Chapter 1:
Shadows Under Llynbrith
Gwyn could barely grab his tacklebox before getting swept into the lake. He felt the water rushing around him, dragging him further and further down.
'Well, this is it. Dead on my bloody day off...'
His last thoughts lingered as he stared back up to the surface, the light fading around him.
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Y'know, in all my years I've never seen one of them frilly Academy blokes on this side of the lake...The Braeling stared off toward the far side of Llynbrith as he headed west, away from his cabin. On any other day Gwyn would've headed toward the guard's post at the Eastgate Waystation for any missing property reports to dredge up from the lakebed. Today, however, Gwyn decided a much-needed personal day was in order. That, and he didn't feel like prostrating himself by asking for a step stool to read the length of the message board. While he bemoaned his stature in comparison to his Fringefolk and Beastkin neighbors, the irony was not lost on Gwyn that a modest bass would keep that same body nourished a full day over. He set himself along the coastal road with his fishing rod and tackle box in tow, scanning the water in the hopes of finding a sufficiently large wake to guide him towards tonight's dinner. Unfortunately, he was too distracted by the large spire piercing the western sky to properly check for aquatic activity, his mind wandering to more esoteric thoughts.
Gwyn wasn't a local to this area; his home village lay further to the east on the outskirts of the Goldvine Forest, and he had few reasons to make the journey across the lake to Brightharbor proper. With every visit, though, he would always learn something new about the city. The first thing he learned was on his third visit 50 years prior. It was about the academy, particularly it pertained to it's supposed founded centuries ago. The story, as Gwyn was drunkenly told by a resident of the academy, begins with a group of adventurers finding a Scriptsmith settlement far to the north, on the mountainous outskirts of Gohlg. Within this settlement these adventurers chanced upon a large chamber containing a massive stone tablet with two unique scripts written on each side, that of the Scriptsmiths and Empyriels.The Empyriel script was still in use, though Gwyn had never seen nor heard of a living Empyriel in his 120 year life. Regardless, these adventurers realized the significance of this tablet and took it back to Brightharbor. Among the group that brought back the tablet were magical scholars researching the disappearance of Scriptsmiths from the region, who decided to settle down permanently to study this area further. Thus, the Brightharbor Academy was founded in an old tavern.
Gwyn felt certain there was more to the story, specifically how the academy grew and the city around it, but he admittedly had a full pint in him when he heard it straight from the academic's mouth. One thing that did stand out to him at the time, and still to this day, was that both scripts shared the same word:'Hom'
Hom was the common name given to the Great Tree of the realm, with every disparate group of peoples borrowing it from the Empyriels. The academy still was not sure the word came from the Scriptsmiths or the Empyriels, but that level of scholarly pursuit was beyond Gwyn. He was much happier to ponder to himself if those two groups called the tree "Hom" because that's where they came from, or if it reminded them of their original homes far away. Gwyn's personal feelings leaned toward the latter theory, as he only ever needed to gaze upon the massive canopy to take him back to his childhood in the Goldvine.Relaxed from his thoughts, Gwyn found himself just a couple minutes away from his favorite spot on the lake. Reaching a marshy part of the coast, only a few dexterous leaps stood between him and a peaceful afternoon. Regaining stable footing at the water's edge, Gwyn noticed peculiar bubbling a respectable distance away and began to bait his fishing rod. Opting for a weighted lure, Gwyn whispered a brief incantation to himself before casting off.
"Ymsefeydlu!"A dull glow manifested from Gwyn's arm, radiating outward to both his rod and the ground beneath him. He waited for the aetherical bonds to calm, anchoring him in place. Once Gwyn felt his body firmly rooted, he threw the rod forward, aiming toward the bubbling. The lure landed a fair ways beyond the bubbling but did not disturb its presence. Gwyn waited for the line to go taught before slowly turning the reel briefly to jerk the lure forward. Gwyn waited patiently for a few minutes as the sounds of the wildlife around him blended together, occasionally turning the reel in to try and attract the source of the bubbling. Admitting defeat, Gwyn fully reeled back the untouched lure to replace it for a follow-up.
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Gwyn's body was briefly stopped by what felt like solid earth. He surmised in the moment he'd sank to the lakebed itself but was quickly pulled further down into the solid mass. The ground molded around him as the water above pushed harder and harder. Gwyn was expelled from his water purgatory after a brief interlude in his temporary grave, falling some distance in air before landing onto a solid, but soft surface."Oof!" An unknown voice cried out.
Gwyn gathered what little composure remained and stood himself up. Scanning his surroundings, he found himself in the presence of a now-damp Canid Beastkin."Are you alright, young master?" the same voice called out. "That was a mighty fall you took!"
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