Windsoul Family/Tarawethion

Tarawethion

I, Llainadan Denkala, do now enter into the recording of the life and deeds of Tarawethion Windsoul, younger brother to Thaliithilion. Unlike my more cynical Sisters, I am not so quick to disregard the countless rumours and in some cases, outright assurances that this aspect of the family heralded from Elvish homelands. As such, I refuse to filter such things from this record, inviting the reader to decide for his or herself.

The first mention of Tarawethion, (which is pronounced "Tarr-ah-weth-ee-en") comes from a half-complete census in Caligus on the East Continent. Though the document is much damaged by fire, its remains show that the archer made landfall there in the Spring of Restless Winds. It is interesting to note that this places Tarawethion's arrival on the East Continent a season before his older brother, despite my esteemed Sister's list that puts Thaliithilion as the first to arrive. However, it would seem he was not to stay there long, driven away by an apathy that affected the nobles of the realm at that time - or a hostile reaction to his appearance, or both of these things - it is not certain. He boarded a ship to the Atamara only soon after landing in Caligus. It is a delicately-written page from the journal of a noblewoman traveling on the same ship as Tarawethion that first describes the archer's appearance;

"...doth roll upon the waves in a most disagreeable manner upon the slightest of winds. I cannot, alas, speak highly of the sailors whom I am forced to endure the company of - to a man they are coarse and strong-tongued, even in the presence of a lady, and do say the most disrespectful of things. There is one fellow traveler, however, who shares not this common behavior and indeed has shown great courtesy, though he has not spoken. A nobleman of some standing, from his breeches and jerkin made of what seems to be the greenest velvet. He doth wear a sturdy rope about his waist in the way of the woodland rangers back home, but it is entwined with some kind of gold fabric! He wears little else except soft moccasins of deer hide and a silver necklace on which hangs a closed orb of sorts, but he is obviously a warrior of the bow, for he carries a most impressive example, dark brown in colour and almost his own height, which must be six in feet! Always does he carry a full quiver of slim arrows graced with light green feathering and a long, thin knife thrust through his belt. It is his face though, which is most intriguing. So youthful, and yet the blue eyes are far older, as if they have seen far more than his age ought to allow. It is most disquieting. This man always wears a dark green cloth about his head, covering the tops of his ears and holding back his great spill of black hair. A braid to rival even Cinegan's, back home, it reaches unto the base of his back, tied neatly at three points with silver cord. It is my want that I shall speak to him before this journey's end, in that I might learn more of his origins. His pleasant, if silent company would be much preferable to these crude men of the sea..."

– From the personal journal of Ashtur Perashina, noblewoman of Norland

We know, through an arduous expedition by the Sisterhood to the freezing lands of the Barony of Makar in the north of Atamara, that this was the next place that Tarawethion would attempt to settle down. We know also that this was not his choice, for the ship struck an iceberg some leagues north of Icegate city, and most on board were luckily rescued by a patrolling longboat. Taken back to the city as guests and not prisoners, (for they heralded from no enemy realm at that time) Tarawethion attempted to repay the debt for saving his life by aiding the Barony’s Viking armies in their conquests of the north.

Though he struggled, he was not well-suited to the harsh and unforgiving conditions, suffering greatly from chills and weariness brought on by the endless blizzards and scouring winds. Nor did he feel at home among the Vikings, whose culture differed so drastically from his own. These things we know through our discovery of a handful of pages, lost from Tarawethion’s own journal and given to us by an innkeeper named Bor’lan. I quote the relevant writings here;

“I can feel myself weakening. These Viking men, they are built like the oxen and yak, each with hair enough for ten men and the strength of five. They feel no cold, yet they wear only fur and leather. They seem to take a grim satisfaction from the hollow chill in the air, and the continuous snow. Truly, there is a blizzard beating and howling at the walls of this place even now, driven back only by a log fire stocked high. I am writing by its light, for this truly is a dark and dreary realm all year round. I accompany the Viking men on their raids of cities and towns; this seems to be how they ward off the oppression of the ever-grey sky, this and the accumulation of gold and consumption of strong drink. Never am I invited to these carousing sessions, of course, for though I serve their army and they make use of my bow, I am not a Viking, and thus little more than a foreign mercenary wearing their colours. If I were to drink half of what a single man takes in his flagon nightly, I would be no use to them at all!

I cannot see myself remaining here for very long, for I desire warmer climes, and recognition of my service in honourable battle, rather than the unpleasantness of raids and the burning of towns. Indeed, I must be sure to leave before midwinter, else the snows will be too deep for travel.”

– From the personal journal of Tarawethion Windsoul