Introduction - Carabas and the Forming of the Fellowship
Gather around the fires, kitlings, for the spring evenings are still cool and even rich fur won’t keep the chill from elder bones.
I’ve a tale to tell you. A tale of derring-do. A tale of adventure. A tale of heroism. A tale of fighting for all the little people of the world against she who took the title of “Overlord”.
A tale, of course, about me.
Now, I’ve no doubt you’ve heard bits and pieces of this great and glorious saga. Others have written of it – historians, scholars, even an occasional bard.
But never have you heard the true story. The story to chill the blood, and inspire the heart. The story to cause gasps, and huzzahs. The story I will tell you now.
My story.
I’ll not tire you with the early days, the gathering, the raising of a band of fellows that found they must stand up against the depredations of the Overlord, or see the world plunged into despair, blood, and death.
Though many companions came and left our quest, five was our core number, the number of the fellowship.
The big guy in front was Virens, a fierce Orcish warrior. Now, now, no need to tremble. I know what you’re thinking, and the rumors that are told. I can assure you that no such thing ever happened while we journeyed together. Indeed, perhaps I set an example for him that will end such practices across his people.
Just as he set an example for me.
What, you say? How could Carabas need an example set? Ah, well then, I was much younger in those days, the white patches more contained, my mind perhaps a bit more flighty. Virens, for all one might be concerned about his fierce demeanor, taught me lessons of valor, of strength of commitment, of duty. Lessons I knew, mind you, but by personifying them, he gave me an example to emulate in their application.
Rowan, of great fame, was our Harbinger, with all that implies. He contributed quite a bit to our fellowship, with his arcane knowledge and ability to apply it in spooky, magical ways. A rebel among his people – something we bore in common, to be sure – he wielded great powers with as much finesse as one might expect from one of the Biggers.
Of that dire figure Wynn you know as well, and they were indeed the figure of tragedy and horror that the tales from that time tell. And yet they were a figure of great nobility as well, bearing the weight and duties of centuries with dignity. Also, birds liked him, which made for some good hunting.
(Did they ever try to steal my soul to power their darksome magic? Not that I never noticed. Yes, I know those rumors as well, the tales of lost Nelres. A Catling soul is more difficult to steal than even an Ohir wizard-knight might think – but offering up its mighty strength willingly, ah, well that, as you will see, is a different matter.)
No description of our fellowship would be complete without Wrangler Ann, who personified what it means to be human: cranky, loyal, helpful, occasionally wise, usually stubborn, but with a strength that belies all the belittling things one sometimes hears your elders say. Humans are – well some of them – sharper than you think. And when things got tough – as you will hear – when the strength of Virens’ arm, or Rowan’s craft, or Wynn’s will, or even, on those rare moments when my wit and daring were insufficient, then Ann’s common sense and devotion were the things that saved us all. She always had my back, and I was proud to call her my fellow, not just my squire.
But enough about them. More about me!