Over the years, travelers and bar dwellers have accumulated a wide array of short fables. These tales tell of heroes and villains in thier quests around Serathoul.
The Battle at Red River
Many years ago, there were five friends: a knight, a guardian, a ranger, an engineer, and a bard. Neither their names, nor even their races are known today. They traveled the lands under the name of The Five Justices combating corruption and evil alike. They were loved by the innocent and feared by their enemies. One night, in the small town of White River, the five friends who were sleeping at a local inn awoke to the smell of fire and the sound of screams. They ran out into the street amidst the confusion to what could only be described as a bloodbath. The towns people were being ripped limb from limb by a race of humanoids who's identity is unknown today. A young girl, not much older than seven, who was lying in a ditch caught their attention. Her stomach had been cut open and she was dying fast. She asked the warriors to protect her family and those that she loved. She died there on the spot. Their moment of silence was cut short by an arrow that hit the bard in the shoulder. As the guardian tended to the bard's wound, the knight, their leader, decided that they should grant the girl's wish. Though he wished to stay, the bard was in no condition to fight. His four friends told him to lay low and watch their flank. To this he oblidged. The knight, the guardian, the ranger, and the engineer stood brave at the main bridge across White River. (The river that the town was named after.) Through the night they stood brave and fought wave after wave of attackers to buy the villagers time to escape. The marauders' blood had stained the pure waters a bright crimson within an hour. One by one, the warriors fell. First the ranger, who had run out of arrows and was sparsely armored. Then the engineer, who's grenade had ricocheted off of a shield and exploded in his face. Next was the lumbering guardian, who's armor and lack of mobility made him an easy target to be closed in on. Finally the knight, who stood alone upon a mound of bodies, was stabbed with the last thrust of the last attacker. He slumped down and was met by the bard at his side. The stab had hit him in the heart and had marked him for death. With his last breath, he ordered him to and tell stories of this night. To this he oblidged. The story became known as the tale of the battle at Red River. Though true, this story is only known by the few who have listened to the drunken stories of the elderly. This story has been passed down in bars by word of mouth for so many generations that this is only about 10% of the original tale.
"The Wanderer", as he is often called, is a man of little known detail. Often thought of the "guide of lost souls", he is what some adventurers call the man who saves misguided men from ending their life. Some simply believe is his no more than a fairy tale - a simple man in a children's book. Others believe he is a man who had his own problems in life, but in his last days simply wanders and helps people with their own problem. Some say he is just a figure - that the real wander is perhaps just a friend giving advice, or a relative their for your time of need. Others believe that "he" is really a "them", a group of people who dedicate their lives to helping others. Some may believe that it is not a man at all, just a spirit, or perhaps a descendant of the gods. In the end, no one really knows. He could be as abundant and as real as the air we breath, or as non-existent as the the Fountain of Youth. He is a mystery to all, with no real description to speak of. Even the Avians with all their knowledge could not know for sure. Perhaps one day, he will be known. But for now, he is simply an imaginary man in all of our lives.
A song children would sometimes sing:
He spends his days roaming the earth
For he has not a worry to speak of
He spends his time helping others
When all reason has escaped them
He is their and gone in a flash
Yet their lives have changed
How we wish we could thank the man
He who helps all yet has no name