The gentle autumn winds blew through the humble village of Freyford nestled up against the slopes of the great Wyvern-spine Mountains, bringing with them a showering of crisp leaves.
Life in Freyford was hard, but simple. The folk had little contact with the outside world, apart from the odd travelling merchant who peddled wares to the more secluded parts of the Southlands. Yet, they were content with their own customs and traditions, and few ever desired to leave the tranquillity.
A tradition that almost all followed was that nobody was permitted to venture into and beyond the mountains, for they were sacred and belonged to the realm of the Gods, and the Gods did not take kindly to mortal intrusion.
Iwan rested against his crook as he sat perched atop a rock while keeping a disinterested watch over the small flock of sheep that grazed in the meadow below. He sighed and glanced up at the mountains that towered behind the village in the distance. He had once viewed the vista before him as something of beauty and magnificence, but now it felt like a cage. Having just come into his adulthood, he yearned for the world beyond the confines of his small village.
He had pleaded with the council elders to allow him to venture out into the world, but they had met his plight with strong objections and stern reasoning. His place was with the village and in time, he would come to understand and accept it like many before him.
Iwan was headstrong though, and upon walking out of the council chamber, started planning his departure. If the elders would not allow him to leave, then he would seek a higher power that could. They could not deny him his wish if he came back with the blessing of the Gods, nobody would.
Come sunset, he left the meadow and made his way back home to have supper with his family. He did his best not to dwell on how they would react when they found him gone in the morning. He washed up and went to sleep early, needing all the rest he could get before his departure.
The time came for him to depart, and he snuck out of the house. There was a chill to the late-night air, and he hurried to the location where he had cached the supplies for his journey. He donned his thick furs and boots and threw the pack over his shoulders. He looked back at the village shrouded in darkness one last time and set off.
Iwan was fit and by the time the sun began its descent once more, he had left behind the grassier terrain interspersed with conifer trees and had set up camp on the edge of the tree line, the snowier region of the mountain extending its fingertips towards where he huddled beside his fire staving off the cold.
He looked towards the peaks, but low-hanging clouds, that looked rather ominous, hid them. He contemplated turning back, but decided against it. If he did not see this through, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
He slept poorly that night, and the climb the following day pushed him to his limits. By midday, the weather had turned for the worst and a blizzard had sprung up from nowhere. Icy winds and snow pelted him and he could feel his strength fading. His pack and clothes felt unbearably heavy. He stumbled and fell to the ground. He looked about, desperate for any signs of cover to wait out the storm. Panic flowered within him. Through the swirling and howling gusts of the blizzard, he spied the beginnings of stone steps. Determination took hold of him and, despite his frozen body’s protests, he rose and pushed forward. The harsh conditions tested his resolve, but against all odds, he persevered.
The blizzard fell away, and before him stood a wide stone landing with a simple stone basin. Beyond it, wedged between the peaks, stood two monolithic granite doors, blocking the pass. Before the gate, a gnarled, wizened old man donned in wispy grey robes sat cross-legged. A staff with glyphs carved into the wood rested across his lap.
Iwan stepped forward, challenging the keeper of the gate.
“Is this the realm of the Gods?”
The keeper looked up from where he sat and studied the young man that stood before him.
“Yes, of a sort. However, it is not what you would expect I’d imagine. It never is.”
“How so?”
The keeper gestured at a basin with his staff.
Iwan blinked. The basin had not been there before. He Steeled himself and stepped forward to peer into it. Within its swirling, ever-shifting waters, an image took shape. Iwan stumbled back, shocked by what he had seen. The basin had shown him the body of a young man that lay frozen and crumpled amidst a growing mound of snow.
The body was his own.
Horror and disbelief roared through his mind like the blizzard that had claimed his life.
“I am dead?”
The keeper gave a small nod in confirmation.
“Indeed so.”
Iwan felt a wash of sorrow come over him.
“What do I do now?”
The keeper brought the butt of his staff down with a loud crack and the gates swung open. He gestured for Iwan to pass beyond.
“That is up to you. I merely open the way forward.”
Iwan studied the now-open portal.
“What lies beyond these mountains?”
“That I do not know.”
The keeper waited patiently. Iwan took a deep breath and passed through the gates, and began his descent down the mountain. Behind him, he heard the gates closing shut.
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