Arwen stretched her arms and legs before beginning the final length of the journey. On foot. On her left she held on tightly to a canteen of water and in her right she held a broken branch. Staring straight ahead at the bush she needed to walk through she felt daunted and reluctant to begin. If she got lost it wouldn’t be easy to get back out again, the trees were so thick.
With a sigh she began her trek through the forest. It was quiet but for the sound of snapping twigs, crushing leaves and the occasional birdsong. No one was in sight, for which Arwen was glad; it meant no one would see her fall down into the leaf litter.
She was deep in thought about the prospect of seeing Obernewtyn in its original state when she started and promptly fell down. The squirrel zipped across the ground in front of her, taunting her with its acorn as if it held some value to her. As Arwen lifted herself off the ground with the help of her stick, the squirrel swiftly fled up the nearest trunk and proceeded to race across the branches ahead of Arwen. It would pause a few trees ahead whenever Arwen rested and race off again as she started to move on. Arwen was delighted with the company for it was not often she saw one of the nimble creatures. She’d never seen one so friendly either.
After walking with the squirrel for hours, Arwen sat down for a rest, taking a long draught of water. Tentatively the squirrel crept up to her, and mustering a bout of courage leapt onto her shoulder. It was exhausted and chittered in her ear. Too exhausted to realize the squirrel sat on her shoulder Arwen drew the arm holding the open canteen around her other shoulder. The squirrel took its chance and had a drink before sitting back and waiting.
At last Arwen was ready to go again and had by then noticed the squirrel’s presence. Hiking but half an hour more brought her out into an open field beyond which lay a great green maze. The squirrel jumped off its perch and raced as fast as its little legs could carry it to beyond the maze. Laughing in delight Arwen chased after it, finding herself outside a grand building by a fountain in which the squirrel splashed about in. Sitting around the fountain were a number of people, and Arwen knew she could only be in one place; Obernewtyn. With a smile on her face she strode over to them with the intent of introducing herself.
Leaves and debris scattered as a howling filled the air. All clutter on the ground seemed to part as a figure emerged from the cloud cover, dropping from the sky. It wasn't a bird; it wasn't a flyingmachine. It was a human being, stepping out of the blue. Fate stretched her legs out and prepared to land gracefully - only to trip on her own feet and roll clumsily to the ground. The backpack she sported could only be one thing: a jetpack, crafted out of mechanics and engineering that only the Beforetime could produce.
Silence descended on the clearing as the shrieking whirr of the strange device ceased. Wiping her brow, Fate stood to examine her surroundings; it seemed she had landed a few hundred metres off her mark: the mountain institute of Obernewtyn. The fly had been nothing short of exhilarating - a zooming rush of adrenaline, soaring amongst the clouds. Halfway to her destination, a flock of geese had joined her on her flight, wings flapping and voices booming around her. It had felt like she was one of them, poised between the sun and the earth in a never ending suspension. Defying gravity - Fate knew now why the Beforetimers had loved to fly. Artifice could produce the machines, but not the sensation of being on top of the world. Fate peeked above her to see her fellow adventurers fly overhead with their own packs, to their rightful target.
Fate sprinted the last steps of the journey, through the thickness of trees and into the eyesight of the majestic gate. The glittering fountain was already attracting others, and she hurried to join them. Splashing her face with water, a wide grin broke out on her face - this was it. Obernewtyn.
Blackbird of the Wanderers presents her story -
The journey to Obernewtyn has been long and gruelling. Many would have fallen by the wayside if not for the intense group-bond that saw each member aid the others in a heart-warming display of teamwork. The goal is in sight, and all that is between the group and Obernewtyn is one last stretch of terrain. Weary and footsore, the group is in for a bit of a treat in this final stage. As a gift, a mode of transport has been arranged that will allow the travellers to rest their sore feet as they cover the last distance to Obernewtyn.
It is Kamuli! (in an arrangement that was called a ‘CamelTrain’ in the Beforetime, even though there is no train.)
And so, the travellers mount up and continue on in the swaying style of the desert. Following the guide on his handsome golden beast, this final stage of the journey passes in pleasant conversation and shared tales of the journey undertaken. The narrowing of the road as it goes through the pass sends a wave of excitement through the party, as their destination draws ever closer. Coming around a bend as the sun begins to dip below the mountains, the gates of Obernewtyn appear, glowing like golden-red fire in the light of the setting sun.
Through the gates and up to the main doors the party travels. The doors stand wide open, the Master of Obernewtyn stands in welcome, accompanied by the Guild leaders, and his beloved. Dismounting from the Kamuli, the travellers are welcomed warmly and bade to enter Obernewtyn and refresh themselves before the evening feast.
Finally they have arrived, on this the pilgrimage to Obernewtyn!
The last leg was upon us. We had had help along the way from the Moonfairies and others but now it was up to oureselves to get the last little way. With the coming of the winter season it was cold and a good layer of snow lay on the ground. There was plenty of fallen brances on the sides of the road, so we collected as many as possible to make sleds. Beastspeaking some friendly dogs, we asked them if they would be willing to help pull the sleds to Obernewtyn. They seemed very happy to oblige, wanting to see the barad where funaga and beast were treated as equals. This of course meant that the pulling of the sleds and the riding in the sleds was shared by all. After taking in turns and not a few small accidents and snowfights, we arrived at the gates to Obernewtyn where warm rooms and hot chocca waited.
We gather together just outside the pass. We are excited. After almost two long months we are almost there, almost at the legendary Obernewtyn. As the last stragglers arrive, we prepare for the final leg of the journey, our voices rising in nervous excitement. An unconscious signal is given and everyone mills around, trying to find their place. Gradually, a line forms, each person with their hands on the hips or shoulders or the person in front. Linked in this way, the conga line dances, singing and cheering, all the way up the pass and through the gates, to Obernewtyn
I pace the perimeter of the abandoned hangar for the umpteenth time. Frustrated at my watch's inability to tick to the pace of my footsteps, yet still too rational to undo its hatch and throw it over the plateau’s edge. Deeming it enough exercise for the day I flop myself against the wall, the impact sends a shock wave racing across the steel walls. A string of censored profanities waltzes off my tongue as the hangar whines in protest around me. I watch in horror as one of the supporting beams brakes off its long standing relationship with the roof and races to meet the ground and crush me within its embrace. I've always hated bear hugs. Sandwiching my head between my torso and legs I brace myself for the impact.
Funnily enough it doesn’t come. Though the alternative isn’t much more comfortable. A pair of sharp talons dig in painfully beneath my arms, quite possibly dislocating both my shoulders, and swoop me off the ground propelling us into the air. I glance downwards, a mistake. The sight of the 200 foot drop to the jagged mountain side bellow dissolves my complaints about the lack of first class service on the flight. Instead I arrange the corners of my mouth into a rough smile and glance at the scarlet belly of the Agyllian above me. At least it came on time. I draw the cold mountain air into my lungs. Through the raging inferno of pain I manage to croak out a quiet but for a change genuine 'thank-you'
Tonks of the Ashlings
Wraithking whistled soflty. A second later the result of his action was clear: a magic carpet, of gold and purple stopped beside him.
He grinned to himself at the thought of flying through the sky, like a bird, but without using any energy.
Without further ado he climbed onto the carpet who hovered and jerked about impatiently.
The carpet took off at such a speed that Wraithking nearly lost his seat. Once he regained his balance, gripping the sides of the carpet tightly, he directed it towards his final destination.
Dipping and swirling about in the air, Wraithking soon found himself above Obernewtyn. He directed the carpet down imperiously, and the carpet bucked violently when it was two feet off the ground, tossing Wraithking off it. He stood up, rubbing his backside and looked at the sight in front of him. Obernewtyn.
Schis, of the Ashlings:
As Schis noticed the distinctive Obernewtyn looming in the distance, he let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the journey was almost complete. After several weeks of travel, it was finally coming to an end.
"Disembark," called the bus driver. Schis trailled off the bus excited to almost be home, but at the same time he dreading the remaining leg of the journey. Knowing the bus could go no further, and that he had no other choice but to walk, Schis marched onwards, as a light rain began to fall.
The sweaty, arduous ascent to Obernewtyn left Schis exhausted, and by the time he actually reached Obernewtyn, he was beyond ready for a good feed and to catch up with old friends.