8A/N: I've had several inquires as to what happened to the KCR series over the past few months so I've decided to re post it warts and all. I very much doubt I'll ever get around to finishing it. It's going to take me quite sometime to re post it all.
"So many years ago today..." Daeghun Farlong mused to himself, a little morosely as he stood in front of the fire, crackling in the hearth. The glowing flames gave the wild elf's face an almost ghostly appearance. Daeghun turned as he heard footsteps on the landing above. His foster son, Marcus Cole would soon be down.
The wild elf nodded to himself as his human foster son reached the bottom of the stairs. "Ah... you're up and dressed, I see, Marcus. Today is the High Harvest Fair, and the West Harbour village council requires me to man the archery competition."
Marcus just rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Daeghun, it's not that trying, you just have to stand round all day and try to look happy. Actually, I'm not sure who's worse at looking happy, you or Tarmas." he added, a slight smile on his face.
"Perhaps, but the human need to celebrate remembrance days baffles me." Daeghun replied half to himself before looking Marcus in the eyes. "But at least something productive may come of it. The merchant, Galen is here… he'll want my furs, as he usually does... coins can be useful in getting by." The wild elf paused a moment before continuing. "This past season has been a hard one… for both tilled fields and wildlands." Marcus just let out a snort; it had been bad, really bad. "While I attend to the archery contest, I will need you to deal with the merchant. The furs are where they usually are. Galen has probably set up his tent on the village green. He'll be enjoying the Fair, with the rest of the townsfolk." Daeghun just couldn't get enthusiastic about the fair at all. The wounds, even after all these years, ran too deep. "Last season I asked him to bring a Duskwood bow to trade." he said, walking toward the front door of the house. "Your friends are waiting for you at the bridge. I suppose you're anxious to see the Fair, but don't forget to trade with Galen. I must go to the archery field."
Marcus just let out a sigh as the front door closed. "Some things never seem to change round here." he said, before he too left the house to join up with his friends Bevil and Amie.
Marcus stepped out of the Farlong house and into a bright, sunny Mere day, a very rare thing indeed in West Harbour. The village was near the northern edge of the Mere of Dead Men, or, to give the swamp its elfish name, Merdelain, which translates into common as 'the slow marching court'. The harbourman, as the inhabitants of West Harbour are usually called, made his way to the bridge that connected the Farlong homestead to the rest of the village.
"Marcus, there you are! Come on, the Fair's already started!" Amie cried on, seeing her only other real friend apart from Bevil Starling. Of the three friends Marcus was the oldest at 25 which meant it was his last year to compete in the Harvest Fair. Bevil was next at 23 and Amie was the youngest at 20.
"It's the biggest Fair in years, Marcus. There's folk in from all the outlying farms, and even a few from outside the Mere. That means a big audience..." Bevil said trying to hide how nervous he was.
"A big audience, all cheering for us! This year's our last chance to compete for the Harvest Cup... our last chance to win!" Amie said.
"Heh, I really don't need reminding I'm a quarter of a century, Amie." Marcus said, teasing his friend. "So what are we up against this year?"
"Well, the Mossfelds won both their matches in the Harvest Brawl. They'll be tough to beat. But Amie's bound to win the Tourney of Talent for us." Bevil said.
Amie beamed. "I convinced Tarmas to teach me a few new spells… And I dug up a couple more from his spellbooks when he wasn't looking." she said with an impish grin. "Anyway, I heard Wyl Mossfeld is doing the same act this year, so that should help my chances."
"Oh, gods. Not the pixie impressions again..." Bevil groaned with a visible shudder. "What is it, the eighth year in a row, now?"
"Torm save us from the pixie impressions." Marcus muttered. "And you actually got the grump of West Harbour to teach you something, Amie? What was wrong with him? Did Tarmas have a bout of being nice?" he asked, teasing. Tarmas was the village's very dour wizard who had taken Amie, and to some degree Marcus, under his wing. Though Tarmas had always bemoaned the fact that Marcus had never wanted to become a mage. It was obvious to the wizard that the young man had the mind and aptitude for the arcane arts, Marcus simply wasn't interested.
"Tarmas isn't so bad, as you well know, Marcus." Amie fired back, her hands on hips. "Come on, let's go see Georg, we have a Harvest Cup to win!"
"And the blight? You're sure it's spreading, Orlen?" Georg asked in hushed tones as he didn't want wild rumours to spread. Georg had a darker skin tone than most in West Harbour, his other distinguishing feature was he was completely bald.
The rugged farmer shook his head. "It's no blight, Georg, it's something else. There's no mould, no rot. It's like the crops don't want to grow. Like they haven't the guts to up and face the sun." Orlen looked troubled.
"What do the druids say?" Georg asked, perplexed.
"Well, that's just the rub, Georg. There's no druids to be found, not head nor heel." Orlen said with a shrug. "Used to be they'd warn me of troubles, long before I noticed the signs myself. But this time... rotten silence… You think we ought to say something?" he suggested. "Everyone's gathered for the Fair, even from the outlying farms..."
Georg shook his head. "No, no. They ought to be free from cares, at least for a day. We'll go 'round tomorrow, talk to the households one by one."
"Right you are, Georg. Tomorrow, then." Orlen said with a nod, before he walked away.
Georg turned to face Marcus and his friends as they walked up. "Aha! I'd been wondering when I'd see my two most promising young fighters!" Georg was the captain of the village militia. "And you, too, Miss Fern!" he said with a wink in Amie's direction, making the girl blush. "Whole militia's pulling for the three of you. Well... except for the Mossfeld lads, but no one pays them any mind. It's your last year to compete, isn't that right?"
Marcus gave a nod. "Only for me, though."
"Well, Marcus, you better make it count then. Another victory speech from that muttonhead of a Mossfeld, and I think there'll be a riot." Georg said in a hushed voice. "Rules are the same as ever. Win three of the four events, and you win the Harvest Cup. Win all four, and the village council grants you a special prize. And nobody's done that since ol' Cormick. Now, that boy was a legend. Oh, I'm sure there's a hundred Cormicks in a city like Neverwinter, but for this town, he was as big as folks get..." Georg rambled on, to the amusement of the three friends. Georg wasn't the best story teller in the village for nothing. Some even said he was once an adventuring bard. "Ol' Cormick fought Lorne Starling in the Brawl, and some story that was. But I don't suppose you have time for stories, just now. The Tourney of Talent should be easy enough to win as you've got Amie on your team."
"Thanks, Georg." Amie said, turning away, slightly embarrassed by the praise.
"Just the truth, young lady." Gerog said with a smile. "Your foster father's running the Archery Competition, as always, Marcus. And I managed to convince Tarmas to supervise the Knaves' Challenge. I'd guess the Knaves' Challenge will be your toughest event... though the Mossfeld boys might say otherwise as Wyl and his brothers have won the Harvest Brawl three years running. It'll be tough to dislodge them. But remember… you only have to win three events to claim the Cup."
"The Mossfelds are decent enough fighters... but they can be beaten." Marcus said thoughtfully. "And this year we'll win all four so Wyl Mossfeld is in for a serious disappointment." he said, a slightly wicked grin forming on his lips.
Georg chuckled. "Just remember to keep an eye on Bevil, and don't let the Mossfelds get him riled… or you. That's how they always beat the two of you on the practice field."
"Yeesh, Georg, I'm right here, you know." Bevil complained, half-heartedly.
"Alright, Georg, we better get going and see about winning the Harvest Cup." Marcus said as he led his two friends away, deeper into the village.
"If you have any troubles, Marcus, you know where to find me. And good luck in the Brawl!" Georg called after them.
"Do either of you think the Fair is better than last year?" Marcus asked as they walked through the village to where the merchant Galen had set up his tent for the day. Marcus wanted to get the fur trade out of the way then he could focus on the more serious task of winning the Harvest Cup.
"It's bigger... I think. I don't remember much about last year. Not after I let you and Bevil buy me all that Harvest Mead, anyway…" Amie said blushing slightly.
"Ah, yeah… that wasn't the brightest thing we've ever done, was it, Bevil?" Marcus said, looking a little awkward. "And as for that dare… thank Torm, Tarmas found us when he did, otherwise things would have gotten really awkward." The three friends had gotten very drunk and a harmless dare almost went too far.
"Hey, I just dared you to kiss her, was all." Bevil said helplessly. "So once you've finished your apprenticeship, what do you think you'll do, Amie?" he asked, wanting to change the subject to something less embarrassing.
"Aw, always the knight in white armour, Bevil." Amie said, teasing. "Well, Tarmas has this book in his library... Volo's Guide to the Realms. There's a picture in it... a woman in traveller's garb, with daggers on her hip, trinkets and scrollcases hanging from her belt, and a book and quill in hand." she said thoughtfully. "She wouldn't fit in around here, but I've always admired her... wandering the Realms with a spellbook and a quill, recording what she sees... Then retiring to a place like Candlekeep, writing books, and telling stories to kids..." She sounded wistful.
"Why, you're Daeghun's ward. Isn't that right?" Galen the merchant asked as Marcus and his friends walked up to him. "It's been some time, but... he didn't happen to mention a shipment of furs, did he?"
Marcus rolled his eyes. "What do you think I have slung over my shoulder? I've got your furs right here, Galen, don't fret."
"Ah, good! Daeghun's a reliable sort... always has the highest quality furs. And I haven't forgotten his Duskwood Bow, either. I always come through… you tell Daeghun that." Galen said as he took the furs from Marcus. "I'll warn you, the bow's a bit pricey. But it's fine workmanship. Sneaked it across the Luskan border."
"You bought the bow in Luskan?" Bevil asked, horrified.
Galen shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no! From a village called Ember. They're good folk, just ended up on the wrong side when the maps got drawn, after the war. Fine bowyers, too."
"So what have the roads been like, lately?" Marcus asked as he took the Duskwood bow from Galen as well as a few gold pieces.
"Well, truth be told, I almost didn't come this year. The Mere's gotten strange of late... Lizardlings have been spotted on the road... and there are rumours of darker things, prowling deeper in the Mere." Galen said as he indicated the two mercenaries nearby. "That's why I brought these two fellows with me. A few days back, we saw a pair of the Scaley Folk at the edge of the road, eyeing us up. Then we showed them some steel, and they ran quick enough." the merchant said, looking thoughtful. "Also crossed paths with a tiefling girl on the road near Fort Locke. Strange to see a tiefling this far north though."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, intrigued. It was unusual to hear of a tiefling in this part of the sword coast. "Well, I hope you have a good trip home, Galen." he said turning away.
"Thanks, so do I." Galen said pleasantly.
"What's so special about running into a tiefling?" Bevil asked bewildered as they walked away.
"You never were one for reading, were you Bevil." Amie teased.
"I can read, sure but some of those books of Tarmas'… they're over my head." Bevil admitted, feeling sheepish.
"Don't worry, Bevil, we what hold it against you." Marcus said with a smile. "As to what's so special about tieflings, well… apart from the fact they have some fiendish blood, nothing really, though after reading that book Tarmas has on planetouched, I just find it interesting." he said with a shrug.
"Read? More like devoured." Amie said, rolling her eyes. "And you probably want to meet this tiefling because she's a girl." the wizard's apprentice said dramatically. "Never mind the fact that half the girls in the village are trying to catch your eye, Marcus. After all, everyone's picking that you'll be the one to succeed Georg as the head of the militia and village council. You'll be quite the catch."
Marcus gave Amie a long look before he answered. "I hope I'm not here long enough for that to come to pass, Amie. West Harbour is nice enough but… but sometimes I feel as if I don't belong here."
Georg walked up to Daeghun, a serious expression on his face. Georg's conversation with Orlin was still bothering him. "Have you seen any sign of the druids?" he asked the ranger.
Daeghun shook his head. "No, not for several months. Something about the Mere is changing, it was slow at first but it is gaining speed. Lizardfolk are on the move as well, away from the depths of the Mere, which in itself is cause for concern." The wild elf paused a moment. "Something stirs deep within the Mere, Georg, and I fear that whatever it is will put this village in peril sooner or later." Daeghun's tone was ominous and foreboding.
Georg nodded before he walked away. He had more question but no answers.
