The tale of Castor and Gwenryth
Castor, son of Danrilla (lord of Tau, an old pre-township district) was travelling north, into the wild lands. He rode until the roads ended, and then further, trekking through deep woods in his quest for a place to call his own. Eventually, he and his party rode onto a great plain, that streched for miles in every direction. Deer fed on the lush grass, and salmon swam freely in the river that ran along the east side. Castor called to his travelling party "This place is plentiful, and beautiful, and I shall call it Castor's plain. Set down your bags, make your camp, and turn your horses loose; we shall travel no further."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sky erupted with thunder and lightening, and rain poured down upon them all. Hurriedly throwing up their tents, Castor called his old friend Talrash, an elven cleric who had advised Castor's mother before him. "What does this mean, Talrash, do the rains bless me or curse me with their coming?"
"Fear not Castor, for I have seen no ill omen among these clouds, nor does the arcana pull me from this place."
Appeased by these words, Castor and his fellows began to build their town. First small huts, then a grand feasting hall. This hall was tiresome work, as the walls were to be build from the finest cut stone, hauled from a nearby quarry. The door was the height of two elves, and surrounded by carvings of beasts met and slain along the way. Inside, one hundred people could have feasted merrily, and above Castors chair on the far wall a huge spiral compass was carved. Much debate was had about the roof, and Castor insisted the beams be carved from witches' oak, the most magical of the trees in Tariksan's deep woods. A few of the older of Castor's fellows became uncomfortable at this, including Talrash, who begged him to reconsider. "The witches' oak is known as that for good reason, my stubborn friend. Do not push your good fate in these lands too far," said the elf. But he was not heeded.
It took them just two years to build that hall. As the last roofslat was lain, Castor stood infront of the spiral compass, and declared a great feast was to be held that night, to honour their sucess. At the height of the feast, a strange darkness filled Castor's hall, as the fire dimmed and the air grew cold. The winds whipped through the rafters with a faint scream, and vines sprung from the floor to trap castor in their tough grasp. Then the great doors swung open to reveal a halfling woman with magic cracking at her fingertips.
"Castor, son of Danrilla," she said, with a voice that boomed around the room and filled the hearts of all those present with fear. "I am Gwenryth YrOltwain, of the old ways. You have trespassed on my gererosity: for two years I have waited for you to move on from this plain, and for two years you have scorned it and ruined my ancient woods."
With a flick of her wrist she caused the vines to tighten, and Castor gasped in pain as the air left his body. "Do you honestly think the world is yours to trample upon and use as you choose? Mark my worlds, men and women of the south. This plain belongs to noone but the creatures of the forest, and the spirits of ancient ones. Noone will claim it, noone shall settle upon it, for as long as there are YrOltwains on this fair earth."
With a last wave of her hands, Gwenryth released the vines around Castor, and threw flames towards the ceiling of Castor's hall. It soon caught, and Castor's friend Timwid the dwarf lead most of his followers into the night to search for Gwenryth, but she was nowhere to be found. Castor himself was pulled from the hall, unconcious, and spent the next seven days fighting off a fever like none seen before or since. Unsettled, the party readied themselves to leave, and rode west with Castor only semi-concious. Talrash Sannerkin and Grenag Snek (a halforc) were the last to leave, and looked back with regret at the roofless hall that had been their pride and joy.
They and only they saw Gwenryth standing next to it and heard her voice in their heads. "Worry not, tall ones. For your lord will soon be well. And when people ask you why the great hall stands empty upon that long plain, do not be ashamed to lose to the might of the old ways."
One of the several tales of Castor of Tau and his band of followers, The tale of Castor and Gwenryth is supposedly an account of the discovery of the long plain, and the building of the hall upon it in which gathering meetings take place. No YrOltwains are known or recorded near the plain, but strange accidents and freak weather beset those who try to live there.
