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April 270

Winter’s cold grasp on the land has loosened, and with it the cold rains of spring herald in the season. Green starts to blossom, and the cycle of life begins once more.


Cleric’s of the Richtcrag deity Sylv become busy as spring comes in full force, traveling from village to hamlet to village again blessing the fields to come. While there are few in number, many of those who remember the old ways back on Faedrun welcome them with open arms. Those that don’t know of the deity quickly learn to accept the blessing anyway, taking whatever help they can for the upcoming year to help protect their crops. Those outside of these practices tend to give the clerics a wide berth, viewing them both as oddities and remnants of a somewhat alien culture.


News travels south from the Shield of Mardrun of an epic battle that will be told around campfires for years to come. The tale of a small novice Feral Syndar mercenary vs. an Alpha Mordok in a ritualistic duel to the death. The tales vary from telling to telling, some claiming the Syndar to have used magic to bewitch the Mordok, some saying that the Syndar was channeling the power of a deity to even hold out as long as he did, others even state that the Syndar was a shapeshifter and turned into an eight foot Ulven warrior of legend and smashed the creature with a mighty club. But one thing remains central to these tall tales, the Syndar never received a single blow, and that the Alpha Mordok was slain by this previously unknown Syndar’s hand.


Tales of strange happenings in the Great Forest reach the ears of the common folk of Mardrun. These tales tell of a section of the wood, deep towards its heart, where the light is barely able to reach through the trees. A group of hunters from Clan Whiteoak were the first to speak this tale, one of hearing the laughter of children, seeing small shadows dart in the corners of their eyes. One of them even stated they felt something bump into them and noticed his waterskin went missing, though the other members of their party claimed they were drunk. They continued to travel through this area, noticing small ruined wooden structures as they went by. When the hunting part got to the other side they heard a voice say “Better hurry before the big bad Huntsman gets you…” That is when they heard the heavy labored breathing and heavy footsteps in that twilight lit place. One of the hunters looked behind and swore to have seen a massive being covered in furs and hides carrying an axe and massive blade with piercing red eyes. The hunters then ran, ran as fast as they could while hearing the thundering footsteps behind them. They eventually made it to a clearing where they heard a bellow and roar as they left, along with the voices of children giggling once more off in the distance. Once home to their village they were resoundly mocked and laughed at by their fellow ulven, though some have taken their story to heart and spread it far and wide.

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