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The Withering: Call of Night

Our story begins when the world of Aislindalie was still young yet filled with creatures that had begun to grow old.

Long ago a young fae boy, well, a three hundred and seventy-five year old elven man with the soul of a child by standards of the long-lived peoples of the Oakebe, stood on the borders of his home looking out at the untamed land before him wild and rife with life and adventure. Briean Thistlewick was a restless spirit, a man with eternal wanderlust who was no longer content with the forests of his people. Though he had been warned by the elders to not give in to temptation to wander into the outside, he could resist no longer. He had dared much coming this far but the lush and waving grass of the hills before him beckoned, swaying with the gentle breeze that caressed the land in a hushed breath of warmth.

Briean raised his face to the heavens, drinking in the scents that came his way telling of adventures to be had. He had a great thirst for knowledge that he could never seem to quench. He knew all that the forests of the Oakebe could tell him, knew each lake and stream, each gully, cave, and clearing, and he could stay no longer, learning nothing new and with a wealth of knowledge currently spread before him so conveniently. He gave a cursory glance behind him, bidding farewell to his friends and loved ones. Each tree he knew by name. Each elk, rabbit, bear, and bird.

Yet the birds it were who teased him with the outside world, whispering tantalizing hints of wonder in his ears while bringing the breath of faraway with them. He loved these woods, the lands about, loved them all and never in his mind did he doubt that he would return to them to bring knowledge to these lands of what he had learned. With a smile of hope and a grin of excitement, he turned away and looked across the plain before him. With one step, he left the borders of his home and journeyed into a new and undiscovered world.