A chill hung on the late summer air, imparting the promise of an early and cold autumn, and yet the sky still remained true. The sun was high on the horizon, in a cloudless field of sapphire blue, the same hue as Tynan Selvantyr’s eyes, shielded by his hand. He studied the sun’s position behind him and determined that, with his horse Duraden’s steady pace, they would crest the mountain ridge by mid-afternoon and arrive at Nightstone Peak soon after. Tynan turned back to face the mountain pass ahead. The summer rays simmered against his deep red cloak, despite the coolness in the air.
Tynan was a dashing figure to behold atop his golden stallion, and he knew it. With his own blond locks and trim build, he knew he stood out amongst the dark rock of the Black Mountains, and unlike other men of noble birth, he enjoyed travel and adventuring. He loved the fortune and renown he had gained in the pursuit of his passion for high adventure. Moreover, in his mind, the dirt and blood that came with such things made him look more rugged and fierce, although he preferred to have time to groom himself after a battle before he recounted the events to any bard or group of admirers.
Tynan was distinct from others in the adventuring circle for his ability to wield both magik and sword simultaneously, and with equal expertise. The majority of adventurers roaming the world seemed of a mind that one had to concentrate their skills in one area or the other to gain complete mastery of the art. Tynan had broken that barrier over two decades ago, and the bards of Cathell sang his name in every tavern and court across the northern regions and beyond. Everyone knew his name: Tynan Darius Selvantyr, the illustrious adventurer who wielded both great magiks and a great sword. He had personally made sure of it.
- Into the Darkness, “Prologue”, page 1