Every month she would call forth citizens to rise to her challenge, and only the bravest and most wise would be granted entrance to her lair. Here she would riddle, and riddle well she did, only the most keen of mind would ever succeed. Grint had himself once journeyed overseas in pursuit of this dream, hoping to return victorious from her challenge, but alas it was never to be.

This word unlocked the secret of the text, and before long Grint had made a complete translation of those words that were still decipherable.

The words troubled him. It seemed Al’Cedra’s lair was not her own, she was a guardian of some kind. Perhaps her famous challenges were indeed part of this mystery, perhaps she was seeking someone to replace her, fearing her time had come. Grint smiled, he was letting his imagination run wild again, he must not draw such conclusions upon mere speculation.

He laid a piece of fine parchment over the map, and went over the words with ink, before hurriedly folding it under his arm and heading off towards the nearby docks.

People oft underestimate the wisdom of sailors, and their knowledge of Britannia. It did not take Grint long in the local tavern to find somebody who knew what the map portrayed.

“That’s the coastline north of Yew” Blurted the man, his thick stubby finger pinning the parchment down.

“Thank… thee.. milord…” Grint uttered in astonishment, as he slid a few gold pieces across the oaken table toward him.

The old man looked up to thank him, but Grint was already gone.

Yew was but a few days trek from his home in Minoc, but a journey which no man should set off for unprepared, for his travels would take him through both swamp and forest, along shadowy paths fraught with danger. Grint set off in the early hours the following morning, the sun casting little light as it rose beyond the distant mountains.

He was barely middle aged and still in good health, and made good progress as the cobbled roads slowly broke down to seldom trodden dirt tracks. The swamp road was trouble-free, he was alert for signs of crocodiles or other beasts that haunt the area, and kept a careful eye for signs of bandits, who often use this treacherous way to plunder cargo from trader’s wagons as they journey between towns. Lonely travellers were often victims of savage murder, dying for the few gold-pieces in their possession.

Tales of murder and highwaymen were never far from his mind as Grint trod onwards, gazing at the distant coastline to the south, the peaks and spires of Cove scarcely visible in the afternoon haze.

The late evening light slowly faded, the sky was dark except for a thin red glow behind the mountains, illuminating them in all their majesty. Grint had made good progress, and he knew his destination was close. He felt almost drawn towards the small island that appeared before him, scarcely visible in the sea-mist that rose above tranquil waters. Grasping his cumbersome backpack in both hands, he held it high over his head as he waded to the small isle. There he found it, partially concealed under a few dried leaves, the portal to her lair. Slinging the backpack to the ground, he calmly stepped upon the sunken platform, and closed his eyes.

The story is from http://www.uo-europe.com/