Adventures in Barsaive

[Redking6]

((I would alo like to direct you to the game rules section where I have posted my usual GM posting style. If you would like to use the exact same style feel free, but as long as you label things you won't get any problems from me.))

An elvish man walked carefully, slowly through the halls of the great temple. His clothed footsteps making scant noises through the otherwise quiet monastery. The thick night air wafted heavily through the occasional open slits within the walls, creating an strange wailing noise tha became muffled by the stones. The man continued to walk, clutching is robes tightly against his body at the chill. The night seemed to hang hard against the sky, and it chilled the young acolyte to his bones much more than the cold air. After several more moments of trudging, the acolyte came upon a door. An otherwise unremarkable door. The elf approached cautiously and knocked three times exactly. "Master Messiass? I was wondering if you wanted me to fetch those scrolls from the library? Master Messiass?" the acolyte peaked into the room, the unsealed door creaking as it began to open slowly. The acolyte released a blood curdling scream, falling onto his behind at the sight that was before him. In the corner of the room laid the master. His dead body twisted in full agony, a look of sheer, unimaginable terror. Blood was caked onto his aged fingertips, his eyes plucked from their very sockets. The man was pale beyond any form of normalcy and there was nothing natural about his position. The acolyte continued to scream down the stone corridors. Upon the desk next to the dead master, sat a large desk with six thick and strange tomes sat upon it and upon them sat a note:

These are the books of Harrow.
They are our doom and our salvation.
Learn from them, or we will all perish.​

Much time has passed since the days of The Scourge. The time foretold within the books of Harrow that told of the return of the Horrors. A race of malevolent creatures from the astral plane whose one purpose is to feed on the pain, misery, and suffering of mortal beings. In order to shield themselves from this terrible fate the Name Giver races constructed great earthen Shelters into the earth called kears. These proved to be the savior for many individuals. As the time of the scourge finally waned, the name givers left their kears and made their way back to the lands above.

Nearly 800 years had passed since those days, and the small border town near the Scythian mountains called Drenix is all abustle due to the time of season. It is the first day of the great trading season, a time for the great farmers and crafters set their excess crops and goods to give to a few selected officials the right to sell their goods within the great Dwarfen kingdom of Throal, the great lords of most of the free name givers of Barsaive. While you are still in a state of mourning for the loss of your warrior master not twelve days ago, you have been asked by the council to accompany the cities small caravan for protection. Though it is fully your choice, it was something that your former master often talked of sending you out with it as your last great duty before you moved on to the next level, and a higher trainer.

The town is abustle with activity, many individuals both Ork and Human making their way to the town center to say their goodbyes and good wishes to those on their journey. Two main wagons formed the bulk of the activity as farmers and artisans alike mounted goods onto those very wagons. Though the wagons are not quite ready to go, many individuals are saying that they will be able to depart within the next two hours.

 

[Cherubian]

With a decisive swing I haul my backpack onto the first of the wagons. Just a simple leather container and yet it manages to hold all my worldly possessions except for what I am wearing at this very moment. Which woudl be my clothes, my leather armor, the dagger in my belt and the huge double bladed battle axe on my back. Relieved of its burden I turn and lean against the massive vehicle myself for a few moments, taking the time to let my eyes wander over the town, the fields next to it and the deep forest beyond. Maybe for the last time. It is a strange feeling. This has been my home for all my life, and in less than two hours I am going to leave, maybe for good. To further my training, to explore the world - or to die young.

I have not even had time to say goodbye. Not that there are many real friends to take leave of. Ognar is dead now, and that leaves gruffy old Gerald, the man who took my virginity, and young Fried. Almost automatically my eyes begin to scan the crowd as I wonder if one of them is here to see me for what might be the last time.

[Search 2d8 = 11 in case it is necessary]

 

[Redking6]

As you lean against the coveted wagon you let your eyes wander over the rather large crowd. Interestingly enough the whole courtyard seems full of more people than you would usually attribute to the village, but given that many of the connected, yet outlying farmers have come in to share their wares with the caravan the amount of people seems mostly appropriate.

At first out of the corner of your eye you notice Gerald, loading several barrels of his latest harvet into the other wagon not too far away from you. The man looks straight at you, a quiet almost nervousness seems to settle into his person before he smiles warmly towards you. His head nodding low, both in respect and acknowledgment. The man for all his general confidence seems to be more nervous than he should be. Though the thought does cross your mind that it is possible he is still trying to protect you and himself from the possibility of a salacious trist between the two of you. Before the man takes off though, he glances back, and with that same confidence you remember offers a knowing wink in your direction before he takes off towards one of the shops at the edge of town.

Your eyes go back to scanning the crowds in the central courtyard before your eyes land firmly upon a raised hand, waving in your general direction. You follow the limb closely for a moment before noticing that it is attached to Fried himself. The boy approaches you with little hint of caution. Though not known by any to be a fan of bold or outspoken gesture Fried manages to approach you, smiling his usual pleasant smile. "I um. I knew you would be going with the caravan so I um, thought I would see you before you, you know... Leave." he said throughing a somewhat shaky hand through his hair for a moment before letting it reach down towards his trousers. From his pocket he pulls a small trinket. It is hard to tell what it is exactly at first, though twirling it in your palm would reveal it to be some sort of beaded bracelet, the piece is assembled with a very thin piece of lace string just enough to fit over your wrist. A series of beads, mostly wooden, are set around the string. Each bead seems to have some form of design within it: an axe blade in one, a detailed leaf in another. It must have taken him a long time for him to make such an item, and last you were aware he had no skill when it came to whittling designs into wood. " I um, made that for you. I wish you well on your journey Yaiil..." a quick pause occurs as he runs his hand through his hair once again. "I-Many will miss you while your gone." he said with another smile, his unconfident demeanor setting in a bit to obviously at that moment.


The crowds still seemed gathered around the wagons, the lady of the supplies being loaded. Loved ones of various Dwarfs, Humans, and Orks seem to gather and see nearly everyone off. You receive the half hour warning from the main caravan leader before you finally see your adopted parents. Quickly the two meet you, embracing you with warmth, Silnia holding on just a little too long. "We thought we would see our young gir- excuse me, young woman off before she left. Sorry we are a bit late but we were a bit held up at the shop." Spoke Marek, his smile filled with oth joy and loss.

"Be safe my dear, and please... Stay out of danger." Slinia said pressing an extra pair of travelers clothes into your backpack. With final goodbyes your adoptive family departs and the conductor gives one final moments warning as the wagons shut and a few individuals begin to huddle around them ready to begin their journey.

 

[Cherubian]

I smile down at him with sincere delight as Fried offers his present. It is quite obvious that over time for him our relationship had grown beyond a mere cooperation for mutual carnal pleasure, and looking at his sad expression I do feel a bit sorry for him. He can be a very nice lad, given the opportunity. “That is very pretty” I therefore exclaim and proceed to immediately slip my left hand through the piece until it sits comfortably on my wrist “You put a lot of effort into this …” Without a further word I pull him close and give him a tight hug, whispering as my lips are close to his ear “I will miss you as well …” Sadly there is not enough time for a proper goodbye.

There is no time to dwell on this, though, as my attention shifts to my foster parents. There is so much I want to say, but not nearly enough time. So all I manage instead through the lump in my throat is a simple “Thank you … for everything”, accompanied by another pair of embraces.

And then I fall into step besides the slowly moving wagons, occasionally turning my head to look back over my shoulder at their departing form, one last time rising my arm to wave before a bend in the road blocks my view on Drenix.

The past now almost symbolically left behind me that is a good time to look around and see who else is hiking along with the caravan.

 

[Redking6]

Drenix begins to dim out of view as you finish waving. Your very hometown becoming ever more distant as you hear the churning of wagon wheels. The caravan begins the first major step of their journey: leaving their families and starting up onto the road that will lead them onwards.

You manage to find a decent spot to sit on the back of the leading wagon. Several tied barrels of fruit and vegetables form a very rough form of seat. From that position you can easily see three other individuals. A Small and thin human male sits atop the second wagon. Another Human male wals alongside the wagon on the right side. His tall wiry frame setting him apart from the wagon driver. A pitchfork is sheathed across his back very much like a two handed sword. On the left side of the wagon, only slightly trailing behind the vehicle, is a dwarf male. Stocky and bulky like many of his people. Unlike what many assume to be the case, this dwarf is devoid of most of his facial hair, a single patch of hair trails down to just a few inches off of the dwarfs chin, a mustache the only remaining facial hair to accompany it. You do somewhat recognize the dwarf as one named Dorric Valenbelt the chronicler. A traveling scribe that was staying within the city for a few years to record some of the local town history.

The only other individual is the Ork woman who sits at the head of the wagon that you are currently sitting on. The Ork woman, named Karda Garsaller, is the keeper of the local tavern known as The Falling Spire. To your knowledge she is often the driver of these caravan trips seeing as that she is often considered a "neutral" party in the distribution of goods for the town. The Ork female wasn't particularly known for being beautiful, though many of the single Ork men would very occasionally say otherwise, however she certainly had a rather surprising amount of muscle to her frame. Her face showing a few scars from possible adventures, but you are not really sure of that fact.

These caravan trips aren't known for bringing, or needing, too many individuals so the five individuals is not as an uncommon grouping for such a trip. These areas aren't overly known for having many problems with brutes and ruffians. The ride itself is rather boring in general. For several hours now there has been consistent road and outlying plains. Little else other than the trudging sounds of wagon wheels keeping your ears company. As you look ahead for just a moment it looks as if the plains will continue for some time, the sight of a small forest well off into the distance only a small spec upon your vision.

(you can of course use this time to talk with any of these individuals if you like, or we can just move forwards to the next scene.)

 

[Cherubian]

The monotonous rattling of the wagons combined with the ever same landscape around us has a somniferous quality, and as I sit there up on the wagon a few times I almost doze off. Which finally brings me to the decision to walk a bit myself. The exercise will do me good.

And so I hop off the wagon, and immediately I find my stride, taking up a position near the right side of second wagon that will me allow to casually strike up a conversation with both humans, the driver as well as the walking pitchfork wielder. Maybe they will tell me a bit more about them, and what made them go on this journey. Plus I am also curious to see whether I hold any physical attraction for the two of them.

 

[Redking6]

As you manage to make strides alongside the pitchfork wielding individual you notice that he is only a few inches shorter than you. Making him roughly six feet or so in height. The human appears to be in his late thirties, his skin looks bronzed from constant activity outside. If his chosen implement wasn't a good indication, his muscles are a good reprentation of someone who is constantly working the fields. His wiry muscles seem tight around his frame, his body showing several worn out scars. His attire points to a combination of his farmers lifestyle, while being woven around several pieces of piece meal leather armor for graves, bracers, and chest plate. His face looks worn, not necessarily bad looking, but he certainly won't be winning any traditional beauty contests. He has a very thin amount of facial hair, more along the lines of stubble more than anything else, his hair was tied back tightly a single woven strand of hair runs down to the edge of the back of his neck. His mouth is preoccupied with a thin and long piece of wheat.


The wagon driver is only slightly harder to see, most of his attention focused upon dealing with the horses that were leading the wagons. He was obviously a lot smaller, around five foot eight or so. He looked to be in his mid thirties as well, his build thin where the others was wiry. He gave no obvious sign of his occupation, but it is very possible that he is some sort of shopkeeper. However he does seem to possess a little muscle upon his thin bones. Though none that are obvious. His face seems overly groomed. Not a single inch of facial hair on his boney cheeks. His hands were intently gripped on the rains. The man was bald, no signs of hair anywhere on his head, a rather uncommon occurrence in many cases. Every now and again he would let out a low curse, trying to get the horses to move as he wished.

The man with the pitchfork looks your way for a moment. A hint of his dark brown eyes glancing over you for a second. "How did they rope you along on this trip?" the man asked in a neutral tone, with little hints of emotion. He removed the wheat from his mouth with his left hand. The straw hanging loosely in his hand.

 

[Cherubian]

At first my only reaction is a brief shrug with the shoulders. "There was no roping in, I think" I finally speak, trying to meet his gaze straight on. "When Ognar died ..." - Did he know who Ognar was? - " I knew I was bound to go looking for a new teacher sooner or later, and with this opportunity turns out it was sooner." I carefully study his reaction to my reply. How much do the two know about me? Since I was the only elf back in Drenix it is plausible they have heard of me before.

 

[Redking6]

The older gentleman nodded slightly, as if trying to remember or recall that name. "Ognar...Ognar... Ah yes, the warrior adept. I was unaware that he took on a student. A rather young one at that." The man nodded agin and looked forwards. The mans attention only turning back to the young elfen women, "And an Elf to boot. Hmm, not many elfs in Drenix. That must mean... You aren't Marek and Silnia's daughter are you?" he asked, his full attention fully placed upon you. His eyes trail over you for a moment, though it isn't obvious as to what his attention is. "Well, That is interesting. Not many Adepts in Drenix. My name is Wolgar, Davin Wolgar. And this man up here on the wagon is my younger brother Felix. I'm a farmer out on the outerside. Felix usually sells my wares, but seeing as how it's market season he thought it would be fitting for me to tag along." Felix offered a small wave of his hand towards your direction before he went back to cursing at the horses tied to the wagon.

 

[Cherubian]

I acknowledge his introductions with a polite nod, confirming his assumptions. "Nic to meet you Davin. And you, Felix" I briefly glance in his direction and return his brief wave in kind "and your guess was right, I am Yaiil, daughter of Silnia and Marek" I intentioally omit the 'foster' part, that much should be apparent.

"So you are joining the caravan for the first time as well?"

 

[Redking6]

Davin shook his head for a moment. "First time.though not by choice..."

"Oh don't listen to him, he is just bitter hat he drew the short straw for secondary guard duty for the caravan." Felix said, whipping at the horses with his reins after releasing a hardy laugh. Davin shook his head, groaning slightly as his brother reminded him.

"Only beaches someone cheated... Should be back at the farm..." the male grumbled, a slight amount of grudge could be heard in his voice. "So, you weren't roped into this than? Hmm, I don't envy you my dear. Though I suppose that being a warrior would certainly make it easier to try to be near the possibility of action." Davin stated, throwing the chewed piece of wheat onto the road and stepping on it.

 

[Cherubian]

"So you are here voluntarily?" I ask Felix, shifting my attention towards him, and even granting him a conspiratory smile to indicate that I do not consider this as dire a fate as Davin seems to think. Then, however, his second remark hits.

I turn back to the farmer "You expect heavy fighting along the trip? My understanding was that we are no more than a token force to deter the occasional petty thief, and for most of the trip our greatest enemy would be boredom."

 

[Redking6]

Felix offers a nod of his head, "Aye indeed I am here voluntarily. I usually make this trip every year in fact. Allows me the chance to get out of the shop for awhile." the male stated, keeping his attention mostly upon the horses leading the wagon.

Davin shook his head, "No, I don't expect much of any chance of being attacked. Mostly why I hate even thinking about this trip, too much time spent away from my land."

"Oh come now brother, where is your sense of adventure?" Felix asked, a broad, knowing grin on his face.

"Keeping the crops growing is adventure enough for me, thank you very much. Though I suppose there are much worse fates than being on this trip." the human finally admitted, growing slightly less sour as he kept walking. "I do wonder what your planning though young Miss. Will you be returning to Drenix? Or moving onwards elsewhere?"

 

[Cherubian]

"But maybe it is only because of your awe inspiring presence that we are not going to get attacked?" I reply in jest to Davin's comment. There is a core of truth to these thoughts, though, opportunity does breed crime. However I am not sure how the five of us will fare against a large band of robbers.

"I am not entirely sure myself what I will do once the caravan has reached its goal." I add with a shrug of my shoulders. "But most likely I won't return immediately, if at all. I have no idea how hard it will be to find another teacher ... " Or what other challenges lie ahead.

 

[Redking6]

((Sorry for the delay. Had to gear up for some fourth of July stuff.))

Davin chuckled a bit, the gesture turning into a rather hearty laugh until the man finally manages to calm himself down. "Aye, that be possible lass. Though more likely it will be because of the strangeness of the group."

"Or perhaps in part by your sour disposition brother. Your usual 'niceties' would in fact detract most individuals I am sure." Felix says laughing, the action nearly causing him to lose control of the wagon for a moment. Davin sneers a bit as a reply to his brother, his shaking head the only form of physical retort.

"I'm sure it would be rather easy to find a teacher in the area around Throal. It is the heart of the common kingdom after all." Davin says with a nod.

 

[Cherubian]

"That was my hope."

Although to be honest the prospect of finally setting foot into Throal - or any large city for that matter - carries not only excitement but also trepidation. After having spent my whole life in small Drenix, which could not possibly be more remote, it is quite daunting to thing of the sheer masses of men that must inhabit that large city. Surely the place is crowded all over, and who knows what unsavory elements thrived in the cracks of society there?

"Has anyone of you ever been there ... in Throal?"

 

[Redking6]

Davin shook his head. "No lass I haven't, and the caravan doesn't really o too far into the city. It usually only goes into Bartertown and makes its way back."

"It's true. Usually do a lot better business in Bartertown than one would think. Though I suppose with a name like that it only makes sense." Felix replies, chuckling a bit under his breath.

"Though Dorric is from Thoal as such, so if you want to know a bit more you might ask him. Though he tends to... Wander a bit in his speach if you understand my meaning." Davin states, shaking his head a bit at his own comment. "There ate times I just want to slap that Dwarf till he finally shuts up."

 

[Cherubian]

"That might be where our ways will part, then, in Bartertown..." I muse while voicing my thoughts. Now I am acutely aware of the fact that I have no real plan what to do once the caravan has reached its goal. Mostly I am just hoping things will turn out right.

"And I think i will take my chance with Dorric." with a wry smile towards Felix and Davin I begin to slip through between the two wagons over to the other side of the caravan where the dwarven scribe is trudging along. Most likely he had overheard part of our conversation anyways.

 

[Redking6]

The Dwarf appeared as if he was having only a small amount of trouble keeping up with the front wagon. His left hand craddling a rather large and hefty tome of some kind, while his right hand held a handkerchief which he used to dab gently at the sweat forming on his brow. The Dwarf was mumbling extensivly under his breath. It wasn't easy to tell exactly what he was saying, the tone however seemed to imply that the Dwarf was in a rather extensive argument with himself, of which there was no sign of which side of the argument was the one that was winning.

If the Dwarf was aware of the previous conversation he gave off no signs of knowing it. Though something tells you that it may just be his...distracted nature of being that would lead you to such a conclusion. With a quick turn of his head the Dwarf smiles towards you and nods his head. "Is there something I can help you with my lady?" He asks in his rather quick voice. His tone being one of pure curiosity without any sign of discontent or malice.

 

[Cherubian]

"Nothing big, really ..." I start. Now the decision has been made, and hopefully Davin had exaggerated when described the dwarfs neverending speech patters.

"You see, I have never been out of Drenix before, and the guys over there told me you stem from Throal, so maybe you could tell me a bit about the city, what to look out for, where to be cautious, the works..."

 

[Redking6]

The Dwarf begins to happily divulge several aspects of the city for you, in quite a large amount of detail. So much in fact that it mostly confirms Davin's description of the Dwarf fellow. The Dwarf rarely ceases speaking through the entire long winded "conversation", if such a one way description could be called such.

Though it is a rather grueling, and straining experience you do learn a bit about Throal. The Throlic Kingdom is an Absolute Hereditary Monarchy ruled by King Nedan, the son of Vaulus III. Though the ultimate rule of law and authority falls to Nedan, he annually proclaims his adherence to a piece of legislation known as the Council Compact. A very well known, and astoundingly large piece of legislation which covers the rule of law, and the methods and functions of its practice within the kingdom of Throal. You somewhat (if only vaguely) know of the Council Compact, as the backbone of not only the Modern Throlic kingdom, but also as a general guideline for the entire continent of Barsaive, with several glaring and changing exceptions.

He divulges a singular, mostly hearsay related rumor that Nedan is surprisingly different than most individuals that come into the amount of power he wields. He is often seen as an individual who tends to scoff at the notion of absolutes, and the rumors seem to paint him as an individual that does not truly believe in the correctness of hereditary rule. Whether these conjectures are fully true or not would be an excursion that would take some time to fully gleam. Beyond that however, he does not divulge too much about the ruling classes of Thoral, nor does he go into great detail about whom would be considered “nobles” and their hereditary rights. A move you would not think possible, given how much he looped and swayed through the conversation of rumors and conjecture regarding the king.

He does eventually move onto the Kingdom itself. Throal is very much built into the Throlic mountains, much of the entire populace is found within the mountain itself as the large city is dug and built in and around the mountain terrain. A single and arduously long man made stone embankment runs the distance between Bartertown and Throal Proper. This dauntingly long structure is known as the Royal Road, which is the first major part of the section of the Kingdom known as The Grand Bazaar. The Royal Road is bustling and teeming with all sorts of merchants and crafters. Most individuals never venture deeper than the royal road of the Kingdom, instead spending much of their time in the Bazaar as there is little need to go further in, as everything can be found on the road. After the road, and the Gates to Throal, lays nine “Halls” as he calls them, nine individual passage ways that interconnect and link the various areas of the city and form the primary network for travel to the various districts, be it noble, commercial, or residential. He tells you a lot about the various halls, and though some of their names slip through one ear and go out the other, his general descriptions and a possible future refresher could act as a very good frame of reference for the kingdom.

He divulges little about the actual building makeup, and actual districts of Throal, though he does talk a bit about the Population of the kingdom. As one would assume it is mostly comprised of Dwarfs. Orks being the second highest racial grouping, followed by Humans, Elves, T’skerang. Windlings and Obsidimen make up the lowest amount of the Throlic kingdom, both races only having a nearly less than one percent representation within the kingdom. Beyond that the other major topic of conversation is the Grand Library of Throal which he speaks of with a large amount of reverence. He describes it as the cornerstone for all the knowledge of Barsaive, and speaks of it as the pinnacle of all learning within the world in general.

You are sure he could go on and on about a great many subjects, and it seems he would try, but your eyes begin to adjust a bit as you realize that the sun is beginning to set. The Ork woman convinces the group to heard the wagons off the road and into the plains to make camp for the night. Everyone sets up their tents and sets out to make a decent sized bonfire for the night. Not too far off into the distance you can see what appears to be the outline of a very small forest. Though it does not bode as any sign of ill omen, it does not necessarily give you the best of feelings to look upon it. However, a certain amount of calmness sets in as you realize that it is still quite the distance away from you as stands. The night comes into full effect. The stars shine with a certain amount of brightness that is beyond enchanting. Davin has agreed to take the first watch of the night, and as such you find yourself once again with both opportunities and boredom.

 

[Cherubian]

It has been a long day, with much to process. There is the overbearing sensation that now I am away from home for good, which weighs even heavier as hours come to a calm and restful end. Besides that I do my best to keep as many of the important bits of information provided by Drogan as I can, but his monologue had seemed to go one for hours, at times little more than aimless rambling while at others pleasantly precise, at it is impossible to memorize all of it in one go.

So all things considered the prospect of rest and sleep is very enticing, and not even any gut feelings of misgiving towards that small wood in the distance can dim this. As most likely I will be expected to keep watch at some time during the night I start the preparations for my sleeping berth immediately.

I have no tent at my disposal, so my bedroll will have to do. Leaning my trusty axe against one of the wagons – keeping it in arms reach – I roll out the bedroll underneath the vehicle so I will have some protection in the unexpected case that it will start to rain. That done I begin to strip. The heavy padded leather armor is a bit too uncomfortable to sleep in under all but the most dangerous circumstances, so the latches are quickly undone and it is put on the ground next to my resting place. What next? I am used to wearing no clothes at all while sleeping, which was no problem back in Drenix where I had a room of my own. On the other hand, it should not be a big problem here, either. The rest of the caravan currently is on the other side of the wagon, and if anyone manages to catch a glimpse, so what? With that decision made my strip continues until all my garments form a neat pile atop my armor, and I finally slip naked into the bedroll, ready to drift off to sleep.

 

[Redking6]

With all the walking that occured, it is no surprise that your body feels a bit tired and that as your body slumps against the bedroll you feel sleep invade rather quickly. You are unsure how long you managed to sleep, though at some point in the middle of the night you hear a gentle rustling, though you are somewhat unsure of where it is coming from. Regardless of its location, it does manage to disturb your surprisingly restful sleep. As your eyes slightly adjust, you notice that it is still night time, though it appears that the morning is slowly approaching.

(If you would, could you make a base Perception roll for me as you awaken. )

 

[Cherubian]

I carefully shift in my bedroll, trying to make as little noise as possible while I get into a better position to turn and crane my neck, to make out the source of that unfamiliar noise.

Likely it is nothing, but this is my first night out in the wilds, and nervousness paired with caution make me want to know, just to be sure.

[Perception 7/d12 = 9]

 

[Redking6]

As you crane your head you notice a strange glint out of the corner of your eye. Your natural low light vision helps your eyes to adjust better to the moonlight and you finally manage to focus. On top of your backpack sits... A pair of wings? The image causes you to do a double take and once you focus a little more you manage to see an individual attached to those wings. Your brain makes the unsubtle logical leap that a windling is ever perched onto your backpack, and it appears as if the name giver is straining to pull something out of your pack, than the glimmer makes sense as a single silver coin, rather large for the little thief, starts to rise from the pack with considerable effort from this... Thief.