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Froden Nightblossom

Player: Kollin Bode

Name: Froden Nightblossom of Clan Nightriver

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Race: Ulven

Occupation: Shepard/Herbalist/Leader

Skills: Leadership, Literacy, Asskicking

Appearance: Young, and thin, sporting long brown hair.

Notable Traits: Headstrong, great with children, plants, and animals.

Relationships: Family; Mates(Freya, Ingrid, Astrid, Saga) Pups(Hilda, Frida, Kelda, Edda, Estrid, Eldrid, Sigrid, Sigfreid, Helga, Gudrun, Thyra, Solveig, Runa, Svanhild, Ylva, Embla, Anne, Kirsten, Inge, Lise, Bjorn, Erik, Leif, Sven, Ulf, Gunnar) Other; Ulven Hirdmadr(Leader)

Rumors: Apparently he has way more pups, like upwards of 80.

BIO: Pack Nightblossom was a pioneering force in early Ulven alchemy. Though many of their teachings have since been made obsolete since Faedrun alchemy found its way ashore, it was due to this Pack’s knowledge of Mardrun floral applications that alchemical processes were so quickly able to transfer. Many Mardurn flora catalogs and alchemy textbooks cite Nightblossom Witches and Herbalists as sources and contributors. Their most notable contributions relate to the fickle nature of Moonflowers, as well various collection methods, and refinement processes.

Froden Nightblossom has been cited in no such examples. He is a Shepard. Though he does still pose an aptitude for his pack’s name sake.

Guiding his flock across the rolling hills and verdant meadows of Clan Nightriver, Froden found a profound connection to the land and its creatures. His understanding of the natural world went beyond the realm of alchemy; it was rooted in the rhythms of life and the balance of nature.

Yet, despite his humble occupation, Froden’s life was far from ordinary. Blessed with a magnetic charm and an irrepressible spirit, he found himself entangled in a web of love and companionship unlike any other. For Froden Nightblossom was not just a shepherd; he was a man with four mates and twenty-six pups, each one a testament to his boundless capacity for love and devotion.

His mates, each a formidable presence in her own right, brought harmony and joy to his life. From the gentle grace of Mother Gaia, they formed a tapestry of strength and resilience, supporting Froden through the trials and triumphs of his days.

Together, they built a home filled with laughter and warmth, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world. But even the strongest bonds could not shield them from the winds of change that swept across the land.

As Civil War loomed on the horizon, Froden and his family found themselves caught in the crossfire of shifting allegiances and ancient rivalries. Their once peaceful existence was shattered as the conflict engulfed their homeland, forcing them to flee for their lives.

With their world torn asunder, Froden and his family embarked on a journey into the unknown, seeking refuge from the storm that raged around them. But through it all, they remained united, drawing strength from the love that bound them together, a beacon of hope in the darkness of war.

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PLAYER NAME: Samantha Klinkhammer

CHARACTER NAME: Æsa  (Pronounced eye-suh)

AGE: 25

RACE: Ulven (Path of the Greatwolf)

CLASS: Ranger/Warrior

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Green

OCCUPATION: Hunter out for revenge

RELATIONSHIPS: Signe Ironshear, Hildr Ironshear, Froden Nightblossom, Halfdan Olegson.


“Vivica, you are in charge while I am away.” Aesa started gathering her hunting gear as she talked with her eldest. “Don’t answer the door to anyone, you understand? Not even me, not with how things are right now. Make sure your little sister gets her milk as well please” Vivica stood by the front door listening to her mother.  

“Yes Ma’am” Watching her mother walk towards Kara and kissing her forehead, Vivica fiddled with the hem of her sleeves. “When do you think you’ll be back?” Vivs voice shook with uncertainty. 

“I don’t know child…” Aesa walked over to her daughter and hugged her. “I’ll do my best to be quick” Aesa looked at  Vivica one last time before heading out for the day. 

As the hours pass by, chaos shrouded the village they live in. Grimward has started an attack on the village, homes engulfed in flames. Vivica took notice and started barricading the doors and windows to try and block any intruders coming in. To no avail a few raiders busted through the door. One of the men struck a blow on Viv knocking her down onto the ground in pain.  

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US?!” Tears started streaming down her face, Kara could be heard crying until someone walked over to her…The room filled with a deathly silence. Skarde was next, they grabbed the 7 year old boy by his neck and lifted him into the air.  

“Why?” A sinister laugh echoed from the man “because young child, if no one here joins us. THEY WILL ALL DIE!!!!” His grip tightened around neck as Skarde clawed at the man choking the life out of him. Vivica took notice of Kara, blood was dripping down from the cloth she was wrapped in. She then turned her attention to Skarde who was fighting with whatever life he had left. Viv stood up taking everything in, her breathing becoming uneven, unable to control herself. She became blinded with rage and charged at the vile creature taking her brothers life away. Vivica plunged a knife into his knee causing him to drop Skarde, another person rushed over to try and attack the two but she held her brother close to her and screamed for these terrible beings to leave.  Out of nowhere powerful waves of magical energy could be felt throughout the area causing the enemies to pause in their tracks. It was at that moment she knew something was wrong, the men looking at one another as if they were speaking to each other without using their lips.  

“How about this-” Viv held her brother tightly to her as these men walked closer to her “We will spare your little brother if you come with us” Her eyes darted between Skarde and the men, fear in her eyes. Knowing what had to be done Vivica whispered to her brother.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back one day…I love you Skarde” They cried together before one of the men grabbed Viv by her hair and dragged her away.  Skarde crawled over to his baby sister Kara and held her close, waiting for their mother to come home.  

Aesa had a successful hunting trip and started to walk back towards the village.  Smoke rose high which caught Aesa by surprise. Who could be making such a large fire? Her eyes followed the trail of smoke down to the main action. Aesa dropped the rabbits and dashed on over to her home. 

“Skarde?! Vivica?!” She rushed in to see her son cradling his dead sister, tears streaming down his face as he tried to stay brave.  

“She’s gone Momma…Kara…” Skardes voice cracked, unable to hold his emotions anymore he started to cry hard as he clung to Kara. “They took Vivica Momma, they took her away…” Aesa walked over to her children and held them to her. “She’ll come back…She said so herself.” Skarde leaned into his mothers embrace not once letting go of Kara. Aesa’s breathing was uneven taking in the information he had given her.  

“We need to leave…” She took kara and stood up walking over to the fireplace, rearranging the logs and laying Kara down on them. “Onrich is our safest option right now my son” Skarde walked over watching his mother place his sister inside the fireplace. “Once we reach there I will do what I can to secure us shelter.” Aesa lit her fireplace and took a step back holding Skardes hand.  

“Momma…I’m scared” He squeezed his mothers hand tightly as she stared at the flames. Aesa did her best to stay strong for her son but that didn’t last long as she started to hear the sizzling of Kara’s skin. Aesa fell to her knees as a throbbing pain formed inside of her chest. Kara is Dead. Vivica is gone. My son is bruised. I will have my revenge.  

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Halfdan Olegson

CHARACTER NAME: Halfdan Olegson

PLAYER NAME: Michael Hannes

AGE: 29

RACE: Ulven/Path of the Great Wolf

CLASS: Warrior

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Farmer/Laborer

RELATIONSHIPS: Signe Ironshear, Hildr Ironshear, Froden Nightblossom, Æsa


My name is Halfdan Olegson. I come from a long line of turnip farmers and have lived on the family farm in the village of Molvun in Clan Nightriver my whole life. Our farm goes back to my great great great grandfather Oleg Halfdanson, who passed the farm down to his son Halfdan Olegson, who passed it to his son Oleg Halfdanson, who passed it to his son Halfdan Olegson, who passed it to my father Oleg Halfdanson who was going to pass it to me, Halfdan Olegson. The day started like any other, I woke up, washed my face and got ready for the day’s chores. We needed more wood for the kitchen to cook with so I was tasked with felling trees while my father Oleg tended the fields with our beloved steer Sigi, and my mother Olga and sister Gida were busy weaving and preparing the days meals.

By the time I chopped down and split about three trees the sun was blazing high. I was beginning to make my way back home to get some food when I saw smoke coming from the village. I ran as fast as I could to the farm and found Sigi dead in the field, and my father fighting a couple of Grimward raiders. “Go find your mother and sister!! I can handle this!” he shouted to me. I ran as fast as I could back to the house only to find it burning. I looked inside to find my mother and sister laying in pools of their own blood. As the blaze continued it was too hot for me to try and reach their bodies. Before I could react the roof collapsed and buried them in the rubble. I didn’t have time to mourn, I had to go back to the fields and help my father with the raiders, but by the time I got back he had been cut down. I looked as one of the raiders had been wounded pretty badly and the other didn’t even have a scratch. As they turned to look at me I froze. I wasn’t a fighter, I was a farmer. These were battle hardened raiders, what chance did I have? As they began to walk towards me I gripped my axe preparing for my death. With every step closer my body began to shake more and more until my sight turned blood red. I had never felt this anger before, this hatred, this….rage. It burned in my chest hotter than the blaze that took my mother and sister. I let out a roar of pain and anger and charged forward to meet them. I don’t remember fighting, I don’t remember being hit, all I remember is standing over the raiders bodies and my axe dripping with their blood. As I calmed down I realized I had taken a pretty nasty gash to my leg. Luckily it didn’t seem too bad, my mother taught me basic first aid and that should do just fine. 

After I bandaged my leg I made my way back to the village to see if there were others that needed any help. It seems like the raid had ended just as fast as it began. I moved from house to house helping everyone I could that needed basic first aid. Anything more grievous I was unable to do anything. Some of the other villagers spoke of how other villages had been hit by Grimward raids and that refugees were gathering in Onrich. I was also told about how Grimward has joined with Clan Stonetooth and executed the barbaric murder of Branthur Nightriver. Upon arrival it was a ghastly sight. Wounded refugees pouring in from surrounding villages. As I made my way into the village I heard others calling for aid to take up arms and fight back against Grimward. They were farmers like I was and a fire burned in their hearts just like mine. I held my axe high and told them I would fight, and before long I had joined the ranks of the Ulfen Hirðmaðr. I will avenge my family and my farm. I may only be a simple farmer, but I will fight until my last breath to try and make a difference. I am Halfdan Olegson….and I am out for blood.

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Pack Ironshear

Clan: Belongs to Clan Nightriver

Size: Small-Medium

Insignia: For everyday use, one wears a braid of white wool on their belt.  During ceremonies or important events, one braids white yarn into their hair.  During war, these can be dipped in blood.

Pack Ironshear is a small farming pack in North Central Nightriver, bordering the Great Wolf’s Hackles and near but not bordering the pass.  The large swaths of clear land with bright green grass make the area perfect for raising sheep.  As such, wool and mutton are their main exports. 

Ironshear Ulven are renowned for their peacefulness, but their nearness to the Pass has forced them to take up arms in recent years.


Pack Leader: Olgur Ironshear

High Priestess: Borda Járnúll


Pack Ironshear is very old.  It has been around as long as anyone can remember.  While the facts of its founding are not known, there are legends.  

The story goes that on one of the Great Wolf’s hunts, he butchered four sheep, and gave the hides to Gaia.  Gaia wove the wool into pure white cloaks, and magic into each of them.  She gifted one cloak to each of four Ulven families.  The first cloak granted the first family great resolve and patience.  The second granted great strength.  The third great agility.  The fourth cloak granted the skill of weaving. 

The four families became known as Járnúll, Rammrúll, Hraðrúll, and Vefaúll.  

Járnúll was distinguished from the others by their calm temperament and slow, calculating movement.  Rammrúll was distinguished by their hotheadedness and strength.  Hraðrúll by their lean bodies and quick movement.  Vefaúll was distinguished by their deft hands and finely woven clothes.  

They soon formed a pack, and being chosen by the Great Wolf, their pack grew until it became the head of a large clan.  It was a prosperous time

There is no legend about the fall of Pack Ironshear.  There is no evidence backing up this legend save for four Ironshear families named Járnúll, Rammrúll, Hraðrúll, and Vefaúll.

Pictures of Pack Ironshear

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Hildr Ironshear

PLAYED BY: Trinity Peckham

CHARACTER NAME: Hildr Ironshear

PRONOUN(S): She/her

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: Born during the harvest season around 17 years ago.

RACE: Ulven

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Hildr was a sheep farmer but now fights against Grimward with the Ulfen Hirðmaðr

KNOWN SKILLS: She can till a field, shear a sheep, bash heads and break shields.First Aid, Two Handed Weapons, Cleaving, Shield Proficiency, Armor Proficiency, Trade: Laborer

BIRTHPLACE: Hildr was born in Pack Ironshear, a pack of mostly shepherds in North Central Nightriver territory

APPEARANCE: Hildr wears plain clothes and a permanent scowl.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Hildr would look like any other farm girl if it weren’t for the large axe and the tangible desire to use it.

RELATIONSHIPS: Ignis Rammrúll: Mother

Bjorn Hraðrúll: Father

Æsa- A fellow member of the Hirðmaðr

Signe- A fellow member of the HIrðmaðr and Pack Ironshear.  Hildr saved her from her burning house.

Froden Nightblossom- A fellow member of the Hirðmaðr

Halfdan- A fellow member of the Hirðmaðr


“She brims with such anger that birds do not sing when she is nearby.”

“Her axe whispers to her when a Grimward warrior is close.”

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: It was a pleasantly cold spring evening.  The sky was the color of a hearthfire, the black Hackles imposed on it from below.  Freshly sheared sheep meandered across the darkening landscape.  All was at peace.  After absorbing the last warmth of the sun, I got up and gave my sheepdog Trygve the command to bring the sheep back.

I was slow getting back home.  Home was excited to see me and met me halfway.  Two raiders dropped the sacks they had been carrying and sauntered over to me in the manner of a wolf that looms over a trapped rabbit.  They taunted me.

“Your village is gone.  What will you do about it, pup?”

“They screamed like babies and burned like candles in a bonfire.”

“How selfish of you to have left them to die.”

I stood frozen in my boots.  I felt like a possum, playing dead.  It sickened me.  From the corner of my vision, I saw something dark moving through the air.  A long dark spot, flying.  No, leaping into view.  My eyes followed it as it went.  I realized what was happening.  Trygve latched on to a raiders throat.  Blood everywhere.  A scream pierced my ears.  I ran and the world blurred.  Not only from the running, but from the tears in my eyes when I heard Trygve’s growling cut off.

“You bitch,” Screamed the remaining raider, “I’ll bury you and your fucking hound!”  That made me turn around and stop.  I didn’t care if he wanted to bury me, but Trygve was a different matter.

“Come and bury me, then,” I screamed at him, my words marred by tears.  I would have sobered up and run when he started to take me up on that, had he not just unsheathed his sword from the bloody wreck that was my dog.  It only made me angrier.

As the raider came closer, clearly upset, I readied myself.  I had no idea how to fight.  The closest I’d gotten was using my crook on a particularly determined  wayward sheep.  Neither of our heads were clear, but the space between my crook and his leg certainly was.  Acting on instinct, I hooked the leg and calmly guided it into the air.  The raider fell.  He was surprised.  I surprised his head with my boot.

Remembering what the raiders had said about my village, I ran back, twisted visions swimming through my mind.

An eerie sight lay before my eyes.  It was almost quiet.  In my head, I imagined screams, blood running down the streets, and people running to and fro.  This was worse.  It was worse because there was no fanfare.  To the world, the burning of my home was nothing special.  The burning buildings sounded no different from a crackling hearth, and the wind sounded no different as it blew my tears back into my eyes.

I hoped they had spared my house and that I could walk inside.  My worries would melt away.  My father would be baking sweet bread and my mother would be cleaning a kill outside the window.  But my house was nothing special.

Where my house should have been, I found a spot of ash and timbers, no different from the spot next to it.  I did not look for my parents’ bodies.  If they died, then their souls had already been freed.  If they had been taken as thralls, I would find them.  I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own, though.  I would need help.

Walking through the remains of the village, I saw a still-burning house and a woman inside of it.  I thought I recognized her.  Yes, Signe.  She was looking at something.  She didn’t seem to be interested in escaping.  I felt the need to shout, “Signe, get out of there!  You will burn!”  I grabbed a wool blanket and took it upon myself to save her.  I entered where a wall had collapsed and hauled her out by the shoulder.

After a few days spent crying and picking up some of what was left behind, I went back to Signe.  She was hurt and angry, like I was.  “I am going to Onrich, if you’d be going that way too we could pass that way together?  I want to send those raiders to the Great Wolf and I need to find people that will help me.”

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Signe Járnúll Ironshear

PLAYED BY: Bethany Peckham

CHARACTER NAME: Signe Járnúll Ironshear

GENDER: female

PRONOUN(S): She/her

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 30

RACE: Ulven

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Angry ex-farmer of miscellaneous food items bent on revenge.

KNOWN SKILLS: The first part of making a weapon, sewing a hole shut in a garment, but don’t expect it to stay, making food that will keep you from starving.

BIRTHPLACE: Signe was born in pack Ironshear in the lands of Nightriver. Close to the Hackles where her father used the ore from the mountains for blacksmithing.

RELATIONSHIPS: Hildr Rammerúll Ironshear, Halfdan Olegson, Æsa, Froden Nightblossom

Bio/Background History:

Signe woke with smoke filling her senses. Tears streamed from her eyes as she tried peering through the heavy haze to make out her surroundings and get to safety. All of the usual items of her bedroom were present so she was still in her home and not transported to some unknown place. As she reached the door she called out for her children.

“Revna! Kåre!”

The smoke had filled her lungs and she dropped sputtering to the floor. Crackling wood made itself known. It wasn’t the warm sounds of a happy hearth. She struggled up to her feet and pushed against the door. As the door gave way flames filled her sight. The heat enveloped her but Signe kept moving forward. Her eyes locked on the doorway to her daughters’ room. The fire had already engulfed it. Where once there had been walls there was fire climbing the structural supports, but her eyes didn’t see it. Moreover her mind wouldn’t acknowledge the fact that there was no movement in the space that had once been their room.

“Signe! Get out of there!”

The voice sounded distant and muffled, she paid it no heed. A hand grabbed her arm, gripping it tightly and pulling her away from the flames, away from her daughters.

The sun rose behind dark clouds. Few houses still stood in the village that Signe had called home. She and her mate, Svend,  had chosen this place as the best location to raise their daughters and start a farm. The farming was difficult, since the last season Svend had fallen ill and the healers could do nothing for him. He had been with The Great Wolf since then and so the care of the farm came down to Signe and their daughters. Had the girls been a few years older it may have made things easier but they had still been in their child years. Meant to be playing and teasing with the other pups of the village. That day had been particularly rough working in the fields. They had eaten their supper early and likewise went to sleep earlier than usual.  Signe’s mind replays it for her, the outcomes that might have been if they had done things differently. She was told that the raiders were cutting down the ones who ran. Maybe if they had just stayed working longer out in the fields they wouldn’t have been there. Her girls would be alive, but that’s not how it is.

Days had past since the raiders had come through. Those of the small village that are left have packed up what they could. There is no home for any of them here. Some head to larger villages, hoping for security, some go to other packs.

“I’m going to Onrich, if you’d be going that way too we could pass that way together?”

It was the young Ulven, Hildr, who had saved her from the fire. Brave and strong beyond her years. Signe nodded. The smoke had damaged her lungs and voice. She wouldn’t be able to speak for a while. It would take time for those wounds to heal. The loss of her daughters is a wound that would never heal, though the thought of revenge seeps deeper into Signe’s mind.

*Clang, clang* “ Signe! Come here and mind the forge!”

The darkness split in front of Signe as her father’s forge came back to her from memory. A young girl barely in her 20th year came bounding across the floor.

“But Svend was going to show me the sheep that he tends to!”

The warmth of the memory slipped away and she was standing next to her mother. A stern woman able to keep any Ulven male from speaking sideways at her.

“Do you love him? Of course you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be putting me through this! He best be good to you or I will make sure to put him in the ground!”

She was raking the comb through the unruly hair of the girl that sat in front of her. She started plating the tresses with purple  flowers.

“Yes I love him, yes he’s good to me, no you won’t have to put him in the ground.”

Signe remembered this well, her all too common eye roll and response that followed.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me!” her mother had chided.

Once again the memory faded away like smoke to darkness. She was left alone now in this blackness, this emptiness, with her thoughts. The knowledge her father had passed down to her was useful, if she had listened to his teachings with more than half an ear she would have made a fine amount of silver at it. But such are things when you are young and in love. So many days spent running through the tall fields with her soon to be mate. Her mother’s teachings went the same way, mending clothes, making food, who had time for these things when the sun was so warm.

Hildr shook her awake.

“The sun is about up. Time to be moving on.”

The horizons color had just started changing hue. They had no fire set to keep away the nights chill. Would all of her dreams be like this? Moments from her past, things that couldn’t be changed, words that could no longer be said. She dreaded the nights that were to come. The thoughts of reliving her most recent pains sent tears to fill her eyes.

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Saving his A.S.S.

Alister may have been present at the Moot to donate supplies to Shattered Spear after their rough year dealing with Mordok invasions and crazed clansmen, but he knew little about the Ulven and their customs. To be able to attend the Moot without being immediately sent away was, in itself, nothing short of a miracle, and he was quite greatful for the experience to attend. Nothing could have prepared him though, for Clan Grimwards’ presentation of their decapitated leaders’ head in a box and their declaration of conquest after caving in the skull of one of Clan Nightriver’s leaders.

The end of the Moot was swift and abrupt with Grimward troops emerging, confidently telling the delegates that attended that they were surrounded, escape was futile, death would be assured. Chaos erupted, and although armor and anything bigger than a plain, one handed weapon was outlawed from the moot, nothing could prevent Alister’s magic from wrecking havoc as an organized retreat was declared in hopes of breaking out of their siege. Stun bolts, Ice bolts, Pushes were flying at seemingly numerous enemies as they chased after defenseless women and children as they fled behind the few, armed defenders. Just as many curses were thrown back his way as Ulven yelled at him to run with the rest of the citizens.

“I can help damnit! If some clan leader needs an exit, send them to me and I can save them to rally the other clans!” Alister shouted at warriors to busy to pay heed or any notice.

It was when everyone was backed into a corner that Alister made his exit, Recalling back to The Spire’s recall point, waving off the guards and yelling angrily, “There’s been an ambush at an Ulven Moot, Grimward has a new ally, new leader, and they’re declaring war on all who’ll stand against them, tell your commanders, spread the word, prepare yourselves for the coming storm. I need to head home and get my own preparations accomplished.”

The trip back to Aylin’s Reach was quick, not much was remembered about the journey, other than the soldiers back at The Spire asking for more clarification despite Alister yelling, “I said what I said! Spread the damn word, you’re wasting time!”

As he returned to familiar territory, those who recognized him waved. He paid them little notice, muttering under his breath as he hurried to the longhouse that was, the Shelter Service he was trying to create to help people.

“Sigismund! Where are you? We have a problem!” Alister yelled looking for the assistant that’s been managing this colossal project.
“Here sir, what is it?” Sigismund yelled from somewhere inside.

As his eyes adjusted to the inside of the giant building, Alister blinked his eyes and saw his friend coaching some of the new tenants the rules of living there. Despite the large building, it appeared quite homely. Separate family rooms branched off the main hall, which served as a communal eating and social gathering area. A large upper storage area held most of the facilities food and other resources.

Sigismund dismissed the new tenants, “We’ll continue this later, please go outside and assist the other families with the plantation.”

Alister quickly closed the distance to Sigismund, “The Ulven Moot I left last week to attend, it was a trap. Grimward had a hidden ally, they… they killed their own leader… They had his head in a box and presented it as a present at the moot. They also painted the ground red with a Nightriver clan leader’s blood when they bashed his skull in. To say that my… pet project…. is going to grow might be an understatement. We need to be prepared. And also, we need to tell our citizens and see if we can’t muster them to assist in whatever way we can to stop Grimward and this…. this…. new clan they’re allied with. Stonetooth or whatever they’re called.”

Sigismund’s eyes widened at Alister’s story, “By the god’s why would they do that? What….what are they hoping to achieve wiping everyone out?”
“Who the hell knows! It’s madness!” Alister said sighing heavily. “We need to get tenants to focus on being able to repair armor and weapons. We need to help those that can fight for their families and lands to prevent more people from having to start over… There’s been enough victims and tragedies from Mordok attacks and the clanless raiders over the past year. Can you find a trainer and get this started? I’ll try and see what I can do from my end.”
As uncertain as he appeared, Sigismund blinked, “I… I think so… There should be some lesser known armorsmiths around that might have more free time on their hands that could use the practice to improve as well. They might appreciate this…. random opportunity.”
“Yes well…. lets hope these sorts of opportunities don’t come around this damned frequently…. Let’s get to work.”

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June 273 – News & Rumors

“Warriors and Packleaders, our steel is not judged by how it shines during peace but by how it remains unbroken in war. Grimward has returned to once again become our honorbound, and we will break their clan like they dishonorably broke the skull of our leader who had met them for peace. March west Nightriver, march until the rivers of the Hackles turn red and our feet meet the sea.

May his ears ring with the voices of Grimward,

Warleader Holmar Bloodmoon”

The words of Warleader Holmar Bloodmoon carry across Clan Nightriver, spurring the many packs of Clan Nightriver to organize and march west to the Pass of the Great Wolf Hackles. The Warleader has declared a focus on driving back the small raiding groups that have struck the edges of Nightriver territory, and then driving Grimward back through the pass. While the clan is still organizing and mobilizing, their great numbers begin to quickly show on the western edge of the territory, eager to see a brutal revenge for their lost leader. While the clan is currently without a formal leader, Warleader Holmar Bloodmoon has taken control of the war effort and has begun to make moves to become the full leader of the clan. Several pack leaders also step forth to gain support in becoming the new Clanleader, or to take over as Warleader if Holmar becomes the Clanleader. Only actions in the initial months of the war and the support of other pack leaders will show who becomes favored in the end.

Soon after Warleader Holmar’s words carried across Clan Nightriver, voices from their allied clan to the north were heard pledging to stand by their alliance. While not known for martial capabilities, Clan Goldenfield is quick to promise full support to Clan Nightriver in the form of food for their warpacks. With many clans restocking after the winter, Goldenfield’s aid will be notable to allow Nightriver to carry on attacks with less risk to not having enough farmers and hunters back home to prepare for next winter.

As some of Clan Stormjarl’s allies return to their homes or other parts of the war, news returns with them that Clan Grimward’s raiding fleet has returned home, likely to recuperate. Clan Stormjarl’s northern border continues to be probed by notable attacking forces, seeming to be looking for weak points to exploit, although no prolonged attacks have occurred yet. It seems likely that Clan Grimward has yet to dedicate a force fully to this front, although no one can determine what is going on behind their frontlines currently.

Reports of Clan Ironmound’s mobilization have become clear, although with the clan still having not made any declaration it their intentions still remain unclear; whether they are preparing to march eastward, westward, or declare neutrality. They do not remain alone in this though, as many of the northern clans have yet to indicate their intentions or standing in this war either.

In the north, rumors carry that members of the Northern Protectorate, made up of Clans Whiteoak, Axehound, Steinjottun, and Clan Spiritclaw have received hawks from Clan Grimward. The letters request that they either stand aside, join them, or become thralls in their conquest. Each of the Clans are quiet, for there is much to consider for their own people and the direction of the war. Some are worried that Clan Whiteoak may join with Clan Grimward like they did in the Ulven Civil War. Some are curious how Steinjottun will react, with having little martial might. Many believe Clan Spiritclaw will stay neutral, as it has in so many conflicts in the past. Though to the possible thoughts of Clan Axehound, there is little doubt they won’t go down without a fight but with them being a smaller clan they are likely hesitant to pick a side due to the sheer force that would be bearing down on them if the Clan decides to take a stand. While Clans Axehound and Whiteoak are currently peaceful towards one another, some people say that this war could rekindle their conflict from years back. One thing is for certain, much deliberation is occurring within these Clans, and their decisions have yet to be made.

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Storm Unbroken

People were running. And screaming. Panic was thick in the air as they continued towards a hope of safety. Ylva could feel the burning in her chest like fire. Rage at their situation burned through her as she kept a close eye on Fritha, running beside her. She shouldn’t have to be running at all, not this close to having had surgery. “Bryech and Toralf must be doing a good job holding them off for us to get this far,” she thought.

Just as they reached a small plot of crop fields of a local farmer, Ylva heard screaming. This was not fearful screaming, but that low, vicious, anger-filled scream that accompanied a warrior who was about to push past the point of when others would have fallen in combat. She listened hard, filtering out the other screams and sounds of hard falling footsteps around her. That was her MATE screaming.

“Fritha, I’m heading back” Ylva said, turning on her heel to double back.

“NO” Fritha called out. “You gave your weapon to Valla, it would be unwise to go back”

“Bryech is going to need help carrying Toralf out!” Ylva called back, still heading towards the fray. But she ran into something unexpected,  Bryech, empty-handed, a look of shame on his face.

Ylva was now more anxious than she had ever been in her life. “Where is he?” she cried out, desperation coating her words.

“He fell.” Bryech choked out through labored breath. It had been clear he had been fighting hard, both physically and mentally, as he was coming to grips with what happened.

“No. NO!” Ylva cried out, panic gripping her heart. She started running. Back toward where Bryech had just come from. Back to her mate. He had been in worse conditions before. If she could get to him, she just knew he would make it. Suddenly, arms flew around her middle and gripped her in a tight bear-hug from behind.

“There’s nothing you can do, Ylva” Bryech said gravely as he held her in place and she struggled against him. “Toralf wouldn’t want you to put yourself at risk like this.”

Bryech knew they still weren’t safe where they were, they had to continue.

“Come on, we can’t stop. We will get our revenge. But to do that, we need to regroup with our allies.” They continued on, regrouping with Fritha and the others. They pushed on into the night, avoiding any signs of Grimward. Many thoughts raced through Bryech’s head as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

Today was supposed to be a day of peace, cooperation. A time for the people of Mardrun to stand together after many trials. Instead it was a day for blood. Blood soaks his blades, his hands, his heart. The slash across Bryech’s forearm stung in that never familiar way, but still, that hurt less than the sense of failure which tortured him. Bryech bandaged his arm on the move, the entire time he could only see Toralf, slipping from his grasp.

“I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t save him.” The thoughts repeated in his head.

He died well. A storm of steel and fury. The loss grips Bryech, the fear of what he must do next more so. They hadn’t stopped moving for long since Grimward gave up the chase for whoever didn’t make it out when the Nightriver warpack tried to break the hold Grimward and their Stonetooth messenger had on the meeting place. They could still see the smoke from the camps being taken. Jarl Layla Nightriver leads the ragtag remainder of the assembled groups to the safety of a secondary Nightriver camp. Moving  east toward the road through The Pass. As the sun falls ever lower Bryech’s worry for the rest of the Einherjar grows. Fritha was in no shape to fight after her arrow wound. Bryech does his best to hide his fear from the others, especially Saldis and Amya. They’re less experienced and less prepared for this violence. Valla, Lillith, and Fritha hold steady, they have more experience. But he knows they fear the same as he does. Cenarae seems to hold up well for a human. Bryech takes note. Lastly, Ylva. Rage and anguish ebb and flow across her like the tide. A sudden uproar snaps the group to attention. A hasty series of commands is whispered and the group falls to the underbrush. Hiding from the approaching group. IN the fading light they bear torches and Grimward banners. Bryech scans the group and sees something that causes dread to grip him. Toralf, tied to the discarded banner of the Einherjar, being pulled in a cart piled with bodies of those fallen in the defense. Bryech grabs Ylva before she can see and holds a hand over her mouth keeping her pinned to the ground with him. The sob that escapes into his hand is indescribable. And Ylva’s struggle is almost too much for Bryech. Fritha’s pommel strikes with practiced efficiency, and in an instant Ylva is unconscious. It does little to ease Bryech’s struggle. They spout insults to Stormjarl, they goad the group to attack. Bryech can hear blades unsheathe in the darkness behind him. Bryech struggles to act. He could do it, he could save his friend. But it would cost everyone else. Bryech looks back to the group and motions to stay hidden. It seemed like an eternity while the cart rolled by. It was all Bryech could do to hold himself back. As the torch light faded, not a soul moved for some time. Bryech’s only thought as Jarl Layla pushed the group on closer to safety in the evening light was.

“I’m going to kill them all.”

A month later, Bryech stands at the docks of Ulvesal, watching the Einherjar  prepare for war. Thrand oversees the Fate Finisher and Viknar. Packing provisions enough for the hastened movement to the ancestral territories of the clan to the west and the fight ahead. Fritha aids in the preparations by supervising. A task Bryech is all too willing to hand off at this moment. Weeks of training and preparation to enact such a swift reaction to this new war, this ‘Conquering”. Ulvesal is a storm of action. New warriors spar in the training grounds. Bryech spots Saldis and Cenarae among the new recruits as well as several newer additions.. Bryech feels a tugging sorrow at Toralf’s absence his usual place in the yard vacant. As well as an even greater guilt that comes with knowing half of those new warriors won’t survive the year. Nearby Arland and Valla both work tirelessly at the smithy. Preparing armor and weapons. Lillith and the pups prepare reagents and remedies for the warriors. Everyone works toward the common goal of defending their people from Grimward and this new foe Stonetooth. Bryech grabs his gear and carries it to the ship. He mutters to himself as his boots clunk across the docks.

“We are the storm, and we’re coming for blood.”



Pain, anger, fear. RAGE.. This is all Toralf remembers, as what was supposed to be a day of peace turned into bloodshed and betrayal. With the outpost surrounded the call was made to draw steel and fight our way out. As they tried to escape a barrage of blades and spears fell upon him. He felt the warmth of his blood flowing down his chest. Blow after blow he took and tried to stand tall, but it became too much. He falls to his knees and hears Bryech calling for him to fall back. “I can’t move, I am going to die here, but at least I will die a good death. A death worthy of recognition! A death sure to make my name ring in His ears!” As Toralf’s sight turns red he turns to his Jarl, the delegates and representatives, and all those who came to bear witness of this Moot,

“Run…RUN!!!” Toralf screams as he charges forward into the Stonetooth’s spear, as he is pierced again his vision darkens and he awakens staring at the sky.

Toralf’s mind stirs. All he can recall is Bryech telling him again and again, “No heroes today, we need survivors.” His thoughts run wild, an unending torrent of emotion.

“How could I be so stupid and disobey direct orders!? No, I did what I had to do. I am a warrior, I am the Unyielding! I would have slowed down the rest of the group trying to get patched up. I would have been a liability and more people would have gotten hurt or even killed. No, I did what needed to be done in the moment and I will accept whatever punishment may await me. I just pray to Gaia that what I did mattered and everyone was able to escape safely. Ylva….my Ylva, forgive me,I noticed as you, Fritha, and Cenarae were able to slip away in the chaos. Please be ok, please be ok! Please…..be alive. I made a promise that the Gods themselves could not keep me from your side and I intend to honor it! Please……”

As Toralf looks around he sees three Grimward dogs laying in pools of their own blood.  “At least I took a few of those honorless bastards with me. I just wish I could have taken that Stonetooth bitch too.” He hears footsteps approaching but cannot make out the forms of those walking towards him. He feels the heavy iron of chains clapped around his wrists as he loses consciousness. It is clear to Toralf that he is not meant to die here today. He fears far worse is yet in store…

As Toralf slips in and out of consciousness he cannot tell how long they have been traveling. Days? Weeks? He does not recognize any roads or paths they take. Everything is hazy and it is hard to make out details. Toralf’s body burns in agony from the energy spent. He feels the tightness of bandages around his chest keeping him in one piece.

“Perhaps I have been picked up by another Pack or Clan. If it was Grimward they probably would have made sure I was dead.” Toralf thinks to himself. The cart comes to a stop and Toralf is pulled out onto his feet. He collapses to his knees from sheer exhaustion. As Toralf looks around He sees Grimward banners flying high. He does not know this settlement but he knows he will be here for some time. Toralf is not the only prisoner to be taken, but all the others are lined up outside, while he is taken into a structure built entirely of stone. Most likely holding cells or a prison of sorts. As Toralf is led down the stairs the reality turns out to be far worse. Within this structure is a singular room with a table in the center. Chains, tools, and other devices line the walls. This is not a mere prison cell…it’s a torture chamber.

“How long…. How long have I been here? How many times have I been cut? How many times have my bones been broken? How many….How long….I know the face of the one who initiates these barbaric acts.”

Though this is not the village she calls home, the Stonetooth female who ran Toralf through with her spear decided to stay for a few days and carry out his punishments. She seems to get a sick sense of pleasure at the sounds of his bones snapping, his flesh is flayed from his back. She is methodical in her techniques. She only breaks one leg or one arm at a time so that he can still be put to work. They keep him fed just enough so he doesn’t starve. Afterward she has a healer come and mend his bones so she can break them all over again.

“She can break my bones all she wants, but that’s all she can break. My heart still burns in my breast to return to my love. I will not die here, I refuse to die here! Ylva….my sweet Ylva. I will come home, I promise you. I know the Einherjar have to be looking for a way to free me…if they even know where I am.” Toralf thinks to himself through the haze of pain and misery.

“I got extra punishment today. I got lippy with the taskmaster and was chained to the posts to be put on display as an example. He struck me with his hammer on my right cheek, and I felt my cheekbone splinter under the blow. I didn’t realize the Stonetooth female would be making a pass through the village today. She came out and flogged me in front of the village. Again and again the lash struck me but I didn’t cry out, I was able to grit my teeth and bear through like I have been so far. I think I may have gotten under her skin a little. During today’s lashing I shouted ‘HARDER’ as an act of defiance, it would take far more than just lashings to cause me any real pain. The Stonetooth let out a chuckle as she told one of her subordinates to grab the “Stone’s Maw”. It was truly barbaric in design….Several whips combined with blades on the end of each. As she struck me again and again I could not help but give in to the pain. Feeling my skin peel from my bones with every strike, she should have just Blood-Eagled me at this point. I yelled and screamed in agony waiting for her to finally stop. ‘If I continue I will kill you, and I have no intention of relinquishing my favorite plaything just yet.’” Toralf remembered every agonizing detail.

As the lashing ended she came up and grabbed Toralf by the jaw, forcing his head up to look at her. “One day you will beg me for death, of that I am certain.” Toralf can feel himself choking on blood, as his gaze meets hers he spits in her face just before vomiting out the rest. With a smirk Toralf replies,

“I am Toralf the Unyielding. I do not beg like a pup for table scraps. Death can take me when it has earned me!”

The Stonetooth’s eyes narrow.  “You are strong, there is no denying that. Perhaps strong enough that you might have become an Alpha-Slayer one day. Let’s at least make you look the part then!” As she pulls out her knife he feels the cold steel slide down his face as the vision in Toralf’s right eye is taken from him. He yells in agony before his body slumps over unconscious.

“Home. I want to go home. The punishments are getting worse. Everyday I am left on the brink of death only to be denied the release of it. I have not the strength to break the chains that keep me bound, kept on display as a warning to others who would step out of line. Ylva, Bryech, Fritha, Thrand, Valla, Lilith, I know I can count on you all to get me out of this. I just have to bide my time. Cold. So Cold. The blood cakes to my flesh. How long has it been? I will not die here!! I can’t! I made her a promise! Will they come for me? I know they will! Why did I not follow orders? Why do I always try to be a hero?! Why don’t I listen..So….cold. Has the flame in my breast gone out? Have I given up? No! I can’t! I made a promise to come home! Death…have you finally come for me? You are early…I refuse to die here, do you hear me? I am Toralf the Unyielding! I will not die in chains!!!”

“Horns? I hear…..horns? The Einherjar? Home……Ylva………”

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Arleaux Bonnaire

PLAYED BY: Cody Jackson

CHARACTER NAME: Arleaux Bonnaire

GENDER: Non-Binary

PRONOUN(S): They/Them


AGE: 35 in July 273

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Takes shifts as a barkeep in Haven

KNOWN SKILLS: Doesn’t seem to be too special, but is an incredible listener



RELATIONSHIPS: Seems known enough around various taverns in Haven. They seem to work at multiple bars on different nights of the week.

RUMORS: Arleaux is known as a listener. They are known through Haven as an excellent bartender to talk to, but beyond that not much is said about them. They are known as a voracious reader and some think they may have been a mercenary or a bandit before settling down, but no one knows for sure.


Aldoria held little more than memories for Arleaux. They were young enough when they first came with their family to Newhope and they were still not yet an adult when that family pulled up stakes and moved to New Aldoria to support their Prince’s growing city. It was here that Arleaux first felt like they’d found what they hoped could be a more permanent home, but alas things are not always meant to be and Arleaux found themself dreaming larger than the quiet life they were living.

They worked a job during the mid-day, turning over rooms in a grimy tavern, they’d hoped one day to move behind the bar and sling drinks where the tips were much better, but after two years that had yet to happen. One day when they were 18 they met a man who said he’d come from New Oarsmeet where he owned a few smaller taverns that had shifts available for a bartender. Arleaux jumped at this opportunity. New Oarsmeet had a reputation about it, but the call for a life beyond their parents’ home was too much to ignore. Arleaux moved to New Oarsmeet and for the second time in their life felt that they found a place that could maybe be their more permanent home, but alas things are not always meant to be.

They did manage to stay in New Oarsmeet, working across various taverns, for nearly ten years before the Aldorian Marines, led by that traitor Anne, burned the city to ash. Arleaux fled and went to the only place they knew, New Aldoria. They returned to a shrinking city as more and more people packed up and left to follow their Prince to his new sovereign land of Aylin’s Reach, but after the travesty at New Oarsmeet, Arleaux had lost any desire to follow that butcher. Their parents moved and Arleaux stayed behind, picking up a job as a bartender in the desiccated corpse that was once one of the most populous colonist cities on Mardrun.

Time wicked away slowly until one day a traveler let Arleaux know that a new city had been built on the ashes of New Oarsmeet, a city to carry on its legacy – a city called Haven. Arleaux knew immediately that they belonged among the people of this city of outcasts and without word they packed their things and left New Aldoria, resettling in New Oarsmeet where they took shifts across the city at various taverns. Here Arleaux met friends, or at the very least the closest they’d had to friends. Oddballs and outcasts the lot of them, but at the very least they made for good stories