Wheel of Time MUD

Although I have been writing these short stories piece by piece, kind of figuring out the plotline as I go (I feel as if I have a direction now in terms of how to wrap up the story), I figured maybe someone else would enjoy the writing as much as I had enjoyed coming up with the story line. I hope you find something you like along the way. In a way, this is an Elara origin story, designed to set up her purpose within the game. I really wanted to use actual player names in the various encounters with individuals but, I did not want to offend anyone by using their names without their permission.

If anyone feels strongly towards one of the characters mentioned in the story, I would love to write them in and use their name as opposed to someone more generic. Thank you.

Part One: Memories

The old tower loomed overhead, ramshackle boards blocking the old double doors. Cracked timbers and broken iron latches were all that was left of a once pristine entry way just off of the Lugard road. The stone looked the same, weathered but with green ivy having consumed most of the left side of the building now that there was no one to maintain the grounds. She questioned her motives as she began to pace in front of the old entrance to the tower. The moon was near full, illuminating the tower in an ominous manner which didn't help as she rolled over her options. Her breath floated on the wind in the crisp cold night air, if nothing else she would be sheltered from the wind if she could find a way inside.

She struggled to move one of the large boards blocking the old door. Putting her shoulder into it, she tried once more with little progress as the large planks seemed immensely heavy. After much effort and several breaks she managed to lean into one of the larger timbers and pry it from it's place, giving way to the weaker of the two double doors. Squeezing through the crack between the two old doors she cursed under her breath her last meal before giving way to the old foyer just inside. She fumbled in the darkness for a moment or two before finding what appeared to be an old wax candle left in an iron candleholders, one one each side of the doors. A match fizzled as it danced to life, the smell of sulphur filling her nose as she gave life to the old candle which slowly illuminated the abandoned foyer.

The glimmer of candle light revealed overturned furniture in the foyer near the stairwell just ahead, and likely an unstable set of large cellar doors. Taking caution to step around the cellar doors she walked quietly towards the steps leading further into the tower, stopping at the foot of the stairs briefly to rub the dust off an old granite plaque. Brushing the dust away and cobwebs revealed what appeared to be a cross carved into the granite. Her mind raced back to at least twenty years ago when the old tower was once a pristine field hospital and well staffed during the great war with the Red Eagles. Her heart began to beat faster as she recalled the adrenaline she experienced rushing up and down the stairs, running supplies to the rooms above. The soft pattering of her boots were the only noise as she slowly climbed the old stone staircase deeper into the tower.

The soft glow of the old wax candle gave way to more overturned furniture, old wooden beds that patients would lay in, and the occasional piece of metal. She searched nearby shelves as she ascended through several floors of the tower in search of her quarry but, to no avail. Most of the tower had been ransacked by thieves, and once abandoned it provided shelter to others likely without anywhere to go for some time until they boarded the place up. The halls once sanitary and pristine were now covered with trash, broken furniture, and the occasional rat crawling around. As she neared the top floor that looked out down the road and into Lugard nearby, a glint of metal caught her eye in a pile of ash.

A once roaring hearth, one located on each floor now dilapidated and nothing left but a pile of ash and burnt coals in each gave way to something more. She got down on her knees and started digging through the ash where she had seen the glint of metal, pulling from it a single tool. Holding the tool up to the candle light she examined the tool, an old pair of shears with something imprinted on the handle. Barely legible, her family name was etched onto the tool. Grinning in the darkness she reveled in her discovery, this had surely been her father's. A family heirloom that she was once promised as a girl, never fulfilled.

Overcome by the moment her eyes began to well with tears before digging frantically through the rest of the pile of ash and burnt wood. She pulled yet another silvery tool from the ash, this time what appeared to be a scalpel which also had her last name etched into the handle. Racing downstairs she rifled through the rest of the hearths, revealing several more pieces that belonged to her Father when he served in the field hospital. She placed each tool in an oilskin bag after an exhaustive search, with several pieces still missing. Exhausted and her candle beginning to flicker and dim, she disappointedly headed for the double doors below.

There was still more searching to be done, whether it be the old field hospital in the tower in Murandy, or the old camp in the neighboring plains. She would never stop searching until she recovered the entire set, and learned how to put them to use as her Father did before her.

to be continued...

Part Two: Secrets of the Plains

Determined to unravel the mystery of her father's tools and his last whereabouts, Elara emerged from the old tower's dilapidated confines into stillness of the night, and with it the bone chilling wind that insisted on curling down the bowels of the Lugard road. The weather had taken a turn for the worst as she peered overhead at the sound of an old burnt out lantern creaking from above as iron rubbed iron swaying on the wind. The moon cast an ethereal glow on the ivy-covered stone, creating what felt like an even eerier silhouette of the once pristine field hospital and begged her to seek shelter elsewhere, somewhere warm.

With her oilskin bag clutched tightly in hand, she pondered her next move as she strode through the rural outskirts of Lugard nearby, torches glowing in the distance marking the entry to the small gates. Despite the weather outside that evening, beggars and others could be seen drifting through the streets near the main gate, a town that never really truly sleeps. Several pairs of eyes watched her from the cobbled streets as she made her way towards an inn, not stopping to make conversation. As if breaking and entering wasn't enough adrenaline for one night, her heart almost stopped when a particularly aggressive beggar leapt from the shadows demanding coin. Composing herself and hurried along she finally found some moment of reprieve in the upstairs of a small inn on the southern road. She lay in bed that night, running her hands over the tools she had reclaimed, feeling the grooves of each and the individual letters etched into their handles by candle light.

The journey was far from over....

Deciding to explore the neighboring plains, she embarked on a quest to uncover more fragments of her Father's legacy and hoped to garner some clues as to his last whereabouts. There were rumors of another field hospital on the plains, mostly used for casualty overflow and recovery for those lacking more a more dire need for direct care. She had recovered information that listed her Father had at least visited the hospital at one time, but it was not a permanent location and to be fair, the information was purely here say from an older farmer in the village of Emonds Field that described him in some matching detail.

The gnarls of tall grass of the Murandian plains billowed in the sunlight, rolling in waves of yellow after a hard winter. The sun optimistically barreled down on the young traveler as she followed a mostly well traveled path leading from the western gates of Lugard to the west towards the village of Emonds Field. Having started early that morning, she pursued what was described as an ole marker near a pond somewhere in the middle of the plains, she would turn north and leave the beaten path in search of where the old camp was once described as being set up. The camp would prove to be difficult to find as it was quite make shift to begin with, and a less permanent structure than the old tower.

Having searched for what felt like most of the afternoon, she had given up on the directions she had received to go north and instead turned south. Just before sun down, she stumbled onto what appeared to be oddly shaped stone pillars to the south of old stone in the road serving as a marker. Among the ruined stone, she stumbled upon a rusted chest half-buried in the soil. Excitement surged through her as she pried it from the cold ground, revealing what appeared to be a soiled set of papers. She began reading what she could make out from the papers, mostly descriptions of those that had been presumably admitted to the camp at the time, and then eventually a log. One thing for certain was this had been the camp at one point, or somewhere nearby as an old rusted tent pole, some rope, and other odds and ends were found giving it more resemblance of a field hospital, but no such luck in finding any tools.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Murandian sky in hues of orange and pink, but she pressed on, driven by an insatiable curiosity. Scowering the nearby area by torch light, she tested her wit and courage as the sound of plains animals grew as the darkness of night thickened. The billowing noise of burning sap from her torch drown out most of the unsettling animal sounds coming from the tall grass as she continued scowering the grassy plains well into the evening. From time to time she would uncover similar buried wooden binders, mostly housing more logs and information that seemed unrelated to her search, but with each new finding a glimmer of hope began to grow and her perseverance roared on.

About 100 paces directly into some tall grass near the ruined pillars, she uncovered yet another wooden binder with more log notes. However, the contents were different than the others. The color of paper was a light blue color, reminding her of a robin egg. The writing was more elegant and the verbiage more precise. Although there were missing pages, several were signed with a distinct signature. Several pages were dedicated purely to herbal remedies, something slightly out of the ordinary, at least for the level of detail and herbs she could not readily identify, and some that she could.

A particular note stood out, alleging her Father was a patient at the field hospital and there were notes describing his injury and then the rest of the page was missing, torn from the binder itself. Her mind raced as she poured through the rest of her findings, searching note after note. Feeling confused and somewhat frantic, she couldn't comprehend why her Father was listed as a patient and not administering medical treatment to those at the field hospital, none of his tools were found anywhere near the area and she had looked for hours now and to no avail. She was able to make out a signature on another page shortly after information about her Father was discovered although unclear the results or scenario entirely, but herbs were being special ordered from the north. Not just any north, but Somewhere in Saldaea. Her thoughts bounced back and forth from one another, perhaps someone who wrote the request was ordering herbs from a country not involved in the war at the time between the Red Eagles and Andor. Whoever this request was addressed to, these never made it.

The moon hung low in the night sky, witnessing the continuation of her quest as Elara sulked on her knees alone, her hands still clutching handfuls of soiled papers. With her torch beginning to burn low as the sap was eaten away over time by the licking flames, she knelt in place feeling helpless. Her hands were beat up from rifling through the dirt for hours, her eyes burned from perusing hundreds of papers under the torch light, and her mind exhausted from trying to make things make sense after seeing her Father described as a patient and not someone administering treatment. Surely there was a mistake, bad notes maybe, but there was still so many questions that lingered. She picked herself up from the pile of scattered papers, tucking the important ones with the information about the special order herbs from the north into an oil skinned bag, and brushed herself off.

Nothing will come of it, if she didn't ride north and find the source of those herbs, and why they would be called from all the way from Irinjavar, Saldaea. She did not know who she would meet, but she had a signature and an address of where it was supposed to go, and that was her only hope. Elara was willing to pay the price of gambling, if there was even a sliver of hope at the end of yet another arduous journey. This time it would lead her out of Murandy, through the mining towns of Andor, and crossing the Great Forest towards Saldaea.

to be continued....

Part Three: The path to wisdom

The weight of the revelations from the discoveries made on the Murandian plains still hung heavy on her mind, but the determination to uncover the truth about her father's mysterious patient files renewed her decisions to press on. Saldaea was quite the ride, so much so that she had never actually been north of the mining town of White Bridge. She had read books as a child describing the flora and fauna of the Great Forest with descriptions of creatures several hands higher than an average man, caretakers of the realm. The path was unknown other than heading north through the forest, but all journeys start with the decision to take them, and that was enough for her in that moment to begin again.

With Lugard behind her, she set out towards Irinjavar, guided by the address she had uncovered in the recovered patient logs. The Lugard road stretched ahead as she passed by the old tower, pressing north and leaving Murandy. As she traveled, Elara pondered the significance of the herbs and the field hospital's involvement. Her father's unexpected status as a patient added layers beyond her comprehension making concentrating at times a task as difficult as the trip itself.

The journey led her through the mining towns of Andor, where the air was thick with the scent of smoke burning from every chimney in town as snow had begin to fall. The town of Four Kings nested high on top a hill midway between the White Bridge provided a hot meal and a place to stable her horse overnight but, with it brought more time alone. Every night since the search had picked up offered nothing but lonely nights left to her own thoughts as they battled one another for answers. Her mind exhausted, she finally drifted off to sleep in a tiny room upstairs of the Dancing Cartman.

..ZZZZZ zzzzz

.. ZZZZZZZ..zzzzz.. ZZZZZZ..

Surrounded by lush fields of brightly colored gheandin blossoms she strolled, a well walked dirt path the only way forward. In the distance a figure in a white cotton shirt, bent over with a spade in hand. Her heart beat faster as she continued to approach the figure. Looking over his shoulder he turned to face her, the figure began to emanate a soft white glow, bathed in a shimmering white light as they continued to pull herbs from the ground.

"Give me a hand with these Elara," the figure said without turning to acknowledge her presence.

Elara looked down and realized she held a basket, an old woven basket like the one's from home, filled with soil and gheandin blossoms.

As she looked up the figure slowly rose to his feet, lifting himself from the garden floor and turned to her.

Handsome with a charming symmetry a middle aged man stared back at her, a grin on his face.

"Fa.. Father???"..

The man stood before her in somewhat disbelief, still smiling before breaking the silence, "Hurry up kid, what took you so long?"

Standing speechless she slowly extended her hand bearing the basket. As the man in her dreams shimmered in a pillar of light, as if he were the creator himself, he flickered and disappeared. Everything was gone. Gasping for air she came to in her single bed of the Dancing Cartman, a cold sweat soaking through her clothes. "Father..", she gasped to herself. Sitting bolt upright in bed she gathered her breathing and sank back into the sheets from which she rose. Staring at the ceiling she recalled what little she could from the dream. What did it all mean?

Eventually drifting off to sleep again, she found a moment of solace as no more dreams were conjured that evening, or what was left of it before heading out that morning towards the White Bridge. Elara pressed on with the power of determination and some of the finest kaf she had tasted from the town of White Bridge, crossing into the Great Forest in a day's time.

The gates of the forest towered above the White Bridge, with large gnarled trees stacked together in pillars of life. With a thick canopy the snow troubled itself making it's way to the shady forest floor, and the eerie silence settled in as she made her way towards the Ford. There she was greeted by several rangers of the realm, those tasked with standing guard of the Great Forest. Dark forest green cowls covered long dark hair of most of them as they stood stoically standing guard of the old passage way deeper into the Great Forest. Nodding in silence as she passed through, as if they knew of her journey. Very few words were exchanged before pressing further into the forest.

As the landscape shifted, becoming more rugged and untamed, Elara finally arrived in the heart of the Great Forest. Passing by a grassy slab just south east of the larger opening in the forest, she was met by a patrol of more rangers, this time on horseback. Her presence was greeted much differently this time as a particularly large rider challenged her presence as she approached. Large tufted ears and a much bigger horse than the other riders stood out to Elara among other features. A calming soft voice questioned her reasoning for being in the forest, in which she replied she was traveling north to Irinjavar. Elara tried her best to leave out most of the details but, revealed her log notes and the address she was attempting to locate.

Pausing for a moment in silence the large figure removed it's cowl, revealing themselves further what must have been the first ogier Elara had ever encountered. With large curious eyes the size of small pans, the ogier considered her quest, accompanied by the silence of the other riders present. Losing track of time she waited quietly under the gaze of many eyes, the occasional pawing of hooves the only interruptions. Several minutes passed as the ogier seemed to be lost in deep thought as he continued to stare down at her. Breaking the silence, Elara offered her notes to the ogier heading up the patrol at the Heart of the Great Forest once more, insisting that she must be on her way soon. The ogier's facial expression softened and a semblance of a smile crept across his face. The tension of the riders felt immediately cut at the waist and several laughs were shared.

"I do believe you are who you say you are, little rider, and you do not be up to mischief here in the Great Forest", explained the forest leader.

"I do be willing to help you to reach Irinjavar. It is getting dark, and I know the safest path from here," he drawled.

Obliging to take the help, Elara agreed to party up with the Ogier for the last leg of her trip towards the village of Irinjavar just north of the Heart.

To be continued....