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| The Onyx Isle |
| In the aftermath of the shipwreck the clan to be found themselves on the sandy, pebble-strewn beach of a small island. Jagged grey crags led up from the shore and atop them sat brooding dark woods, the outmost trees looking down from the clifftops like ancient night-watchmen amid granite ramparts. The storm raged on and the castaways looked with trepidation at the harsh terrain that awaited them. Camping down on one of the gentler slopes that ran to one side of the cove, they spent the night dragging survivors out of the water, laying the dead to rest and despatching any unliving that waded out of the crashing waves. Come morning the storm had long since passed and brought the cold grey glow of early daylight. With it came the chance to explore their surroundings and a scouting party assembled, armed with weapons and magic, and once fed, made their way inland. The slope led up through the dark grey rocks along a clearly well-trodden pathway. Others had been this way before. The scout party readied their weapons as they moved into the woods, now less daunting as shards of sunlight speared through the thick green canopy overhead. They moved through the trees with caution, searching side-tracks and branches off the main path that mostly led to small clearings or faded away into the undergrowth through lack of use. Eventually though they found the first signs of habitation. Small moss encrusted shacks lay scattered amongst the trees near the centre of the island, each abandoned and overgrown, the weeds and insects quick to take advantage of the empty abodes. Past the shacks the path led to a small settlement that surrounded a ruined tower made of smooth black stone that glistened in the sunlight. Originally the tower would have stood above the tree tops but its highest levels had fallen into dis-repair, perhaps been destroyed intentionally, as huge sections of the walls lay strewn about the ground. The settlement itself seemed long abandoned, no signs of food or personal effects remained, no bodies to suggest an attack, although quite a large graveyard was later found nearby. The scouts returned to the cove and told the others what they had found. All were in agreement, the settlement would be their camp while they tended to the injured and tried to regain strength after their imprisonment. During the weeks that followed the sick and injured healed quickly, orchards were found - bountiful with ripe fruit, and the hunting was good -with boar and wild fowl roaming the woodland. The group became closer, deciding to form a clan and begin long-term repairs to the settlement. With no immediate means of travel and not wishing to travel by boat so soon, the clan very quickly adopted this island as their new home. Just outside the settlement, hidden within the long grass was discovered a circle of stones. Further investigation revealed a faint trace of magic held within this circle and after much discussion it was agreed that attempts should be made to transport from this circle to another. Several attempts later the circle finally glowed and a transport was successful. Although weak, enough power remained in this circle to work as long as one ritualist remained nearby, letting a small amount of their power seep constantly into the stones. Not perfect but with forward planning and the appointment of several circle guardians transport to and from the island could be performed. But where is the island? To this day the clan are still unsure. Travel is undertaken by circle not by boat, no other land or vessels have been seen, it may not even be off the shores of Caledonia, the home of most other clans! Held below decks it was impossible to tell where the ship of the dead headed to or even how long they sailed for. The loyalty of the Clan lay with Caledonia and the Queens though, and all agreed wherever in the world they be, they are Bears. |
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