The darts whistling around him and splashing into the water around his canoe were more than enough to convince Fingol that the lizardfolk were quite perturbed about something. This was unusual. The lizardfolk usually just avoided humans altogether, and Fingol’s father Ragnbjorn had even been able to form friendships with some of them. Well, maybe not “friendships” but more or less peaceful acquaintances and mutual respect.

Fingol had been allowing his canoe to drift down the bayou when the first dart hit the water. He had stopped rowing to make some notes in the journal he kept of his wanderings. The journal included sketches, maps and stories he has collected and it was his prize possession. Fingol quickly dons the steel cap at his feet and stows the journal away in a large pocket in his utility vest, thankful that he was already wearing his studded leather armor, lest one of the darts actually find its target.  

With his considerable might, Fingol paddles his canoe to the far side of the bayou from the banks where the darts are being hurled from. He cannot see the lizardfolk through the reeds, but he knows they are using atlatls to hurl their darts with far greater force and range than they could by hand.

What could possibly be stirring them up? Fingol wonders. If the lizardfolk are going on the warpath, I need to warn Prince Prospero.

Safely out of range of the lizardfolk’s darts, Fingol begins paddling towards the Javan River. From there, it is only a couple days journey downriver to Westkeep, where Prince Prospero, the military-governor left in charge by King Skotti, holds court.  

Fingol quickly looks over his equipment to make sure all is in readiness in case he should be attacked on the water. His clothing, boots, and tack are permanently stained from wear and mud even when cleaned, as they are now, but in good repair. Tucked into his belt is a hammer that looks more mud stained than bloodstained. His longsword and light wooden shield are new and unblemished and within easy reach. Behind him, also within easy reach, is the longbow he crafted himself, and next to it a quiver full of arrows. 

Fingol suffers no further attacks that day or the next. But he worries about his father, Ragnbjorn, whom he knows has also been assigned to survey the Hool Marshes with two half-elven brothers for the Crown of Keoland. Ragnbjorn, a minor Oeridian noble and currently a commander in the king’s regiments assigned to the Hool Marshes Protectorate had been one of the King’s Rangers who had led King Skotti’s armies to Westkeep.

Fingol, himself, had only recently passed the trials to become one of the King’s Rangers. He passed the trials a few years later than typical. Though natural talent and his personal study of woodcraft should have propelled him through his training his own lack of ambition held him back. Instead of attending to his lessons and prescribed training to be of use in the royal garrison, Fingol spent a great deal of time wandering the Dreadwood Forest, hunting, fishing, making maps, sketching, and taking notes in his journal while his father was out scouting routes through the Hool Marshes. Fingol knew that his father had high hopes for him, but he was too much of a loner to play the game of politics that his father seemed to want him to play. His younger brother Arngeir, due to take his trials soon, had more of a head for that kind of thing. Fingol hopes that if Arngeir was more successful in fulfilling his father’s ambitions for the family there would be less expectations and pressure put on him.

In the meantime, whatever their disagreements, Fingol worries for his father’s safety if the lizardfolk are indeed turning on their human neighbors. With renewed vigor he paddles as swiftly as he can to get to Westkeep.