Fellowship
The winds of change blow, and as ages come and go they herald the rise and fall of civilisations, the making and breaking of kings and kingdoms, the shifting of lands and seas, and the coming of ages of ice... Only memories remain, and they become legend; myths fading across the aeons of time.
He came from the East, a traveller from distant lands, journeying through far-off Khitai and the plains of Vendhya, across steppes and deserts, mountains and seas, he saw hawks over Shem and serpent towers in Stygia, riding to the ends of the Westeros, the Reach and beyond the Wall... Word of a Dragon reborn, a prophecy fulfilled and the coming of the Others brought him through gleaming cities and across the spine of the world. His voyages took him beyond the Four Kingdoms, the Clanholds and the Badlands of the Great Want, in a search for a black tower and a king with a crown of iron...
There was a time when sword was master and he fought wars in the names of others, spilling blood and brutally ending life for no better reasons than land and fortune... Many events have led him here, many peoples aided or hindered his solitary quest, though at times he wonders if the search will ever be over, a seemingly eternal curse. His Craft has grown with his knowledge, his power now reaching so much further than steel ever could, but what lies in wait for him at the end? Only time will tell. It was time that taught him a more peaceful way, to heal and prolong life, rather than end it.
Time. For him it does not pass as for most. Decades are as years, and centuries as decades... Lands and people that once were have since been usurped, the old ways long forgotten. But not by him. He remembers these very ruins as they once were, millennia ago, resplendent in their newly-built majesty - but that was another time... His gaze turns skyward, suppressing memories. The crescent moon shines brightly here, he notes, and as it casts a strange glow over the fallen edifice he remembers what happened all those years ago...
A cold shiver runs through him.
"Winter is coming," he whispers as he surveys the darkened Wolfswood, the wind lifting his hair and rippling his cloak. His steed becomes restless while his hunting eagle, a gift from the Khan, stretches its wings impatiently. It is time to move on...
