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Brand Haversack was beginning to doze while sitting at the antique desk situated in the middle of one of the many guest rooms located in Castle Holstier, the home of the Count Holstier who ruled the small, nearby village in the name of the Lords of Waterdeep.
The Count had commissioned Brand to update the family’s history. The Count’s grandfather had been the last one to do so nearly 500 years ago. Brand had the three thick volumes stacked in front of him, though he had been forbidden to crack any of them open before he finished interviewing the living family members.
Which is what he was waiting for presently. The youngest son, whose name Brand was not given, was over an hour late for their appointment. Once that interview was over, Brand could begin the rest of his research into the more recent family history.
The bard hadn’t heard anyone enter, maybe he had finally fallen asleep, or maybe the youngster was just that stealthy. Anyway, Brand was startled when the young elf said, “Hello bard, my father has told me that you have been commissioned to document our family’s history.”
Brand quickly sat up and pretended to organize the papers in front of him to distract from his dozing. He replied, “Yes, and well met! My name is Brand Haversack. Poet, philosopher, and historian extraordinaire! I’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
The young elf eyed the bard skeptically, but gave no indication of understanding the dig or any interest in furthering the conversation. He simply stood in the doorway and gazed idly around the room.
Brand gestured to the chair across from him where the youngster’s two older brothers, two older sisters, mother, father, six uncles, and four aunts had sat before him. The bard said, “Please sit… uh… well, your father refused to give me your name. We can start there and you can tell me about yourself.”
Something about the elf’s demeanor changed at the mention of his father, and not in a more pleasant way. The elf sat down gruffly, making it obvious to Brand that he didn’t want to be there. He said nothing.
Brand bit the inside of his cheek to brace his already low patience and said, “Your father hasn’t told me anything about you. He apparently wants me to learn from you without any prior biases. So, let’s start with the basics. What is your name? Tell me about yourself.”
Brand dipped his quill and prepared to write as the young man began speaking, “Well, my name is Zilthar du Holstier, youngest son of Cranthar du Holstier. I will turn one hundred and fourteen next Mirtul. I don’t really know what else to say about myself that might interest you.”
Brand sighed inwardly. He’d met all kind’s during the past few weeks, but getting anything out of this kid was going to be harder than getting gold out of a dragon. He said, “Well, start at the beginning, Zilthar. Tell me of your upbringing.”
Zilthar’s gaze became unfocused as his mind reached into his past. He said, “Well, I was born right here in this castle. As you have probably already heard, my mother died during my birth.” Brand had heard that, but wrote it down again anyway. Zilthar continued, “My education started here, of course. My father’s sister, Murandiel, was the one who raised me and taught me the basics before I was sent to Courassier Preparatory School in Waterdeep. While there, I lived in our family’s villa in the North Ward with my aunt.”
The young elf paused and Brand knew that there was more to the story. He prodded, “What happened during school?”
Worry crossed Zilthar’s face, but Brand didn’t understand why. The young elf said, “It’s not what happened, it’s what didn’t happen. What never happens in my life.”
Brand had to admit that his curiosity was piqued. With bated breath, he said, “What didn’t happen?”
Zilthar glanced towards the open door. Without hesitation, Brand jumped up and quietly closed the door and returned to his seat. The young elf still hesitated, so Brand said, “Whatever you say within these walls will stay here, young Zilthar. Not everything that your family, or yourself, tells me will go into print.”
That seemed to satisfy the elf, who said, “I didn’t see my father or brothers for nearly two decades during my schooling. Even my aunt became distant during the last few years. I was alone more than not. I hardly had any friends at school. You probably heard about what happened in my grandfather’s day,” Brand hadn’t yet and made a mental note to come back to that, “the other nobles’ children certainly remember it. No one wanted to be friends with the boy from House Pariah.”
Instead of digging into the details of whatever happened to House Holstier, Brand pressed on into Zilthar’s life by saying, “That must have been lonely. What happened after your schooling was done?”
Zilthar’s gaze grew distant again as he searched his memories. He said, “My father wanted me to become a wizard, you see. Standard noble children requirements, of course, one great warrior, one great cleric, and one great wizard. I was not and still am not interested in the magical arts.”
Brand realized he was sitting on the edge of his seat, eager to hear more. He asked, “What did you do?”
Zilthar, defiance in his voice, said, “I ran away, of course.” He paused and Brand saw that he felt foolish as he said, “Not in a childish way with a hobo sack full of cookies or anything like that. I meant that I left Waterdeep with a meager amount of equipment, I didn’t want my father saying that I owed him anything by taking a large amount of money from our coffers. I traveled to Silverymoon in search of Dove Falconhand. I had heard many stories of her adventures and ideals and I felt a close connection with those ideals myself.”
The young elf looked sheepish when he said, “Of course, she wasn’t in Silverymoon and I couldn’t get any information from anyone in the city about her. They probably thought I was some sort of spy. It was pure foolishness, of course. Even if she had been there, it wasn’t as if the great Dove Falconhand would meet with a lowly elf-child with stars in his eyes.”
Zilthar looked up, dreamy-eyed and said, “It would have been the highlight of my life to have met her.”
The young elf blinked away his dreams and said, “Well, I was out of money by that point and signed on with some caravans heading south and west towards Triboar. As happens too often near the Evermoors, the caravan never made it to its destination. We were attacked by a horde of trolls a day out of Olostin’s Hold. I was knocked out early in the battle, so I don’t know what happened to my compatriots exactly, but was told by those who saved me that nothing of the caravan remained except my broken body discovered beneath the wreckage of one of the wagons. They said that I had been dragged there, probably by one of the other caravan guards.”
Brand’s heart was pounding, he was intrigued, this interview was already more exciting than any of the others. Zilthar continued, “I awoke, what I was told was two weeks later, in the High Forest as the prisoner and guest of the Uthgardt tribe called the Tree Ghosts. Normally, they would have killed me as they found me, but their shaman had had a vision just two nights before of finding a lone survivor of a troll raid. That survivor was me.”
Brand found himself stunned by the revelations that Zilthar was sharing with him. He was still taking copious notes. The elf continued, “The shaman kept me in his tent as I recovered. His vision told him to keep me alive, but not what to do with me afterwards.
“Anyway, I lived with the Tree Ghosts for the next few weeks. They put me to work repairing tents, gathering food, things like that. To be honest, I don’t exactly know how long I was there. One night, the shaman woke me up in the middle of the night and told me that he had been inspired by a dream to bring me to their ancestral mound for a test. We left the camp immediately and walked for a few hours.”
Zilthar paused here and looked Brand in the eyes as he said, “You’re not going to believe this next part. Sometimes, I have trouble believing it myself. As dawn approached we arrived at the largest tree that I have ever seen in my life. ‘This is the Grandfather Tree,’ the shaman told me. ‘It will test you and if you pass, it will bring you enlightenment.’”
The young elf closed his eyes and said, “I can’t really explain what happened next. The shaman led me to the tree and left me there. I had what I can only describe as a hallucinogenic vision of sorts. I couldn’t describe it to you and do it justice, but suffice to say, it was an enlightening experience and led me to my goddess, Mielikki and the path of the ranger.”
Brand nodded with sudden understanding, he’d known many rangers in his own life and the link between Zilthar’s desire to meet Dove Falconhand and the rest of his story made sense. Zilthar continued, “When I awoke from my vision, the shaman was gone. I knew then that I would not be welcomed back with the Tree Ghost tribe, and had to find my own way. The vision I had had contained hints of what I was to do, so I left the grove surrounding the Grandfather Tree and found my equipment piled neatly there. I took it and left that sacred place with a light heart and hope for the future.
“I lived for the next few years in the High Forest. I spent some time with the elves, centaur, and fey of the forest and learned the skills of a ranger from them and on my own. I struggled and prospered and struggled some more, but it was a worthwhile experience to be sure.”
Zilthar sighed and remained silent for a few moments. Brand finished catching up with his notes and asked, “What happened then?”
The young ranger’s face betrayed his irritation with himself when he said, “Then suddenly I became homesick. To this day, I don’t know why, but I just had to get home. The trek took me a couple of months. I traveled south through the High Forest towards Unicorn Run. To be honest, a not so small part of me hoped to come across Mielikki, though I know that would have been quite a rare event. Once I arrived at the river, I built a raft from fallen logs and driftwood. I rode the river as far as Secomber, then traveled across the land back here. It was a pretty uneventful journey, though I was anxious about the aftermath of my return.”
Brand sensed another hesitation from Zilthar and waited for the young elf to continue as he made some additions to his notes. Finally, Zilthar said, “When I got home, nothing happened. My father, who hadn’t seen me in decades and hadn’t had news of me in some years, didn’t make any fuss about my return or my absence. It was all very anticlimactic. I took over responsibility for the gardens and farms and defense of the village from my eldest brother so that he could attend court in Waterdeep and here we are five years later.”
The bard hesitated here. He saw many paths he could take from here. He could dig further into some of Zilthar’s adventures, which would mostly be for his own personal entertainment. Or, he could end the interview and move on, an act that his employer would most certainly approve of. Or, and this was the path he wanted to take on most, he could encourage this young, bored, and mostly ignored ranger to make a change in his life, to go out and find adventure, to make the world a better place.
Zilthar and Brand stared almost solemnly at each other for a few moments. Brand felt like he understood Zilthar. His own adventuring days were over, of course, but he recognized the wanderlust and dissatisfaction within the young ranger. Not able to stand it any further, the bard said, “So, when do you leave?”
Confused, Zilthar asked, “What do you mean? Is that your way of dismissing me?”
Brand chuckled and shook his head. He said, “No, young ranger, it is my way of pushing you in the direction you want to go anyway. When are you leaving this castle? When will you restart the life you so desperately want?”
Brand could practically see the gears turning in Zilthar’s head. The young ranger said, “By Mielikki, you’re right. I’ve just been waiting for an excuse or something to make my exit and see more of the world.”
The bard smiled and said, “That is what I gathered from your story and demeanor. Your father will likely sack me for it, but I must encourage you to follow your heart.”
Zilthar quickly stood and said, “My father will not know of your encouragement, dear Brand, and I say ‘dear’ without any hint of irony or sarcasm. You have shown me what my heart has been trying to tell me since I returned home. I do not belong here and want to see what is out there for me. Thank you!”
Without another word, the young ranger darted out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.
Brand chuckled again and organized his notes. He sure hoped that the Count Holstier didn’t hear about his involvement in his youngest son’s departure. His own adventuring days were over and he needed this commission to buy food and lodging for the foreseeable future and Harping did not pay as well as one would have guessed.
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