Fore Ward- All characters were created by me and please consult with me before using them, or my two races; eyre, or sprickle. All of the cities and lands I use are also mine.

His green chain mesh shirt made not a sound as he weaved in between large oak trees. The armor was a magnificent piece of work, a stunning success of what a gifted smith might create. Although almost all Eyres were smiths at one point in their life, most created common armor and weapons for his or her clan, some though created one piece of work that was the pinnacle for their smithy existence. What a great piece of work the armor was. Allowing the wearer to twist and bend, still not making the slightest clink of two chain rings rubbing against each other. It was the normal armor for a tracker, skilled in tracking, survival, melee combat, and healing. He was the patrol leader of Clan Fertall ever since he graduated from the academy of arms. No one dared question his prowess when tracking, or even with his signature mesuers (an evolution of a scimitar, having a heavier blade for a more devastating wound). Zehlif Aritole ran a hand through his pale blue mane, taking in the star filled sky. How he enjoyed these nights, when his life seemed so small in the large world around him, a world he had never even seen. Adventure was always in him, but he never would he leave his clan, the young Eyre knew that his people were strong because of unity. Something though had always coursed through his veins, what it was he did not know, but he understood that it was what made him yearn to see the land beyond San Wood. The Eyre rubbed his scared cheeks, which looked odd on the handsome creature. His emerald eyes shone with the light of youthfulness, golden skin to give him a perfect complexion, although his heavily tattooed arms would cover up the tracker's beautiful skins. He smiled in spite of the fact that he would never see the legendary mountains that stood erect through the land of Render. Zehlif began to sprint again, knowing that soon it would be dinner, and never would the Eyre miss dinner. His soft and worn soled boots hit the ground with just a faint whisper as they hit the earth. The tracker moved flawlessly, his movements shadowed by tree branches. He knew he was approaching his home in the wood when he could smell fresh scent of Geruty, a cousin of the deer, being cooked over open flames. Zehlif reared around the last cluster of trees and saw the large wooden doors blocking the city of Za'Dole. He saw the archers in the guard turrets; their long bows fitted with arrows in his direction, Zehlif signaled them with his hands the entrance code. The Archers nodded in acceptance and opened the large iron bound doors. The tracker walked into his home and looked at the large homes carved out of large oak trees. How he admired his people's work, in his mind they were the most advanced race in Render. Merchants lined the streets, calling out to various people walking about to come buy their goods. "Say hi to Odar," some shouted to Zehlif, referring to his father. Zehlif walked the main boulevard looking at all the bars and shops that were open, each lit with magical dancing lights that could spell out words in any color in the spectrum. He pulled off his hood from his olive green cloak, and looked straight ahead to the Academy of Arms. Zehlif remembered back when he first was brought into the school, at the age of ten. He winced, recalling the memory of his mother's death while he was busy with his schooling. How he hated himself for not going to see her before she died, he wasn't even able to say goodbye. The tracker shook the horrid thoughts from his head and turned down his path, towards his house. The smell of meat grew stronger as he made his way to the door of his oak tree. He turned the knob, fashioned out of a gnarled branch, and stepped through the threshold, into his warm home. "Zehlif is that you?" called a voice from above him. "Yes father," the tracker said, removing his weather worn cloak and hanging it next to his fathers by the door. "Dinner is ready," the older Eyre called. "I shall be up in a moment," Zehlif answered. The tracker went into his room on the lower level. Walls were unseen, for bookshelves covered all of them, and those shelves were plastered with scrolls and tombs. Zehlif moved to his bed and removed his chain armor, placing it under his bed. He unbelted his mesuers and hung them on his wall, so they were always ready to be used. He took off his leather garments and replaced them with a loose breeches and a shirt. Zehlif removed his soft-soled boots, putting on a pair of oak leaf sandals. Zehlif walked up the steep spiral staircase and made his was down one of the hallways located on the top floor of the two-story tree. He came to the kitchen and saw his father sitting there, his green hair pulled back into a ponytail. The older Eyre wore on his face a small goatee and had scars, like Zehlif, along his cheeks. Although he had fought in many battles, his skin was still as fair as it was the day he was born. "How was the tracking?" Oder asked. "Good father," Zehlif replied, sitting down across from his father. "Any creatures wandering near our territory?" the veteran fighter asked, taking his attention from his meal to focus on his son. "Not so much as a measly geeriay," Zehlif answered before diving into his plate of fresh meat. "There is talk of sprickles moving westward, past the Dernevar expansion," Oder said resting his hands behind his head. "Oh is there?" Zehlif said with disbelief, cocking an eyebrow. "And how did a retired soldier hear this before the Master Track Lore?" asked the tracker, who knew that that information must be wrong, for he would always be told by his master what was happening. "The Winds," the elder Eyre said. "Ha, the winds," Zehlif breathed. "I fear you are becoming a crazy old Cooke." "Doubt if you must, but you will see in the upcoming days," Oder reassured his son. Zehlif gave his father another disbelieving look, then grabbed himself another helping of Geruty. Its not that he did not want to believe what his father say to happen, but it was the fact that most likely it wouldn't. He would enjoy driving his blades into the evil sprickles back, to feel as he ripped through both cartilage and bone with his large serrated blades. The sprickles were among the most hated race with the Eyre, for the small creatures always seemed to be trying to destroy the whole Eyre race for no better reason then blood shed. Zehlif fought with sprickles before, and he could not lie that his adrenaline was pumping more then ever at just the sight of the malicious vermin. The tracker finished up his dinner and pint of mead, as he thanked his father for dinner. He cleaned up his and his father's dishes, while he continued to dwell on the matter from dinner. Zehlif decided that if he wanted to get the truth then he should travel to The Chamber of Nathul, to visit Garwana the Lore Master. He finished up cleaning and then put on more his trekking clothes except for his chain mail, which he folded and packed neatly in one of his satchels. The Eyre retrieved his mesuers and went back into the streets of Za'Dole for the second time that night. He pulled his wool cloak around him, shielding the chilling air that began to creep into the area. The Eyre noticed that almost all people were off the streets, except for the occasional drunk pedestrian. He stopped for a moment and pulled his blue mane into a neat ponytail as he took in the beauty of his home city. Although they were just trees made into homes, each one was different. Engravings of elvish and dwarvish letterings marked the doors and walls. Eyrein, an almost unknown language to Render was written across the blue slate streets. Their Clan Symbol almost always hung on their doors. It was to say the least a most unique city. He continued his walk to The Chamber of Nathul. Every so often he would glance down an alleyway to see if a sprickle might be hiding, but every time it was just filled with air.
Zehlif reached The Chamber of Nathul, and went to one knee in respect to all the great things that were in the confines of the structure. He began up the many stairs that led to the main entrance of the building. Winds whirled furiously when he made it to the top, nearly knocking him off balance. The large ivory doors, which seemed odd on the immense tree, opened with out warning. Zehlif looked inside to see if anyone had opened them, but no one was in sight. He merely shrugged and paced down the beautifully lit corridors.
Portraits of legendary Eyres lined the walls, their names magically written so they changed colors every few seconds. Zehlif continued down the corridor, admiring the heroes of past, until stopping at a double door room. He knocked lightly on the door and waited for a response.
"Who is it?" called a voice from inside the room.
"Zehlif Aritole," the tracker said putting his hands behind his back, showing his rippling arm muscles from beneath the cut sleeves of his cloth vest.
"Come in young Eyre," the voice said.
Zehlif opened the doors and entered the small earth toned room, his eyes darting left and right, searching for his Lore Master. He finally spotted the eyre sitting upon a large feathered pillow, his eyes closed in deep meditation. The Lore Master looked very old for an eyre, and indeed he was. He was seven hundred years old; most eyres lived to be six hundred, or if lucky six hundred and fifty, but this elderly tracker lived fifty years past his normal age expectancy. He had purple hair, an exotic hair color for the war like race, but few would ever judge him by his hair. Both eyes were pupil less, which he used to his advantage to fool his enemies who thought he was blind. He was rather slender for an eyre, since he embraced his elven ancestors more then his dwarven. "I know why you have come young tracker," he said, his voice a withered state from what it used to be. "About the sprickles," Zehlif said as he sat across his elder on a large pillow. "Yes," the Lore Master said his eyes opening. "And what is the answer?" the ever anxious eyre said. "Always you must rush, take time and think," the older and wiser eyre said, as he placed his hands upon his knees. Zehlif began to speak, but stopped and took what his leader had told him into thought. "My father said I should listen to the winds," Zehlif said, seeing if this was the piece in the clue. "Your father is wise. There are truth in his words," the wrinkled eyre said, nodding with approval. "But I do not understand what that means," Zehlif sighed. "I did not expect you to, you were not trained in the ways of nature, the way of the woodlands and winds," Garwana said, as he stood from his sitting position and moved to a cabinet. "I have here, the vase of storms, more commonly called a jade vase," he said, producing a green vase from a small teak cabinet. "In this container will be the answer to your question," the master said pulling off the cap of the small pot. Voices came out, floating around the room, speaking words in a un understandable language. Then the language altered to eyreian. "There is pain coming from the far forest of Gertude. It is a plague spreading into San Wood, a plague that has no cure, and no purpose but to kill those around it," the melodically voice spoke. "The sprickles," hissed Zehlif. "That is preciously what it is talking about if I see the truth," the wise eyre said. "What is it I should to then?" asked the tracker. "You, it would be quite impossible for you to take on a whole sprickle army," the lore master said shaking his head, sending his purple hair flying out to all sides. "I believe you must find help, others to aid us in our fight against the sprickles. Look to our dwarven and elven kin; they might be the only ones who will assist us in this inevitable war. Check in Fox Hole, a city north of the Partite River, you should be able to find dwarven and elven mercenaries that can aid us, perhaps even some nobility that can get us a small army. I will talk to the war masters" Garwana said as he placed the vase back in it's cupboard. "Thank you great master, I shall not fail you," Zehlif said, standing up from his pillow and making his way to leave the room. "Be careful when traveling through the woods, spreckle scouts could already be near, evade all conflict if possible," the lore master said as a final word. Zehlif nodded and left the room, thoughts in his mind about what he could do.
He knew he could ride through San Wood, but he would be noticed for sure, all he could do was walk his way out. It would not be hard for him he knew, he had done it before, but if he stumbled upon a scouting party of sprickles, his life would be near its end. He shook the ideas from his head, and just focused on getting his things ready for travel. The tracker left the great hall, making his way to his home.
Right as he hit his door, his father called for him.
"Where have you been?" asked his father.
"I was at the Hall of Nathul, seeking the wisdom of Garwana," Zehlif said, looking up at his father.
"And what did he have to say?" asked Odar.
"The sprickles are moving fast, they are already in Gertude, there is no telling when they will make it to San Wood, all that is known is that they will be here in no less then two weeks," Zehlif said, pulling a strand of unkempt hair around his ear.
"I will get our things ready," Odar said, flashing a smile.
"Huh?" the dumbfounded eyre asked.
"You and I will be going to get reinforcements," the warrior said, moving towards his chamber.
"How did you know?" Zehlif asked.
"Garwana told me a yesterday," Odar said his voice echoing trough the hallway.
Zehlif shook his head and smiled, how great was it going to be that he and his dad would be creatures of the road, adventuring to save his peoples lives.