The morning they left the Wyce lands dawned gray and wet, as if the forest itself wished to keep it's sons from leaving. Mist clung to the great and old trees of the forest and sent pale tendrils across the clearing before the keep's palisade.
Dramon looked back once, the entire family were there to send him off. He looked at his family and remembered his promise return one day as a self made man. He spurred his gray courser stallion, Grayleaf, forward with mist forming in his eyes.
The rainwood swallowed them like a kraken swallowing ships. The road further was no more than a hunter's trail - half swallowed by roots and puddles - winding through towering beeches and sentinel pines. Blujay, magpies, and parrots sung unseen through thick forest canopy, and air smelled of wet bark.
For five days they rode through that living maze. By night, they made camp beneath ancient trees draped with vines and lichen. Olynd set snares for pheasants and quails, and taught his companions the craft. They dreamed of fair maidens serving finest dornish wine in silver cups by the glory brought through strength of their arms.
On the sixth day the forest began to thin, the trees giving way to large wind-swept plain that holds gold born of earth. After a half a day travel, the sight of gloden fields replaced by the strong winds from the river Slayne heralding the coming of the stonehelm.
There, upon the banks of the river ancient watchtower of Stonehelm, made from white and black stones, stood in all of it majesty. On top of it, the black and white banner of the House Swann fluttered strongly in the wind.
As they descended the winding road towards the castle, Dramon felt his heart beat faster. Behind him lay unremarkable woods of his birth; before him, lay gate to the wider world, with it his future.
🐎🐎🐎
Dramon passed through giant archway, made of white and black stones, after guards inspected his group. The keep had leveled cobblestone road likey mined from the river slayne. The buildings on either side of the road told the tales of the prosperity of the House Swann. The streets were filled to the brim, even more than normal on the account of the upcoming tourney.
Olynd, Derrin, Aden, and Greg were immersed in the scenery around them so much that they forgot to close their mouth. Lanner coughed loudly to draw their attention to no avail. Dramon, then, had to shake each of them to wake them.
"Let's first find an inn first, then we can go sightseeing." Dramon gave his word.
Lanner found a modest inn soon after. "Welcome to Dabbard's inn, milords. I'm known as Old Keat. Please make yourselves comfortable, milords." Old Keat ran his mouth off nervously.
"Don't worry, We are aspiring knights. We will always give the host due respect he deserves. You shall not fear us." Aden removed his helm and held it across his chest and reassured Old Keat.
🐎🐎🐎
Old Keat served warm, delicious meal. "Can you tell us anything about the tourney?" Lanner asked him.
"I don't know much about it, sers. What I've heard is if you want participate in it you'll need to go to the master of the games, and it will be held on the name day of the young lord." Old Keat replied meekly.
" What games are held?" Asked Aden.
"Milord, First three days long hunting is held, then on the young lord's name day jousting and melee is held."
The young heirs looked at each other. Greg bellowed "What are we waiting for? We shall go immediately after this meal."
Olynd chimed in, "As long it is hunting in the forest, I'll always come first."
Dramon noticing high spirits of the crew smiled sofly and munched his meal quietly; wishing for more days like this in the future.