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| - Millenia passed from the crowning of Granthithor. In that time, the world continued as it had. Though evil rose, it seldom seemed as though it would overcome the goodness of the world. Wars were waged, but in the end always gave way to peace. As the ages continued on, it seemed, the darkness came more frequently... and with the darkness, an age of Heroes began. "What about you?" Kenneth asked, startled, "Where are you hurrying?" The Wanderer smiled gently. "It will soon be your time. Wanderers are forged in the desert's heat." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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| - Millenia passed from the crowning of Granthithor. In that time, the world continued as it had. Though evil rose, it seldom seemed as though it would overcome the goodness of the world. Wars were waged, but in the end always gave way to peace. As the ages continued on, it seemed, the darkness came more frequently... and with the darkness, an age of Heroes began. The Wanderer was one such adventurer. His name, long forgotten in the legends of his own time, became renown. And it was due to this reputation that the brutish barbarian Kenneth the Huge sought out wayfarer. "I am tired of brawn," he announced in such eloquence that it was surprising from a fur-clad warrior such as himself, "Behind me is a path of bloodshed. Let me leave it behind and become as you are -- brave, but smart." The Wanderer agreed without any hesitation. He knew that Kenneth would far surpass his own heroism, for the Wanderer saw many things that were hidden from the rest of the world. And so, the two journeyed together for many years. Eventually, their path took them to the kingdom of Serenia, into the Endless Desert there. Kenneth, much hardier and younger than the Wanderer, was faring much better. The sun beat down on them, drawing the water out of their bodies as they strode across the dunes. "There is an oasis not far from here," the Wanderer pointed out to his companion as the stumbled through the sand, exhausted and dehydrated, "You will make it if you hurry." "What about you?" Kenneth asked, startled, "Where are you hurrying?" The Wanderer smiled gently. "It will soon be your time. Wanderers are forged in the desert's heat." Fear flitted across the barbarian's face as understanding came to him. They had come to this place because the Wanderer was preparing to die -- there was no quest to be had in this desolate area. "But... I am not ready!" Kenneth argued, "I cannot fill your shoes!" The Wanderer coughed, the sand that blew around them combined with his waning strength was making it hard to breath. "You need only fill your own. Now, go. Drink, and leave this arid place. Good-bye, dear friend." "Farewell." Obediently, Kenneth turned and headed in the direction of the oasis. He was too dry to weep, though he wished he could. The Wanderer had befriended a barbarian of fearsome reputation without any hesitation or question. Now, he expected that same man to become the Wanderer? Being alone in the world would be misery enough, without the added pressure of carrying on the legendary namesake. Kenneth reached the oasis and knelt at it, drinking the water greedily. His thirst quenched, he began to cry. The tears rolled down his face, dropping from his cheeks and splashing into the surface of the oasis. The mirror-like surface rippled with each tiny tear. As night fell, the barbarian regained control of his emotions. The Wanderer had never steered him wrong before -- why would he this time? The idea was absurd. His judgement should be trusted. In the morning, he would leave the desert as the new Wanderer. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Kenneth the Huge had reached the Village of Serenia by mid-afternoon the next day. He was surprised to see a large crowd gathered in the middle of the main street. Despite his grief, he felt compelled to draw near to the crowd. The Wanderer would have investigated, certainly. And now he was the Wanderer, it was his obligation to fulfill even if he was beset with sadness. The town crier was about to make a pronouncement of some kind. The timing was too perfect to be anything less then Fate. "Hear ye, hear ye! His Majesty, King George IV, has suffered a terrible loss this very day! The fair Princess Priscilla, our king's only daughter, has been stolen by the mad wizard Harlin the Malevolent!" A fearful whisper rushed through the crowd in a wave. Kenneth could tell this was not the first evil act this mage had been responsible for. His reputation was as powerful as any magic he might wield. "His Majesty offers half his kingdom to any who travel beyond the Great Mountains to Harlin's island in the Northern Sea and rescue our dear princess!" Kenneth the Wanderer stepped forward. "In which direction do the Great Mountains lie from this village?" he asked. This, he reasoned, had to be the quest that the first Wanderer knew was coming. The quest that would prove his resourcefulness and heroism. The quest he had to undertake alone. "Who are you?" a villager demanded. "I am the Wanderer."
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