Spring weather in Mardrun has always been fickle, feeling like summer one minute and finding yourself in six inches of snow the next. The trek through the hackles into Stormjarl territory has always been treacherous. The unforgiving mountains beautiful and deadly with the spring thaw.
The trek, though perilous, was made in earnest. In hopes of finding long lost friends and allies still alive and kicking. Fortunately, amongst one particularly well stocked outpost, they were found to be talking in hurried tones about Grimward scouts spotted on Stormjarl territory. Perimeters were set up swiftly with scouts on short range patrols to protect the camp and to raise the alarm should any Grimward troops be spotted, while long range patrols were sent out periodically to engage and drive the enemy back.
Having just arrived with some meager supplies that were much appreciated, I helped out where I could. Focusing primarily on guard duty at the gates at first. Listening to tales brought back from the long range patrols, it sounded as though Grimward troops were sending their own Daughters of Gaia out to wreck havoc with their arcane arts.
Eventually my services were called upon to assist with long range patrols. Having rested from my long journey, I was happy to oblige. It was the whole reason I came after all. I had witnessed what happened to Clan Shattered Spear… Poor souls… Fighting so valiantly to hold onto their sacred lands and way of life to be driven out like animals… It wasn’t right. I could not sit idly by and weep for them, knowing full well that Grimward and Stonetooth would be coming again to claim more territory, people, lives… Everything they could get their hands on…
It was, perhaps ironic to see Basil among the Stormjarl’s Einhejar elite. It seemed so long ago when Basil and I were being robbed by bandits for the last two farthings I owned in order to save the lives of our comrades. If only Grimward were so easily persuaded to cease and desist their hostility.
With a deep sigh from thinking of days gone by, a shout in Ulven quickly brought me back to my senses. Coming through the trees down a path was the enemy. Both sides struck at each other, the clang of steel on steel grew louder along with the howls of fury brought forth from Stormjarl troops at the sight of their enemies encroaching upon their lands. I kept behind the warriors’ well trained shield wall and hurled freezing bolts of ice at any and every moving enemy target I could, pulling out my sword as a last resort when my mana reserves were depleted.
The point seemed mute however, as victory cries often rang out not long after. The brave warriors were quite thankful to have the enemy numbers more manageable when so many were being frozen solid mid-swing. I could not recall how many allies would be blocking from an aggressor only to turn and be wide eyed surprised to see an enemy bearing down hard upon them to be frozen where they stood.
I could not imagine how many times I was asked to reaccompany those brave souls back out to repeat my performance time and time again. But for the sake of every innocent soul in Stormjarl, I pushed myself to the limit each and every time to keep them as safe as I could. At one point Basil looked in my direction as though he had seen a ghost, approaching and asking me, “Are you the same mage that got robbed by bandits? What happened to that guy?”
He said to me long ago that day, that I was no battle mage. To this day, he’s still correct that I am not one.
Yet when a member of clan Stonetooth approached the outpost mocking, jeering, taunting, laughing about how we were going to be forced to slaughter our allies, for if we didn’t, their families lives would be forfeit…. I felt a rage build inside of me. I hadn’t felt that anger in a long time… Since the moot where Branthur Nightriver had his skull bashed in…
This pack Stonetooth has crossed a line… And it will be a cold day in hell before I stand back idly by and do nothing again.