it felt like it was trying to bury a person. And there were demons in that deathly pit, always eager to welcome one fallen in spirit.

It was Lorelei who tore him out that dark reverie. He already owed his daughter for saving his life, and now the bill kept piling up when she proposed him with a lease on a new one. She was the one who pointed out that, while Letho had several exemplary qualities, sitting around and musing on things weren’t amongst them. His train of thought gravitated towards the negative end of the spectrum, which in turn soured his mood and made every day duller than the last. There was quite a bit more Lorelei had to say on the matter – the kid was getting a bad tendency to wax philosophical ever so often – but Letho got the gist of it and acceded to most of it. Because idleness did begin to chafe him raw.

And thus they came up with Menel Govannen. The idea for a group of monster hunters was a joint venture of both the daughter and the father, but the name was pure Lorelei. The teen insisted that it gave the whole thing more credibility, that people took matters more seriously when they were written or spoken in elvish. Letho wasn’t certain he agreed. He thought that when people saw elvish, they expected elves. And he wasn’t terribly fond of elves. But then the kid insisted and Letho, who had a hard time saying no to her mother, found it downright impossible to do so when it came to Lorelei. After all, did it matter what they were called as long as they managed to actually get this thing off the ground?

"You think people will come?" a voice came from behind him. It didn't catch veteran such as Letho by surprise – the early hours of the day were much too quiet for him not to hear her footsteps as she approached.

"Some are already here," Letho responded, not taking his eyes off the lake before him. With the sun finally on the verge of breaking free from the clutches of the far horizon, there was now enough light to see the outline of the island in the middle of the lake. Stony ruins greeted him through the waning mist like silent sentinels.

"Branhill Inn was already half-full yesterday evening. Mostly capable looking folks from what I could see." He had rented out the whole lakeside resort for the occasion, even though chances were he wouldn't need the full capacity. The likelihood that there were that many people eager to risk their life chasing dragons was rather low.

"So the word has spread," Lorelei said as she took her place at her father's side at the shoreline. They were an odd pair, he a muscular stoic figure standing straight as an arrow with hands at the small of his back, and she a lithe willowy thing with dark hair tied in a long braid and pale hands wrapping the cloak firmly around her body against the morning chill.

Letho assumed a good number would show up, even though he chose not the spread it via notices on inns and crossroads the way folks usually did. No, such public recruitment had a bad tendency of attracting the wrong crowd: wide-eyed adventurers with cheap swords and fantasies of grand quests and vagrants out to make some swift gold. One couldn't make a foundation of a group with such folks. Instead, he got in contact with some of his old military contacts on both sides of the fence, and word of mouth got through the ranks of Corone Armed Forces, Radasanth City Watch and Corone Rangers that Letho Ravenheart was looking for dependable fighters for matters that had nothing to do with the Civil War. And he was very clear on that particular detail. His warmongering days were over. Both governments could continue to squabble and vie for power to the end of days for all Letho cared, spinning their wheels within wheels. Compared to the intricacies of such a corrupt society, hunting monsters was easy.

“Aye, it has spread. And more are bound to come by midday,” Letho said, then grinned. “But how many will still be here by nightfall?”

***

There was still about an hour before the sun was bound the hit the apogee of its journey across the patchy azure sky when first recruits started to arrive to the freshly cut patch of grass where Letho stood. Above him, fluttering from a high pole in the mild breeze that carried all the blossomy fragrance of the season, a banner displayed the emblem of the Menel Govannen. The design was fairly simple, much to the chagrin of Lorelei: a red rhombus upon a black field with a pair of white wings superimposed on the scarlet surface. She had wanted more elvish gibberish, but Letho said no. She also wanted swords and other things, but Letho stayed firm. A sigil was supposed to be simple, recognizable and representative, and a pair of wings was all that. They were the Fellowship of the Sky.

At least that was the theory. It remained to be seen if any amongst those gathered could actually fly.