Midwinter – solemness in celebration?
The white blanket was laid over the grasslands, forests and hills around the great city of Baldur’s Gate. Rumor had it that even the city itself got cloaked in white. Icy winds and snowflakes danced over Road and River. Winter was getting stronger and yet soon it would become again
weaker. Not that there was a winter to witness like in any kinds of “north”. Tramahsthas knew the winters around the Moonsea and Rashemen. In many years of past, those were already very harsh, confronting each individual in their own way. The Gur of his caravan or elves known told about the winters of the Great Glacier or the Spine of the World. He hasn’t travelled there yet. Both places too up north and only the mountains of the Glacier came in sight for once, as he first travelled to Rashemen. The winters in the Old Lands taught him merciless about freezing cold and dark winter days after leaving Elventree.
Here at the coast, the weather seems as moody as the people living here. Or did they grow moody because of the weather, eventually? Perhaps. This new snow blanket followed after some days of rain and melting, only to grow “stronger” and “whiter” again. At least it felt that way. He liked it. Even though the cold bitten many times, just as in the year before, into his pale skin. Leaving him with with pink cheeckbones and freezing fingertips. As steamy clouds of his breath got caught and blown away by the winter winds.
“
Almost two years now.”
He spoke the words aloud as he traveled through the wilderness, leaving Triel behind after his reverie. For some hours he had followed the roads and the Trade Way and without further thought, as if he had heard a soundless call, he turned his steps into the wilderness, seemingly without aim. But that wasn’t the case. There was a place he sought before and now this place once more was his destination. Through hill and vale, following the dance of the Chiontar's riverbed, his steps leaded towards a certain part of the road towards west again. Sooner or later a crossway came in sight, as well as the road actually connecting it with Triel and Baldurs Gate. A castle was build there, perhaps to guide and guard. A watchpoint of something or someone. He had heared a name connected eventualy, though only by rumor. His glance drifted away. South from this castle, the forest of sharp teeth touched with its outskirts the riverbed from that side of the river.
Several times Tramahthas had travelled this area, but not to find the castle but a certain other place. How far it was from there? Who knows, if in sight of the castle, noticed or seen by others.
As he found that particular place the first time, signs of camping and rite were found without doubt. And so that place came to his attention and was watched by the elf every time again and now, for two moons round, with closer attention again. Did nature reclaim that place? That little stone structure made by hand? Slumbering near the source that flows into the Chiontar, or was it not? Or were there signs of new camping life or usage of the place, trees and left over things.
And now therefore midwinter was nearing, he did what a voice within whispered every time again to him. It was the reason he had come here many times before. Along with his badger-spiritguide and the wolfspirit together. First watching, now acting. He approached the calm place and began to care for it. The Totem of the Orcskull finally found his rest. A new Totem… or better, a new Token was placed. A Talisman for good will, protection and a sign of life returning. Onwards with the turning of the wheel, seasons will change again. And so this would be a visable sign for those approaching.
If someone of the castle might notice the change? If travelers came close enough? Who knows. What is known is, that the bardic spirit shaman did not hide his presence, he even greeted the castle and its wardens after his workings in the wild. From time to time a basket with goods of nature as a present, it was before winter. This time two bottles of Jhuildwine will become a parting gift to warm their souls on the first of Alturiak.
And maybe, just perhaps, little ghostly lights were seen in a clear night between the trees, fleeting like a fairy or a whisp. Perhaps some one knowledgable of the craft would notice the tiny wintercharms somewhere hanging in the trees around the partly hidden place. And now, having midwinter nearing, a ghostly voice sang in solemn reverence to the spirits of winter and earth to hail the mid of winter near.
