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Ep. 14 - Wildheart - Interregnum VI: Telon
21 Plays22 hours ago
Life is simple for Telon. LIfe is clear. Black and white. Kill or live. Wake or slumber. That is until a very interesting contract lands on his desk of the Embershroud Tribunal. When life doesn't give Telon black and white, kill or live, wake or slumber, Telon makes mistakes...
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Transcript
Legends of Wild Hearts
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In wild hearts
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land where legends grow Tidal surges rise and flow Golden treasures deep below Time to get moist, here we go
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Rubies, gold on emerald shores, glories felt in ancient lore. Fardina sings to heal his scars, to call her chosen stone and stars.
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In wild heartland where legends grow, tidal surges rise and flow. Golden treasures deep below, time to get moist, here we go.
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The world moves in cycles, and between them, stories wait. This is one that rises from the silence. Interregnum 6.
Telon Rhaenar's Observations
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Telon.
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The cold winds of Wild Heart's northern coast were merciless, cutting through even the thickest of cloaks with icy precision. Beneath the silvery glow of the waning moon, Telon Rhaenar crouched among the jagged rocks of a cliffside.
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His dark leather armour blended seamlessly with the craggy terrain, and the faint scent of salt water mingled with the briny air as waves crashed violently against the shore below.
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The shoreline. It stretched out before him, a narrow, treacherous path bordered by unyielding sea and looming cliffs. His target was unmistakable.
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A solitary figure clad in the faded crimson of the Horal Empire's military. The deserter. Captain Dren Koral. He moved with a mix of determination and desperation.
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His unsteady steps betraying the exhaustion of days spent in flight. Keral's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his stained and tattered cloak.
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Once a proud emblem of the Heral Empire's might, now it served only to mark him as a man hunted. A traitor. Talon observed him from the shadows, his sharp eyes noting every detail, the way Keral muttered to himself, the faint limp on his stride, the nervous glances he cast towards the dark northern horizon.
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This was no seasoned soldier hardened by years of war.
The Silent Kill
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This was now a man broken by his choices. Talon reached for his crossbow, a sleek weapon crafted from onyx and steel.
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Its limbs gleamed faintly in the moonlight, a testament to its precision. He moved with practised silence, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he adjusted his position.
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The waves below roared like a beast, their sound swallowing all others. Not personal, Talon muttered under his breath. It never was.
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He took aim, steadying the crossbow against the jagged rocks. Keral paused mid-step, his head tilting slightly as though sensing something amiss.
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It was a moment too late. The bolt flew, slicing through the air with a whisper before finding its mark. Keral stiffened, a soft gasp escaping his lips as the bolt struck clean through his neck.
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He crumpled to the ground, his body folding awkwardly against the rocky trail.
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Talon descended the cliffside with a predator's grace, landing beside the fallen captain. He crouched, inspecting the body with methodical detachment. Corral's wide, unseeing eyes stared at the moon.
Disposing of Karel
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His lips parted as though he died mid-sentence. Talon searched him quickly, finding only a small pouch of coins and a worn locket bearing an inscription he couldn't read.
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No papers. No maps. Nothing to explain why the enshrouded tribunal wanted him dead. With a sigh, Telon dragged the body towards the edge of the cliff.
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The waves below churned hungrily, their icy fingers reaching for the blood-stained earth. The sea would claim Karel's remains by sunrise, washing away the evidence of his existence.
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Telon straightened. wiping his hands clean against his cloak. He gazed out at the eastern horizon, where the dense forests of shadow mend loomed like a dark wall against the night sky.
Return to the Tribunal
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This land, he thought, was alive in ways the Empire would never understand. It was a place of danger and freedom, of secrets and power.
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But even in Wildheart, shadows ran deeper than most dared to imagine.
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The journey back to the enshrouded tribunal's hideout took Telon through Wildheart's shadowed heart. The cold, briny winds of the coast gave way to dense forests and tangled underbrush, where the night pressed close and the stars above barely pierced the canopy.
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His horse, a sturdy black mare, navigated the narrow trails with an almost eerie familiarity, her hooves muffled by the thick loam of the forest floor.
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By the time Telon reached the tribunal's fortress, the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten with the pale grey of dawn. The fortress was hidden deep within the driftwood vale, a labyrinth of twisted trees and hanging moss that seemed alive with whispers.
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Its walls were stone, blackened with age and overgrown with creeping ivy. From a distance, it appeared to be little more than another ruin in a land filled with them.
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The iron gates groaned as they opened, the sound reverberating through the still air. Talon passed through without a word, nodding briefly to the guards who manned the entrance.
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Their faces were shadowed beneath their hoods, their eyes sharp and untrusting.
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Inside, the tribunal's halls were cold and sparse, lit by torches that flickered weakly against the damp stone walls. This was no place of grandeur or camaraderie.
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It was a sanctuary for those who thrived in the shadows, who understood that loyalty was a luxury few could afford. Telon's quarters were as unadorned as the rest of the fortress, a narrow cots, a wooden desk cluttered with maps and ledgers, and a single unlit lantern. But this morning, something new awaited him.
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On his desk lay a letter.
A New Target: Lord Erundel Valthorn
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Sealed with a wax bearing, the insignia of a raven in flight. The parchment was fine, the seal unbroken, a clear sign that the sender wielded power and wealth in equal measure.
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Talon broke the seal with his dagger, his eyes scanning the elegant script. Its contents were brief, but the weight of their implications was staggering.
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The target, Lord Erundel Valthorn, the new leader of Wildheart's Tidesworn Vanguard, the only calming force across this tumultuous region.
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The reason? Unspecified. The reward? Astronomical. Telon's hand trembled slightly as he re-read the letter.
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Lord Valthorn was more than just a ruler. He was the backbone of Wild Heart, a stabilising force in a land teetering on chaos. The thought of his assassination was unthinkable, at least to tell on.
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He folded the parchment carefully and tossed it into the fire. The flames devoured the latter hungrily, the wax seal bubbling and melting until nothing remained but ash.
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Loyalty was a rare commodity in the tribunal, but even Telon had his limits. He could not, would not, be the knife that plunged Wildheart into anarchy.
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As the last ember faded, Telon felt a cold knot of unease settle in his stomach.
Unease and Potential Retribution
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Whoever had sent the contract was powerful.
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and they would not take kindly to his refusal. The shadows of the tribunal were no longer a sanctuary.
Listener Engagement and Call to Action
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Thank you for listening. As we continue to share the stories of Wild Heart, we'd love to hear your thoughts. If this tale has sparked your interest and you'd like to learn more about the characters, let us know.
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We've got a revamped site, fellowshipofthetabletop.co.uk, where you can read more lore, see more maps, and read a new blog from both Bellum Draconis and Wild Heart. Either way, we'd love for you to reach out.
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Your input could help shape the stories we tell next. Until next time, farewell.
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In wild heartland where legends grow Tidal surges rise and flow Golden treasures deep below Time to get moist, here we go