1. The Man of Kar

Amar of the Southern Doud was a man of lowly birth and accolade, a quiet soul that lived beside the river Marandi of Kar. He lived alone, keeping careful watch on his flock of meerbochs. Amar often walked in the woods about the Marandi, even as the pale, mordant moonlight lit upon the trees and danced on the gentle waters. There was a peace in the quiet, a solace that Amar relished above all things. And he worked hard to preserve the life established for himself in the valley about the river of Kar. On several occasions, with resolute strength and courage, Amar defended his flock against the wandering rakkishi, which drifted from the dark of the night mountain heights.

It was one such night, as Amar walked among the poplar trees and listened to the lapping water with a enlightened smile, that he was faced with another such challenge. A rakkishi of most foul appearance and intent had come into the vale, ravenous and insatiable hunger driving the beast at much length. Coming then, with quick, quiet steps the rakkishi was upon the woods of Amar’s favor.

The mountain hauntlings are silent in their hunt, unseen all but before they beset their victims--be it a stray herdbeast or unfortunate, weary traveler. With a cry terribly unnatural, and hinting of the anguish of past meals, the rakkishi would fall upon the chosen and devour without a trace.

Yet Amar, not want for distraction of normal men, was so well attuned to the nature of the wood, of the river, and the vale surrounding. So familiar had the song of the Southern Doud become in his ears, and in his very heart and soul, that he quickly knew of the rakkishi predator.

Taking up his hardwood staff and girding up his tunic’s hem, Amar crouched into the brush and awaited the approach of the rakkishi. The hunter became the prey that night, and with a fearless cry Amar came upon the beast. A strike of the staff burst a curse from the lips of the rakkishi (being not used to such a thing); Amar then leaped upon it, one hand holding firm in the dirty mane, and the other striking severe blows until vitriol flowed like blood from the soulless beast--and the creature caught away and fled back to its mountain den.

Thinking nothing of his victory, but thanks to find peace once again, Amar resumed his walk in the moonlight. His heart was full as the song seemed to sing his name, and reminded him of its pleasure.

 

All this while, unbeknownst to Amar, the kindly goddess Anthine watched the trials of this man. She was struck by his joy in simple life, in his appreciation for the beauty of the vale, by his courage against the foul monster, and most for all his humble heart which saw no pride in his winning.

“Surely,” thought Anthine, happily, “this is the man that I will bring before my doubtful brother at the Citadel. If there is any good man of those in Kar, it is this man there ahead.”

As wise as she was gracious, Anthine felt the matter fit to investigate further. For to herself she said, “Though he worketh kindly and good-hearted deeds toward the wood and creatures of his care, how then does he act in proportion to his fellow men, and more so, a woman?”

Saying thus, Anthine deemed it well to take the form of a maiden of Kar, a simple child in appearance and manner. She clothed herself a vagabond, and beset to come upon Amar’s home some way down the river Marandi.

The night was yet full, shadows cast where demure moonshine fled. Anthine listened as she walked, loving quickly as did Amar, the beautiful song of the vale. The leaves rustled in fair breath of wind, and river lapping soft like kisses upon the bank. Thick, tender grass tickled Anthine’s human feet as she walked. Doves cooed from branches above, and crickets spoke in turn, each a measure of the nightly music of the Southern Doud.