Uthik's Background Sotry

“Uthik, wake.” The timbre of his father’s voice carried Uthik from his shallow slumber. He was dreaming something pleasant although the particulars escaped his muddled senses.

“Uthik!” The unmistakable sounds of clashing steel abruptly thrust Uthik into a predawn reality. “Bandits. We must get you out of here!” The sound of men fighting alarmingly close by filtered into his consciousness as Uthik quickly rolled up his gear and stuffed it into a prepared backpack. He then followed his father into the fogs that had infused their camp with a thick, dense blanket of grey obscurity.

Amorphous figures flitted among the shadowy corners of the camp becoming darker as they approached only to slowly dissolve as they moved further away. Uthik followed his father closely as they weaved their way toward the location of the hobbled horses. Suddenly, his father lurched to his left as if yanked by some unseen rope. He took two more steps and then dropped to the ground. Uthik crouched next to him to find an arrow protruding from his neck.

“Father!” Uthik exclaimed as he tried to stauch the spurting blood from his father’s neck. His father made a feeble attempt to grab Uthik’s shoulders. As he tried to speak, he coughed blood up onto his face and then died in Uthik’s arms.

Uthik had no idea how long he sat in the mud, but he came to with Lathert shaking him gently. He was saying something, but Uthik was having trouble hearing him, “...the horses. Everyone’s either dead or dying and they are looking for you. The fog will not conceal us much longer.” It was true, the morning sun was nearly above the horizon and it would quickly burn the fog away revealing them to the bandits he could hear calling to one another some short distance away.

Somehow they made it to the horses without being seen. Uthik clambered onto his horse just as a shout went up behind them. Lathert hit Uthik’s horse with the flat of his blade yelling, his “Hyeahh!” the last sound Uthik would hear from on of his companions. His horse leapt forward at a gallop and Uthik did all he could to hold on. As they accelerated away from the camp, he swore he heard someone yelling his name, but the remaining fog played with the sound and he could not be sure.

After several hours of trusting his horse to pick the safest way, Uthik guided it North. North to Restov. North to the Swordlords. North to his destiny.

Uthik Nudreth, literally translated to mean Powerful Magus of Eternal Hope, was in his 100th year. His father, a great historian of their peoples had named him thinking he was the child of prophecy that would renew their people’s place in the Stolen Lands - Elves living in the Southern forests, scattered into small bands of nomadic groups so as to avoid detection. Uthik was the 6th such prophesied child of which five had proven false, but his father would not be dissuaded. Uthik was raised from birth to understand all there was to know of the lands the Elves had occupied and its inhabitants, whether mortal or fey. He was trained in the mystical arts and grew to love his father who despite the quiet whispers was a man loved and respected by the clans. His mother was unknown to him. His father refused to speak of her while others would simply shake their heads when Uthik asked.