The following story is a summary of 8 months of resources. In total, 20 Downtime Actions, 1 Org Action, and 3 Assist Actions were all used in the efforts put forth here. Interact staff, as well as the following players all took part in writing this story by contributing Downtime Actions, Assists, and making additions to the story in and out of the Resource responses:
Brenna Norton
Rachel Miller
Josephine Robertson
Joel Robertson
Tyler Dubey
Hannah Dubey
Cole Potter
Leticia Alcorta
Part 1: Finding the Resistance
In May of 274, the shrill screams of Salt Beasts and their victims echo through the woods. The surgeon from the Broken Blade Company is actively tending to the fatal wound of a Shattered Spear warrior cut down by Hersir Runa Shattered Spear, surrounded by the victim’s family.
A lone Ulven man approaches the entrance of the outpost, and is quickly surrounded by guards.
“Who are you?” The guards demand, “Where did you come from?”
“I am looking for Shattered Spear,” the man says, out of breath. “I have a letter.”
Runa is called over, the blood of her own victim still dripping from her hands–will Shattered Spear blood always be on her hands?
The man hands over a letter. “We are still trying to fight,” He says, pleading with her. “Don’t forget about us, please.”
Runa opens the letter.
“Brothers and Sisters of Shattered Spear, and those who fight for us, we are still here.They have not fully conquered us yet. The Great Wolf will devour these wretched Stonetooth as we deliver them, and we will reclaim our lands and save our people from within. We cannot do it alone though. We need weapons and armor after they took almost everything from our people. Stand Strong, Stand Unconquered.
May the Great Wolf know your names,
Icefury”
“Pack Icefury survived?” Runa asks the man, “Is the Clanleader alive?”
“There is no time for this, I have to go before my opening to get back is gone and I can’t return again.” He says, making his way back to the entrance. Volrok, overhearing nearby, meets Runa’s gaze and nods, both understanding what needs to be done.
Runa gets the man’s attention for one last second. “Find us– we’ll be waiting with supplies near Bladehome.”
Then the man is gone. The letter remains clutched in Runa’s grip, one spark of hope in the sea of hopelessness.
In June, a moot for the position of Clanleader is held. After news spread of two individuals vying for the position— one hoping to push Shattered Spear to integrate into Clan Nightriver and the other pushing for joining back up into the war to take back the homeland—Runa, Harkov, and Chieftain Halli attend the Shattered Spear Moot together with the letter Runa received from Pack Icefury.
Chieftain Halli makes sure each warrior stands tall and proud before the journey begins, and gives Runa a brief smile as their walk to the moot starts. Runa is full of nerves, her hands slowly clenching around the note, causing additional creases and some minor smudging across the words. Straightening out the parchment, Harkov approaches after his initial scouting around the area and reports no sign of any spies. Runa’s nerves are eased now that she can be confident this information can be shared without potentially revealing to Stonetooth a resistance under their noses—but a moot for new leadership always leaves room for jitters. Chieftain Halli places a hand on her shoulder and takes the note, reading it over once more before neatly folding it away. In due time, Chieftain Halli and Runa are called to speak.
Runa’s letter stirs various types of fury, relief, grief, and hope amongst the chamber halls when Chieftain Halli reads it for the moot. Halli credits Runa for bringing back the note, as well as seeking additional council with the newly established warpack at her side. Immediately following the initial murmurs as Halli finishes speaking, the hall erupts into a cacophonous roar.
Calls for immediate action break against the tide of calls for caution – to not fall prey to dishonorable schemes of Stonetooth. Even with the surge of emotions, Grettir and Sigurmund show great skill in calming back down the crowd.
“Grimward and Stonetooth have already dishonored us,” Sigurmund calls out into the hall, silencing the loud arguments across the room. “Now we have a sign that Icefury still stands! We will, we must, bring them back so that we may fight together and retake our lands!”
Sigurmund continues his rousing speech, stirring the flame of battle in much of the room. A few Ulven previously noted as cautiously taking in Sigurmund’s responses seem to be fully impassioned at his speech now.
“How long do we hide under Clan Nightriver, gracious as they are? We have not forgotten what was taken from us, and I have no intention to let us lose even more. We have spent enough time hiding behind the frontlines and waiting for our time to strike. Our troops are growing and our swords are sharp – let them meet Grimward again to remind them of our strength.” He shouts, invigorating the crowd.
The room once again rises to increased layers of howling, yelling, cheers, and pledges of death to Stonetooth and Grimward alike.
Grettir clears her throat, following with much more mild-mannered comments, “This is a monumental challenge given to us by the Great Wolf. Should we charge headlong into battle to take back Icefury and return him to us, by Gaia’s grace we will have accomplished a resounding blow against Grimward.” Grettir pauses briefly as the hall erupts into cheers, raising her voice to regain control of the room, “However, Grimward and Stonetooth do not follow honorable ways. Stonetooth began this sordid war by subterfuge and undermining the honor of others at the Moot. It would not be unforeseen that they continue to try and drag us down; as long as the people of Shattered Spear stand, Stonetooth and Grimward know they will see no rest.”
The room now only murmurs as Grettir pauses a moment to let her words sink in. “Gaia has been gracious to us while we recover; it would not be wise to hasten back to their den of serpents without confirmed information. These “conquerors” prey on our honor, and they will have to work to claim our lives. If Icefury still stands we should send scouts to confirm the information first, before our warpacks are sent. Right now all our warriors need either rest, training, or are actively fighting. We cannot rush so easily.”
Runa sees several of the nearby elders shaking their heads in agreement – not opposed to finding Icefury, but desiring confirmation of the information before dedicating warriors towards the effort.
Both leaders look towards Chieftain Halli and nod before continuing on with additional business. Chieftain Halli leans down to Runa and whispers in her ear, “We will speak with them after, it seems both of them have some interest in what you have brought today. Icefury now stands for more than the safety of fellow kin – it is a sign that Shattered Spear has regrouped and is ready to tear the throat of the conquerors. There is no doubt both of them will want some action towards this if they are to be proven a competent Clanleader. It would be foolish to take no action.”
In the brutal July heat, at Bladehome, Runa and Becca wait with the supplies provided by the Broken Blade Company for Pack Icefury to come get them– hoping they will come get them. Becca’s spies enjoy the relaxed nature of eating pickles during the initial waiting game, a rare opportunity in their line of work, as opposed to mind games against other spies or delving into enemy territory. Eventually the relaxed situation (and pickles) fade into memory as the sounds of battle are never far from Bladehome, never quite able to tell if they’re getting further or closer. The nearby sound of a cracking of wood brings the spy trio to attention from their hiding spots though, their focus going to the stash of supplies in the woods clearing where an arrow is now sticking out of one of the boxes.
Batu moves forward quietly towards the cache, trying to determine if the frontline has gotten too close or if something else is going on… until he sees the letter tied to the shaft of the arrow. He looks around the area, but whomever shot the arrow is either watching from a distance or is gone. The letter, a poorly scrawled map of the area with an “X” marking what is likely a nearby rocky crevice, along with a marking of a horizontal line with 6 dots below it, the design of what Clan Shattered Spear wears for face paint. From the tower and hiding spots, Batu is spotted giving a ‘come here’ gesture.
Runa, Becca, and the other spies gather at the cache before cautiously moving to the map’s marked location. The direction brings them uncomfortably close to Stonetooth frontlines before they reach the marking, found to be out of sight behind a wall of brush and stone where an ulven woman sits quietly waiting. Weapons are drawn out of caution and Becca sends her spies to watch the surrounding area to watch for a trap. The ulven before them bears the mark of a thrall upon her forehead, but she begins to talk without hesitation.
“My apologies for not meeting you at your cache, but unfortunately if I could find it then it’s possible they saw it too; and I can’t risk Stonetooth seeing me snooping around a supply cache while not playing my ‘role’” She says as he gestures to the marking on her forehead. “Names will have to be forgone. I don’t want to hear yours in case I am grabbed and I can’t tell you about our people in case one of you are grabbed. Your pile of supplies is greatly appreciated but we have no way to transport that much through the frontlines after they shifted from when our scout found you two months ago. We need a different route, and unless Whiteoak has joined the war since our home was covered in blood, then as far as we know your only way to get them to us is around the Great Lake… straight through the Great Forest.” She continues, her face showing awareness to the risks of such a journey.
“We can meet you in the empty village of Pack Birchborne in the old Riverhead lands, that will allow us to move the equipment where we need it from there. We can’t come all the way to you in number, lest Stonetooth will become more likely to notice a group of us missing for a long time. I know this is all a tall ask, but Stonetooth count every weapon and tool of our villages, with families at risk whenever any tools ‘disappear’ for our cause. Our people have fury that we cannot act upon. We need sharpened steel, arrows, and anything else that can be wielded if we are to have a chance in fighting back.”
“If you accept, then I will meet you in Riverhead with more of our people and await your arrival. Every stack of blades is a pile of Stonetooth corpses. May his ears ring.” She finishes as she reaches her arm out for the traditional shake, awaiting a response. While the opportunity to follow this Shattered Spear scout to their home was lost, a new but dangerous prospect has been made among the shifting frontline of this northern front; likely known only to Becca and Runa.
Runa clasps forearms, agreeing to the daunting task ahead.
After agreeing to move the supplies to Riverhead, in August Runa and Becca work together to make a plan to see it happen, consulting with the spies assembled for this task. One spy pauses for a moment, and brings up a valid concern.
“What if our contact is setting this up and tipping off Stonetooth? Would catching us in the act with supplies not be a worthy way to alleviate ill conditions placed on a Thrall’s family?” the spy notes to all those gathered. There are some murmurs of agreement and disagreement, but the words have been spoken and a bit of dread creeps into the group’s plan. What if everyone is walking into a trap? This counts only one of many worries, as the path laid out for this travel takes the group considerably into the Great Forest. Expert pathfinders can cut a path that skirts the edges of Ulven territories and avoids the thickest forest, but the previous Pack Birchborne village chosen as a meeting place is still well within the forest.
With no other options, the assembled crew prepare what is needed and make ready to depart. The expedition is just big enough to move a few small travois and a solid wagon along the roads, but small enough to make it quick and less noticeable. Dangers abound from encroaching Stonetooth bands, bandits looking for an easy mark on the road, or worse yet… the things of salt and claws spoken about near this area.
The crew is well supported with no amateurs, and the travel goes quickly and quietly. A few chance encounters with some Ulven turn out to be just local hunters minding their own business, and the main roads through the Great Forest have begun to be reclaimed by nature. The group’s proactive choice in wagon and travois seems invaluable, as moving goods through dense overgrowth becomes a new obstacle. Everyone is alert for days, some nights spent with no fire, as dried goods and trail-stable foodstuffs are relied on. Novices could be spooked at the noises in the night, but the hardened group pushes past the goosebumps to continue on their task.
The band reaches the Birchborne village and sets up, being careful not to make it look occupied lest they draw unwanted attention. The village is in various states of degradation, nature reclaiming it slowly but surely. Grass grows where paths used to be while the buildings show plant growth from the lack of maintenance or rot from roof repairs long left overdue. The entire village is eerily quiet, but overall seems safe enough; no signs of adversity to prevent the group from pausing. Several days pass when suddenly an arrow lands in the middle of the village with a piece of parchment on it. A quiet alarm is raised until Runa remembers this is the way the scout introduced themselves last month, so she takes a gamble on it, stepping out and making herself visible in the village.
Once visible, a figure emerges with a bow. Getting closer, the group can see this is the scout from weeks ago. Unwilling to let their guard down in case this is the trap they were worried for, the group quickly scans the treeline for Stonetooth marauders to come charging forth.
However, it is a small band of Clan Shattered Spear thralls that approaches your group and comes to the wagons and supplies. They hold a finger over their mouths, motioning for silence, as they clasp forearms in greeting, then tend to the supplies and the carts. A few bundles of supplies are moved to a rotting wagon and the quality one left behind in the village. Some foraged food and random items scavenged from the village are placed on or around the supplies, helping mask their presence among the randomness.
Did the Thralls convince their overseers to come to this village for supplies? Was that the cover to hand them off? The group will never know, as the Shattered Spear band moves back the way they came and away from the village. The goods have been delivered and the group is far lighter, giving haste to boots in an effort and eagerness to be free of this place. After such weighty travels to deliver the supplies the trip, the trip back proves much quicker without the travois being heavy laden and difficult to maneuver. The group nearly makes it back to allied borders well enough to find the main roadways when they come across a gruesome sight.
A fresh blood spatter marks the walking trail through the grass, the tracks and stamped down vegetation in the area showing that several figures moved about in a frantic way. A supply pack, torn open, has its contents upended into the grass. A hunting bow lays snapped, cut clean in two. More blood, a drag mark, and a corpse. At least, what is left of one, as the ferocity in which this poor Ulven was torn to pieces and eaten could put the Mordok brutality to shame. Most of the flesh is gone, but the grasping marks and dirty hands left behind are proof that this victim was alive and trying to get away when whatever it was descended upon them. Another drag mark goes further into a thicket of woods, with blood trailing it.
One of the spies uses a stick to poke at and pick up what looks like a piece of leather. It looks like skin, sloughed off, and caked in salt. Worried looks dart between those gathered at this grisly site when a piercing scream cuts through the woods and echoes ominously through the area. Whatever made it is close. Too close. Whatever did this had an help, as a second raspy, chittering wheeze grows closer by the second.
There is no need to tell everyone that it is time to go; everyone is already in motion as quietly as possible. Becca’s efforts to get through and out of this area quickly save the group from stumbling around too much, and the discipline of the group is admirable as they don’t let their panic find voice in their throat. Smoothly, the group exits the area and a distant scream sometime later notes that they were able to put considerable distance between them and whatever that was. The final few days of travel are somber but the determination of the group gets them back to friendly territory, where everyone is finally able to unclench their jaws and breathe.
In September, barely any time has passed since the group left the forest after the prior month’s safe travels, and yet this being the second journey into the Great Forest doesn’t make it any less intimidating and brings the same sense of unknown dangers as the first time. With fresh travel supplies and no carts to deal with, the group begins their journey into the forest on better foot-paths that they couldn’t have taken with carts. Despite having an expert team of scouts among the party, none of them feel any more experienced with traversing the vast forest but all the same safe measures are taken.
The journey remains rather quiet for days of travel, with only the sounds of odd birds and rare spotting of a deer to keep the forest from feeling like it’s repeating itself. That is, until Becca pauses the travel party from something feeling off. The songs of birds are gone and the forest has fallen silent around your party, who knows for how long but Becca’s scouting skills likely caught it quickly. The group carefully and quietly spreads out to different obscured spots, watching for what has disturbed the forest. A few seconds feels like minutes before a cracking of brush is heard ahead. Stumbling out from some brush onto the deer trail, a tall person but most features are hard to see from the distance. Their clothes appeared tattered and body scrawny, the thought circulates that they may be a lost person or a hobo, until the groan emanates from their mouth, which falls unhinged. A walking corpse.
Runa and Becca make eye contact, trying to silently signal whether to group up and kill it, or just wait. As the most experienced warrior in the group, Runa signals to wait as many in the group have never dealt with undead before, and Becca agrees as the forest is silent and the sounds of fighting could attract attention.
Turning back to look at the undead, it appears to have just been staring into an opening in the trees where light shines though. Fangs can be seen in its open mouth; Ulven, likely Riverhead.
The pause is finally broken as it starts to shamble in its original direction again, while the sounds of other brush being pushed through can be heard further back. Likely another undead, or who knows how many more, but as luck would find it their path is different from the group’s. Tracking the passage of time fades as the group waits, only long after the shambling noises have faded and the song of birds return does the group stand back up and continue their journey. An oddly serene, yet hair-raising moment, of the Great Forest; luckily the group noticed the undead first instead of it seeing them.
The rest of the journey is quiet, eventually reaching the Pack Birchborne village without further known troubles. Not knowing what to expect since an ‘invite’ wasn’t given this time, the group checks over the area to make sure it’s safe. While looking around for signs of Pack Icefury or the resistance, a yell comes from a couple buildings over. Seela, one of Becca’s scouts, stands before the group with a blade to her throat held by a ragged looking Ulven with a thrall marking on his forehead. No one recognizes him, and what grabs the group’s attention is that there’s panic on his face, obviously caught off guard from running into your group.
“W-who are you all?” He asks, blade held with a little shake. He may be a thrall about to bolt to report the group, but he might also be Icefury resistance who was expecting someone else to show up? Either way, Seela may be at risk of severe injury or death from the blade on her throat.
Runa steps forward, introducing herself as a Hersir of Clan Shattered Spear, and introducing Becca at her side. Runa begins to explain that they’ve been here before, handing off supplies to a woman– but at the mention of your names, the thrall’s stance softens. His eyes look around warily, clearly expecting a presence within this forest other than your own, but he releases Seela back towards your direction with a shove. She briefly confirms with Becca that she is unhurt, then disappears into the forest at her suggestion, racing off to form any sort of possible perimeter.
“I thank you for your name, but mine will need to be forgone,” he points at the marking on his head. Runa asks if he is of Icefury, and begins to explain she may have critical information, but he holds up a hand, suggesting a pause.
“I appreciate your eagerness, but there’s someone else who needs to hear this. Follow me.”
The remainder of the groups traversal through the forest is eerily quiet. The man in front of them makes every effort to avoid snapping twigs or treading on crisp leaves, doing so with a practiced ease. The group does their best to follow his footsteps. Any attempts to make further conversation only result in a low grunts as his reply. After some time the thought begins to creep into Runa’s mind that this man is not who he says he is and that she has trusted blindly for nothing, but she has not come this far for nothing.
Soon the group is brought to a sad sight. A small abandoned village lies at the edge of the forest, now completely overgrown with brush. Most buildings lie dilapidated and unsuited for any resident; if not burned by raids then now collapsing inward from the curse of time and nature’s wrath. Before stepping from the treeline, the guide pauses, then whistles one crisp clean high note. After a moment from somewhere in between the buildings, a different voice returns a whistle in a lower tone.
“Alright, we’re in the clear, let’s go.” The guide steps from the trees, keeping low in the underbrush and the group follows, doing the same. Approaching one of the very few homes that are still standing reasonably well, in its door stands an ulven woman, also marked with the unmistakable thrall symbol.
She eyes Runa questionably, before the man speaks out, “These are the other ones we were told about. I found them while waiting. The others may still be coming, go see.” She eyes the group up and down once more, clearly suspicious of their presence, but doesn’t argue and leaves in the direction they came from. The guide leads the group into the home. It’s empty, save for a few broken pieces of furniture, but the guide overturns a dirty woven rug on the floor, revealing a cellar door. He opens it, and begins to descend. Runa and Becca follow.
Beneath is a cellar, dimly lit by lantern lights and crudely dug out further to make extra room. The walls are lined with crates, some open and empty, others half full, some still closed. Three figures sit around a small table, and as Runa and Becca approach, two of them stand. The pair is introduced by your guide as he says, “They have something to say that you’ll want to hear.”
The third figure stands, stepping into the light. A middle aged Ulven man is revealed, worn with stress. He grips a short spear in hand that serves as a cane. As much as he may be trying to hide it, his leg has been severely injured by a deep cut healed incorrectly and now maimed.
He extends his arm to Runa.
“I am Laifnar Icefury, Clanleader of Shattered Spear and warpack leader to what resistance is left. I understand you have some information for me?”
After the briefest of introductions, Runa finally explains the reason for coming and the proposal she holds. Laifnar nods in approval at the news of Newhope’s attack, but there is still hesitancy in his eyes.
“If we were to attack now we may make a difference, but we are ill equipped to survive such an endeavor. I cannot ask my people to face the Great Wolf just yet while we still struggle to build the support we need. We are accepting what aid can make it here from wherever we can take it, stockpiling as much as we can, and continuing to be a nuisance to Stonetooth throughout the winter. Come spring, once we are supplied, I expect us to be ready for a bolder strategy.”
Laifnar thanks them, both for the information on the war fronts and for the great risk Runa and Becca have taken in visiting this place. He looks to the ulven who brought them here, and asks that he guide the way back. The guide complies, and leads Runa and Becca from the village of Pack Birchbone, leading them through the Great Forest until they are close enough to friendlier territory. Seela and the rest of Becca’s spies regroup, having watched the whole ordeal from a significant distance. They know that once they exit these woods, they will be safely back in ally territory. Should they choose to seek out the resistance once more, they will need to endure the dangers of the Great Forest once again, but Runa leaves now having confirmed what she knew to be true in her heart; Icefury lives.
Part 2: A Mission to Save the Clanleader
In November, Runa watches smoke billow on the horizon. She can’t see it exactly, but she can smell it. The air is aggravating, thick with what remains from the dried scraps of Goldenfield forests and fields, now burning. The winter does nothing to suppress the itch, as it seems to lay atop the snow like a settled cat: slumbering and content for now, but idly waiting for the next hunt. The resulting effect is something that looks much like a fog but smells worse, and makes her eyes water as if stung by campfire. She tries not to make a comparison, but she can’t help it. The air back when Shattered Spear began to fall was similar. When all the screams and clashing metal fades and all that’s left is the crackling of a burning village. She tries to focus.
Back beyond that horizon is one of her final hopes. The winter brings its own unique benefits and challenges to traveling quietly. There is significantly less benefit of foliage cover and leaving tracks means she’s more easily followed. Moving during a storm greatly reduces visibility and covers tracks easily, but increases the risks of being lost. The sheer coldness will keep others out of her path, but may cause her increased fatigue or risk of death. She’s traveled the path before, and therefore it should be easier to navigate her way back, but who knows what risks you’ll encounter in the Great Forest. Taking pen to paper, she begins assembling a crew to undertake the brave–or maybe foolish–mission to heal the Clanleader’s leg.
“Ylva, I’m sorry I only ever seem to ask for your help lately, old friend. But I fear I am in need of a surgeon. Not for myself, but for someone of great importance, and also incredibly risky to get to…”
“Niedre, Every step of the way, you have been there to support Shattered Spear. To support me. I have one more request of you, if you’re feeling brave and maybe a little stupid…”
“Zeke, it seems like everywhere I turn, you are there surviving through sheer resourcefulness and cunning ability. I have a favor to ask of you, being that you’re both a very talented bard and also very good at surviving…”
“Aurelia, I know Bladehome is in dire conditions, but after your help in securing the enchanted hammer and you expressing your desire to help, I have a request if you’re willing to go somewhere even more dangerous…”
“Becca, its time for us to go back to Icefury again, if you’re ready for the challenge…”
December comes swiftly. The plan is set, the provisions gathered, the contacts and cohorts organized and the time comes to put everything into motion. Into the cold winter, the collective group sets off from allied territory and into former Clan Riverhead lands. Tagging along with a Nightriver warpack as they patrolled kept you safe, avoiding Ironmound and Stonetooth patrols and raiding parties was the first challenge the group faced. Makeshift camps and small or non-existent fires made travel miserable when the temperature dropped to bitter cold, but the group was prepared. The effort put in by both Becca and Aurelia’s contacts helped set this up for success… at least early on and looking great on planning paper. Snow makes leaving tracks a liability and harder to cover but makes moving supplies far easier.
Between a collective group of expert survivalists and preparation, the group finds itself lucky and makes it to the meeting location without incident. The familiar Clan Riverhead village comes into view. A recent snowfall earlier in the day is masking footprints so it is hard to tell if anyone has arrived recently. A familiar bird-whistle that Becca’s spies commonly use goes out and is returned in kind by someone farther in the tree line. A lone figure approaches and verifies that they are one of the scouts assisting in this endeavor.
“I am glad you all made it. We have a few others scouting nearby, and Seela sends her regards. She should be able to meet you all tomorrow,” says the scout to Becca. The usual thrall that had met the group at this village before is also not present, but the group assembled here looks familiar from your previous visits. The group takes the supplies brought with and gets them onto sleds. A few teams leave, choosing to move by moonlight rather than risk it in the day. The rest of the supplies are hidden in the village for future use. No time is wasted as the group settles into the longhouse at the center of the village. Moments later, a few Clan Shattered Spear thralls approach and escort a hobbling figure wearing a thick cloak in through the door.
Pulling his cloak down to greet the group, is Laifnar Icefury. The Clanleader still lives, which is an immediate relief to the collective group. It takes a bit of persuasion to get the Clanleader to agree to surgery, worries of being vulnerable and unable to move being voiced. It takes some convincing from Ylva and a detailed explanation of how the process would go and how the reagents and mundane healing techniques will be used to get him up and moving quickly. He finally agrees and the group jumps into action.
One of your cohorts, an Ulven healer named Vryness, shadows Ylva to prepare for and assist in the surgery. Reagents are used for helpful pastes and ointments and Ylva’s high quality surgical tools are laid out. Once she begins, the fate of the Clanleader is either a successful operation or death if there is an interruption as the group has no way to transport him if there is trouble. One of the Shattered Spear thralls with the group that others defer to decides to take a risk, recommending the bardic influence to give his Clanleader the best chance he can get.
Zeke begins to play a small drum quietly and sings soothing tones. Niedre calls upon divine powers to assist the procedure. Vryness is a skilled healer and seamstress, her talents at stitching both flesh and fabric are very helpful in this situation. Ylva draws in a steadying breath and with her knife, she parts flesh and the procedure officially begins.
Outside of the longhouse, a rotational watch of some Shattered Spear thralls and various scouts/spies that accompanied the group on this trip keep eyes on the village. A plan is in place if something goes wrong, but all the odds are stacked against them in making it out of here quickly—especially with surgery being performed. The tension is palpable. The minutes seem to drag on like hours as Ylva slowly and meticulously carves away scar tissue and works to bring muscle and tendon properly back together within the Clanleader’s leg. Undergoing this type of work is brutal for the patient, but Laifnar is strong of mind, body, and determined to see this through and return to helping his people.
This helped him get through it with minor concerns; the surgery is a success! Healing salves and hearty food is eaten so that he can recover quickly, and with the flow of divine magic from Niedre assisting, the Clanleader should be up and moving soon. However, a solid night of sleep would do everyone good. With the precarious moment over, exhaustion starts to set in, and the fire in the hearth of the longhouse glowing puts out more warmth than this group has had in weeks. Snow continues to fall outside through the night, so the scouts outside are pulled in to coordinate watch on the door.
The next morning, Laifnar is awake and alert. His leg hurts considerably, but he has grown accustomed to the pain, coping with a bad leg for months. Knowing he will walk again easily and soon, his tenacity… and a strong painkiller of various reagents… give him plenty of pep and life after his restful sleep. A quick breakfast is shared cold, as the group dares not to have a fire in the daytime, and conversation helps inform the Clanleader. Runa promises more supplies and aid in the future and briefs the Clanleader on things happening across the continent. The Clanleader and his trusted helpers are eager for information, their worldview considerably smaller now since they have been actively hiding in the Great Forest. He seems elated that the world has not forgotten about them and that some plans were in motion for something in the spring.
Light conversation continues through the morning as everyone finishes breakfast and prepares for the next part of the journey; getting back home. A corner bucket is used for relief in the morning; the group agreed to stay inside to avoid easy tracks in the morning, and the group is ready for some fresh air. Scouts coordinate with Aurelia, Becca, and Zeke on the best way out of the territory and a plan is in place; it is time to leave. The snowfall had stopped several hours ago, but the door to the longhouse resists being opened a bit due to a few inches of accumulated snow.
It isn’t the bright sunlight reflecting off the snow that catches everyone’s eye when the door is open.
It’s the bright red blood trail. A stark contrast of a dripping crimson line leads from the door of the longhouse, across the village center, and to the crest of a small hill nearby. Startled by this, the group ventures out into the snow and sees that there is more blood on the door. Strange symbols and runes mark the door now, painted with fingertips. Footprints in the fresh snow approach the door from the hill, then lead away and out of the village to the northwest.
At the top of this hill, visible from the longhouse, appears to be a corpse. A tree was cut and carved into a point and a body is impaled on it, dragged down several feet so that the corpse rests about chest-level to someone standing near it. The body’s face is covered in canvas, concealing it, but is crusted with blood. Near the impaled corpse are two saplings that have also been cut into spikes and something much smaller than a corpse has been impaled on them. They too are covered in canvas and frozen blood. Hung from a thin rope in front of the gruesome display, visible even at this distance, is a roll of parchment displayed prominently.
The village is dead quiet. Nothing stirs. Footprints in the snow lead away from the village. Panicked scouts with the party exchange looks voicelessly that clearly communicate worry over this somehow going unnoticed during the late night hours. Everyone is tense for something to happen and over an achingly long moment, nothing does. The village remains quiet except for the caws of several crows that have perched high in the trees, piqued with interest over the fresh meat on the crest of the hill, so rare in the dead of winter.
Half the group pleads to flee immediately; the other half argues that the group needs to know who did this or what they want. The latter wins, granted that a good portion of the group’s cohorts are spies, scouts, and informants, and the group cautiously makes their way to the crested hill. Aurelia steps forth and takes the parchment and unties it from the string. Unrolling the thin rope, she opens it and prepares to read it aloud.
“Tidings to you, from the heart of Hyrrokkin, on this day, for I have been sent forth to you and to me, you. The fallen are honored or forgotten, the taken are broken or reborn, and the defiant yet sustain us with chances to prove. For many moons my kin have joined in the rituals of conquest, but for fewer moons the order of things has been dishonored; the taken yearn to again be defiant. This cannot be, and therefore, shall not be. I speak plainly to you now; my kin know about you. About your hidden defiance. About these transgressions into our rightful lands; lands conquered by feats of might and by measures of worth. This is sacrilege and will be rooted out and the land itself will weep at the fervor of the inevitable purge. Roots will be ripped. It is only a matter of time. In several night’s time, the wolf moon will be upon us all. For He, who has unending hunger, your flesh will be made as an offer, a sacrifice to sate the Great Beast. You may be my kin’s enemy, but I weep tears of joy knowing that you will share this ritual with me, with my own hands, with my own spirit. For this gift, I thank you all, and may his hunger be sated for one more blackened night.
Before you are the first offerings of this day. The first two are of no consequence or proven contest, despite their holy purpose. The third, however, took time. And pain. And patience. Once my kin discovered who they were to one of you, they have been honored for their spirit, their stoic cries. Their flesh made divine through sacrifice, their final life-breath would be the start of the ritual of the hunt.
Hearthsworn Hyrrokkin, Watcher of the Endless-Night, and Blooded of the Feast-Succor”
Zeke reaches forward and removes the canvas from the first two small bloodied bundles. Sharp inhales of shock escape the lips of several among the group. Impaled on the sapling spike is the head of the Clan Shattered Spear thrall, the one that has helped the group several times with the resistance who remained nameless. The head’s eyes, tongue, and fangs have been removed. The other is the severed head of Seela, one of Becca’s spies. In similar gruesome fashion, the eyes and tongue have been removed but being human, the teeth were spared. Seela was due to rendezvous with your group this morning.
With a trembling hand reaching towards the impaled figure, the canvas is pulled away to reveal a grisly sight. The corpse has been ritualistically opened, the entrails pulled out and wound around sprigs of trees. Small trinkets and woven yarn and hair have been wrapped around the loops of entrails with purpose and care. Blood was collected and poured with purpose in circles around the corpse. Symbols have been carved into the flesh. Ylva notices that the trauma to the flesh around the impaling spike shows that this victim was alive at the time of the ritual; the entrails ripe with fresh blood despite being pulled out of the body. The blood closest to the gaping hole has not yet frozen, evidence that this poor soul died not too long ago.
A fleeting hint of divine energy still lingers on the corpse, hinting at magic being used to prolong the time before the moment of death for an excruciating amount of time. Like the severed spiked heads, this corpse has had its eyes, tongue, and fangs removed. However, the tear-streaked face of the corpse is unmistakable to at least one among your group. One among you that last spoke to them just over a year ago, where they were supposed to have been in Whiteoak territory, waiting to be reunited, after surviving the harrowing ordeal at Silfurfal.
Jorah, father of Runa, lay impaled upon the tree. His body is full of scars and frail, proof of being at the mercy of Clan Stonetooth in some labor camp for an unknown amount of time, and it is clear now that he never made it to his intended destination over a year ago. How Stonetooth captured him is unknown, but him being here is proof they did it somehow.
Before shock gives way to despair, an arrow takes Vryness in the throat, felling her and splashing the fresh white snow with bright red blood. She falls and cries out in pain as blood gurgles from the horrific neck wound and pumps more blood into the snow. This is when the bellow of a horn is heard in the distance. Low, drawn out, and deliberate, the noise echoes through the winter trees. The signal this horn represents is clear; a hunt has begun.
“Run! Now!” shouts one of the Clan Shattered Spear thralls as the group breaks for the village again. Vryness is dragged along, her apron dress covered in blood and choking for air. A haunting feminine call is heard echoing through the woods. The vocalization is slow and deliberate, soothing almost, until it rapidly rises in pitch to a very audible yelp. A moment later, it begins anew, a ritualistic tone overseeing this moment. Hiding amongst the ruined buildings, a quick plan is devised; the group must scatter to throw off their pursuers. The Clanleader must survive and get back into hiding. Laifnar strains through gritted teeth at the pain of using his leg so quickly after surgery until Zeke pulls out a health potion, pops the cork, and gestures for the Clanleader to drink it. He does so quickly, chugging the red liquid, and instantly seems more invigorated.
The group divides into groups of Shattered Spear thralls and scouts, and the signal is made to bolt as fast as possible. As the group runs as fast as they can, the sharp cry of pain of those felled by arrows is heard at a distance. Shortly after departing, the Clanleader and some of his group split from Runa’s, putting solid distance between pursuers and his escape. Although it is incredibly dangerous, Runa’s group doubles back, making extra tracks, and stalling just long enough to let pursuing hunters catch sight of Runa’s group to draw their attention.
With the Clanleader safely heading away from the area, Runa’s group runs as fast as they can. Arrows thunk into trees as Stonetooth hunters range long shots to try to wound and slow down the group. An arrow takes Vryness again in the leg and again in the back, her gurgled cry heard over the hasty retreat. As she falls, she slams into Becca, knocking her to the ground. This moment’s delay allows a Stonetooth hunter to halt, knock an arrow, and level her bow. She is across a rocky crag and a bit of a distance away. Although reaching Becca will take time, that hindrance means nothing to an arrow in flight.
The bow twangs as the arrow flies true. The arrow never makes it to Becca, the intended target, as Runa steps in the way. With a meaty thunk, the arrow bites deep into Runa’s lower back. A second later, another arrow lands, but this time it punches straight through her chest. In a gasp of air, Runa struggles to breathe as her lung is pierced by the arrow, and begins to drop into the snow. Scrambling quickly, Becca pulls one of Runa’s arms over her shoulder and moves as quickly as possible to rejoin the group. Several twangs of bowstrings answer a reply as Ylva and Niedre fire arrows at their pursuers. Not enough to do any real damage, but knowing their quarry can return arrows might give them pause. Ylva tosses the bow aside and bandages Runa quickly, removing the arrows as delicately as this chaotic situation will allow. Ylva notices the arrowhead looks different.
It is coated with poison.
Runa screams in pain as the arrow being pulled free allows the hole left by the arrow to move the poison around in her punctured lung. The sensation is excruciating and getting worse without proper care. Unfortunately, getting Runa able to walk without help is all that Ylva can hope for in this situation. Bandages are placed and through gritted teeth, Runa returns to her feet. The distance back to Vryness seems impossibly far away. Several more arrows are exchanged getting too close for comfort, and the group pushes to continue their escape, the gurgling cry and outstretched hand pleading for rescue the last that is seen of your cohort. Either through sheer luck, the pursuers pulling off to go after other targets, or their hasty retreat affording some distance, the group finds itself no longer actively chased. This only slightly slows down the pace of the escape.
That night, Ylva tends to Runa when she has a moment to do so properly. The wound is tended to, but the poison has done its work. Runa’s lung is a ruin that will take time to heal, and even with proper care it may never fully heal. That first night saw little sleep for the group, but no attack came to rouse them from fitful sleep. A week passes of careful movement and finally, the group has returned to allied territory, the banners of a Clan Nightriver warpack waving above a nearby group of warriors moving in the distance.
Runa’s party survived, if barely. They are confident their actions allowed Clanleader Laifnar to escape. Much needed supplies have been delivered to the resistance of Clan Shattered Spear. However, these efforts have come with a terrible cost and sacrifice. How much Clan Stonetooth knows of the resistance, and how much they have done to crush it, is yet unknown to all.
There are few gatherings in the weeks after the harrowing day the group fled from the forest and lost contact with Clanleader Icefury. Heartbroken at the loss but looking forward to the future, for the efforts and lives spent surely cannot be in vein, what time was spared was now reserved for rest and mourning.
In the quiet, secluded corner Becca called home in Lumiria a somber reminder of that encounter sat on her desk. While it said nothing its presence managed to disrupt the entire room; a placard to the names of those lost under her service. The Ulven had a custom of remember the lost by speaking their names and deeds – and while Seela and Becca were no Ulven, many of their friends and associates were. It was only right to see that the names of those who assisting in fighting for healing Icefury, and furthering the resistance, be remembered.
The unveiling ceremony, and news of Seela’s passing, was shared with all of the scouts under Becca’s employ; no more, no less. A cloistered event to allow those who dabble in subterfuge and secrecy time to tell tales none should hear – freely. Many names and deeds were shared that night; Seela, Jorah, and Vryness to start, for they had names and stories to be shared. Without names for the Shattered Spear resistance fighters, who forewent names to further the efforts of their clans, the best the scouts could do was share to the Great Wolf, and any other deity listening, of their strength and resolve in the face of death.
The placard now hangs in a quiet corner of the garden where this grim remembrance was held – a silent reminder to never forget the sacrifice made, the horrors that Stonetooth inflicted, and that even the silent or unnamed earn their place in the memory of those who live on.
When Runa returns to Chieftain Halli and the rest of the Shattered Spear in
Nightriver territory, the long, arduous story is repeated again. On the edge of the light cast by the flames of the funeral pyre–bereft of bodies because of Stonetooth’s treachery– Runa holds the last piece of her father she has in her fist. A necklace with a small metal pendant, dented and imperfect; the Thurisaz rune carved into its face. The first project Runa ever took with her father at his forge.
“The power to overcome your obstacles, the courage to face conflict.” Jorah told a young Runa once, “After the storm comes the sun, but not if you let it wash you away.”
Runa might never be sure how much of her has washed away. But she will face it. For him.
Now in March, months have gone by in complete silence. No sign of life from the Clanleader, nor anyone else from the resistance. Runa stays close, supporting Goldenfield as a blacksmith– the only thing she’s really capable of after the nightmare of her lung being burned away by Stonetooth’s poison. Her brief visit to Newhope’s Political Dinner yielded hopeful results, and now New Aldorian Marines are coming to support Goldenfield as well.
Amongst the quiet and the flame of the forge, the lack of Stonetooth in the area around the outpost is suspicious. Too quiet. The sound of screams, followed shortly by howls, ring through the trees.
Thralls came bounding from the woods, swords raised in her direction, but moving in on the singular target known all too well to Runa and those fighting on the frontline – the Thrall Watcher. Each thrall took their turn in slicing and bashing the Thrall Watcher, until finally he hit the ground and fell still. While battered and out of breath from their hunt, all the thralls wipe the marks once signifying obedience from their foreheads, and one of them pulls a letter from their pouch to read it to the quickly forming crowd.
“People of Mardrun,Shattered Spear will lay subjugated no more. The fortitude and iron-will of this clan will not stay held down by the honorless, pathetic excuse for Ulven who have conquered our lands. Our minds will not be bent to the sick ways of these beasts. We will stand and fight to the last breath, and the Great Wolf will hear our names from the bloody screams of every Stonetooth we take down with us.The legacy of Clan Shattered Spear will not be that of victims who accepted their fate, but of warriors who fought for their freedom, no matter the blood cost.There is still time for the sun to shine on Shattered Spear once again. Our Journey begins now. When the Great Wolf stands to judge us, he will know our names and we will hunt with him forever. Gaia’s embrace awaits. Clan Shattered Spear stands once more.
Clanleader Laifnar Icefury of Clan Shattered Spear”
Clanleader Laifnar Icefury lives.
