“Carry silver,” Grandpa Whisperwood used to say. “Know the trail, have a map if you can, but at least carry silver. In winter, it carries over ice, snow, and wind like nothing else can. Carry it so you can be found, or gods willing, those that are lost can find you.”
Ashe, a dark-haired halfling, sat at a table not meant for his size. Few “made things” in this world were. His thoughts, in eloquent script, flowed into a well-kept journal as he waited—a common occurrence to keep one's path fresh… and his hadn't felt fully his own until now.
Ashe skimmed his path as written in his journal.
Ashe – Age 5:
As a child growing up in Palebank, I was taught to respect my elders, the gods, and the Frostsabers as they were the ones who kept the town safe. After all, the woods and mountains beyond were no place for children. Locals told tales of yeti, frozen undead, and tabaxi in the woods, who stalked young children, gobbling up those who ventured outside the walls.
Ashe – Age 8:
Like all the boys in town, I swung a wooden sword and dreamed of earning my place among the Frostsabers. Training began at age 12 for everyone. It was an honor and duty that the people of Palebank took seriously. The militia guards roamed the woods and forewarned the town of incoming threats while the Town Guards manned the walls and policed the streets. The Frostsabers would often intercept the merchants who stopped through on their way to Eiselcross and gave them safe passage to our town walls for the night.
Ashe – Age 14:
My training for the militia was complete, but they passed me over. I was crushed, my dreams dashed before they could even be fulfilled. I should have known better. Halflings, while trained like everyone else, were never selected to become Frostsabers—the role was too big for one of my size. I had felt that I could've been the first.
Halflings were meant for other things, typically around town, inside the walls, manning taverns, keeping shops, or baking pastries and cheese. Eventually, a befriended old dwarf with an eye for exploration suggested I try the Hunters Guild.
Ashe took a bite of fine Glittercurd cheese, left over from lunch. Some things stuck from those days—most of the jobs hadn’t.
Ashe – Age 19:
Becoming a guide with the Hunters Guild and being in the woods was like coming home. All the skills that would have made me an outstanding Frostsaber came rushing back. I understood nature and could accurately predict where the game would be.
Ashe – Age 23:
Another good hunt… they had become monotonous. I was bored with the woods because I knew them so well, they no longer excited me. I no longer felt the thrill of a successful hunt and I needed more. I craved more.
One of the caravans came through today and had lost a number of scouts off the wagons—ice goblin wolf riders, they said. They posted a banner of employment, hoping for a dozen scouts—they'd never find that many here, maybe in Eiselcross.
Regardless, I took it as a sign of good fortune. It was time I moved on and explored the vast world beyond the town walls and woods. I needed a new path, one of my own.
Ashe, who often made illustrations of landmarks in the margins, put the finishing touches on a skeletal statue that peered down upon him from a great cathedral across the way.
“It's time, Mr. Whisperwood,” called an older human gentleman from nearby. Ashe looked up to see that the tables had been arranged and the banners hung. The halfling rose to stand upon the chair where he just sat and pulled out an old silver bell. The silver gleamed in the sunlight as Ashe rang the bell above the market square.
The sound, crisp and clear, carried over the din of the crowd, turning heads and drawing attention.
“Carry silver,” his grandpa used to say, “…so those that need to, can find the path.”
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