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Two years.....

A fair haired stranger rowed his home-made coracle upon the beaches of the North Lands.

Two years, since.....

The stranger remembered the night. A simple farmer then, naive and unawares, he strode toward the Lighthouse with simple wares bound for Trollsbane.

Suddenly, the stars were put out as darkness engulfed him. Something was strangling him, try as he might to escape, he was soon overpowered.

"Bind 'im tight, Lads!" a voice bellowed in the darkness.

"Wha's going on...." He tried to utter before he felt a force pummel his head. Stars shined brightly within his eyes, and the taste of salt upon his lips.

It was getting hard to breathe now.

"Take 'im to tha ship boys!"

Two years......a galley slave.

Visions and feelings of pain whirled through the stanger's mind's eye before they settled upon one. The crack of a whip, the sting upon his back, and the constant pain. He grimaced at the thought.

If it wasn't for that storm, I would be there still. Dead, like them other lads, he thought.

The stranger rowed his leaky boat upon the shore, grinding to a halt upon the stony beach. Slowly, he crawled out and kissed the earth.

Amongst tears of happiness, he cried, "Gobiath, I'm home!"

Laughing, crying, smiling, the stranger was unawares when sleep overtook him, there upon the shore of the Northmark.

Pain....searing, stinging pain......dreams of whips and fitful nights hunched over an oar.....

Laid on a rocky beach, the stranger awoke to see the stars shining over Gobiath. Blinking his eyes a few times to wash away the dreams, he slowly sat up and contemplated the waves as they crested and whisked over the pebbles of the beach. They had a soothing effect upon him, almost as if they were singing.

He leaned over to rub his left leg, rubbing it slightly, relishing the feeling. For too long it was covered with an ankle bracelet. He looked and two scars around his leg were still there. Patting his leg, he looked about him with a smile.

The rocky shore seemed deserted lit only by twilight of the stars, for the moons haven't risen yet. He cursed his forgetfulness. He had forgotten that there were Goblins, Bandits and Gnolls about. If he was to return home alive, he must be careful.

With caution his again, he rose from the beach without a sound, grabbing a piece of Driftwood from the stony shore as his protection. Slowly, he made his way through the Heather and the Northmark beyond.

Barefoot and in rags for clothes, the stranger made his way across the Mark, stopping for a few sounds, avoiding a few campfires in the distance, yet luckily all was quiet and uneventful by the time he recognized the Clan Houses.

"Thank the Gods!" he whispered prayerfully.

He made his way to the rear of the building.

Quiet.

"Where are the songs? The drink and merriment?" He wondered. Not even the scent of roasted pig could be smelled. He cautiously peered through the windows, only to see darkness within.

Perhaps I am too late, he pondered.

From his pocket he produced a rusty key, the only possession that was never found upon him. He cautiously moved toward the front gates and tried the key.

"Click" went the Key, while his teeth gnashed at the sound. Slowly he opened the gate, and quickly slinked within, closing the gate behind him. "Click" went the gate again.

"Pheww," he sighed. Tight muscles in his shoulders began to relax as the danger had passed. "I am home, but where is everyone else?" He wondered.

As he looked about the courtyard, it seemed maintained. He saw the pigs and sheep had been well stocked and fed, and when he went within, beds and tools were still there. Where was everyone?

He shrugged his shoulders and consoled himself with the fact that Home was still here. It was well cared for. He would just do what he could here and meet 'them' later. He struck up a fire, spitted a pig and ate heartily for the first time in two years.

When dawn shone within the windows, the fair-haired stranger was fast-asleep, dreams of the future, dreams without pain.