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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.”

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.”

——————————————————————————————————————————-

(Toralf)

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………”

Sitting here in the shade of the Great Forest at the edge of a lake with my traveling companion Theridan. I contemplate rumors of war and what it means for me. I practice my craft while I do. I focus on the weave of reality. I take hold and bend it to my will. Pushing, pulling, crafting the power that lies locked behind arcane understanding. Blue sparks writhe in my palm until a small orb of lighting forms its power generic but easy to manipulate. I flick the orb to a nearby tree and watch it burst against the bark, crackling energy sending wood chips flying as the energy impacts. Theridan looks up nervously from their journal. They have always been rather nervous. I would be too if I had gone through what they had. I have heard a part of Theridan’s story. I know there is more that is hidden. Such is the way with our order. Secrets are all we had in this age, secrets and stories. That secret is out now though and no one trusts our stories, all we have is the question of what those of us who still hold onto our purpose are to do now. I continue to ponder this as I weave a stronger spell together. Again I focus, and maifest my power. This time a luminous stone. Bright red, with small shards that float around it.

“My father taught me our stories and our secrets before he taught me the magic.” I say to Theridan, feeling the subtle strain on my control of the magic. I don’t look at them, still mostly focused on my spell.“He told me that knowledge is one thing. The willingness to do what must be done and the sacrifice one has to make another. The power another still.” I flick my wrist causing the orb to spin in my hand.“He wanted to be sure I understood what it meant to be a Lorespeaker. He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t just want the power. You should’ve seen the look on my face when he showed me the powers we had been keeping from our people.”“What does it mean to you then?” Theridan replied skeptically. I look at them, for once their green eye meet my gaze. In the months we’ve known each other we have both changed. I wouldn’t call us the greatest of friends. I feel as if we’ve done good work and have learned much from each other. In this moment, I can’t help but feel hopeful. I’ve seen their pride in being a Lorespeaker, a pride I share. I look back to my spell, my focus and time slipping.“It means we serve the greater good for the Ulven people. It means we sacrifice so that our entire race may prosper. The Ulven people learned the hard way how much bigger the world is than us.” I stand slowly and take aim at the tree again. With a flick the red stone orb whips forward and blasts a chunk out of the tree. Wood chunks scattering into the lake sending ripples laced with magic across the surface of the water. Theridan doesn’t flinch this time. I look back to my companion.“The greater good used to be our great secret. No longer. We can’t wait around for someone to tell us how best to serve people who despise us but so desperately need us. We must do what we can” I sat back down, done practicing for the day.“If Grimward really has allied with Stonetooth then the Ulven of the south are in dire need.” I say, purpose filling my words. Theridan puts away their journal and assembled notes.“Where would we even start Einar? Not a soul outside of Grimward leadership or Stonetooth knew this was coming. Three clans are already starting on the back foot, Shattered Spear will be lucky to last the season. And so far it’s just you and I.” I pause at the last part. I am unsure if Theridan has shared everything they know. I have to take it at face value. I think for a moment more before I reply. They are right, it’s impossible to know what the best course of action is. But imperfect action now is better than waiting for the perfect chance.“We start the same way the Lorespeakers who came before us did. We tell our story, wherever we can, to whoever will listen.”

It has been one month since Ylva’s mate was taken from her.

Images of the Moot still flash through Ylva’s mind whenever she lets herself be idle.  Haygriths rotting head in a crate, Branthur Nightriver being bludgeoned before them all.  Most often, she saw her mate Toralf being carried away and felt the scream that welled up in her throat before Bryech threw his hand over her mouth and Fritha brought the pommel of her seax down on the back of her head, knocking her out. Ylva does not blame them or hold any grudge. Had the scream escaped and allowed them to be spotted, they might all have been killed. Still, she has been unable to shake the feeling of the scream that never got to make any sound. No matter how many times she has screamed since that day, it still sits in her throat like a rock forever at the bottom of a river.

With war preparations, thankfully Ylva has been able to avoid much time for idleness. She spent the first couple days back home frantically  writing. Letters for friends in all parts of the continent. Warnings and pleadings for help with discovering where Toralf is being held so they may reclaim him. But also, hours spent pulling together her amassed knowledge on healing, organizing it into a lesson plan. Now is the time to train as many people as possible on saving lives and getting fighters back in the fight quickly. 

It is not long before Clan Stormjarl calls upon the Einherjar to return to the motherland and they begin boarding their longship. She will miss her bed in Ulvesal, which still smells of Toralf, but the furs have felt so cold without him… not like she’s been able to sleep much anyway.

Before leaving, she carefully folds a pair of Toralf’s pants and a tunic and stuffs them into a bag, loading it with the rest of her precious healing supplies. With any luck, they’ll be finding him soon, and he will need them.

They arrived in the coastal settlement of Sundvik, where the call for aid was vital to protect ships and waterways. Ylva made quick work of coordinating with other healers and beginning a lesson on battlefield healing. The day continued on much the same as any other front line she’s healed on. Something was different though, at first she had thought her calmness was due to her years of practice.  But it was more than calm,  it was unfeeling. She realized she had started to feel numb… Numb to the screams and grunts of pain as she plucked out arrowheads and stitched patients back together. And numb to the condolences she received over and over when people realized who she was and what happened to her.  She didn’t like that she felt this way, but she felt her options were slim: Feel numb and composed, or be a wreck and useless.

She needed to keep it together, so numb it was.

Besides the other Einherjar,  there were not many there that she knew, but between rounds, she saw a familiar face, Kaylek Nightriver. They greeted each other with an embrace, it had been nearly a year since they last saw each other. “We will get him back, Ylva” he said, with confidence. Not condolences, but a promise. A kind reminder that she did have other friends on her side. Their conversation was brief before they both had to return to the work at hand.

Things turned dire as news reached them that several ships had been lit ablaze. And each time her Jarl Breych returned to camp, he came with more and more wounds and less usable armor. “Just do what you can to cleanse the wounds so I can get back out there” he said, “I cannot afford the rest and fatigue that comes with healing. There is no time.”

Ylva’s stomach turned as she looked him over, legs torn up by sword slashes and ripping out arrows. She would not send him back out with an array of bandages being the only thing allowing him to keep running. She opened a divine conduit between them and one by one, pulled all his wounds onto herself. She tried her best not to cry out as her flesh was torn open over and over, but it was too much. Bryech thanked her and quickly rejoined the fight to defend the outpost.

Ylva’s hands shook as she pulled another two wounds onto her own body from another warrior. She felt as though she may lose the contents of her stomach as she collapsed onto a healing mat. She pulled the bag containing Toralf’s clothing toward herself, hugging it to her body and taking in his scent.

As her body relaxed, Ylva pulled herself into a meditative state and pleaded with Gaia to take away her suffering so that she may continue being useful to the cause. It may have been her losing her mind, or perhaps Gaia really did speak to her this day, but she could have sworn she heard a calming voice in her mind. “Fear not, Daughter. Your world will be righted. Do not let yourself lose hope and give into this numbness you feel. Watch for me today, I will show you.” and with that, she awoke physically restored, and feeling reflective.

The hours raced by. Healing, preparing for the next patient, taking turns in the watchtower, sending down arrows upon them when Grimward or Stonetooth managed to reach the gates. And suddenly, it was dark around them, and much too quiet. But not for long.

A chorus of cries erupted as a flood of wounded people overwhelmed her yurt. They quickly learned that the nearby Thurgenfell had been raided and fallen. These were villagers, not warriors. Between Ylva and the other healers, they quickly triaged and tended to patients. But this was much different than tending to the battle hardened Ulven they’d been seeing all day. These patients were not desperate to get back on the field to fight again. These were young farmers, fishermen, craftsman, likely too young to have fought in the Civil War years ago. People who may be experiencing their first serious wounds. With everyone stabilized, Ylva got to work on a young woman. She introduced herself as she often does to strangers. “I am Ylva the Lifemender of Clan Stormjarl. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay”

After a brief assessment she found the woman’s chest had been slashed with a mace. Thankfully she had been lucky, as there was a jagged gash on her chest,  but the bone underneath was unshattered. After administering something for pain,  she got to work.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Ylva asked in a calm tone. She often spoke to patients to try and keep them from falling into shock.

“Grimward”, the woman said through shuddering sobs as Ylva worked on cleaning out the wound on her chest from dirt and debris. She must have fallen. “They were killing everyone. No prisoners, no mercy… my home.. I watched my home burn. I was the only one to get out in time” She winced and cried out in pain as Ylva had to cut around the jagged tear to get a good clean line to stitch. This would help her to heal with less of a scar in the long- run, it was necessary “Let me get you something more for the pain”, Ylva said as she reached for the small glass bottle of powerful pain medicine. One had not been enough.

“No!” the woman interjected, catching  Ylva’s blood-drenched hand in her own and gripping it hard, “I need to feel it. I want to remember what they did to me.”

Ache tore at Ylva’s heart and hit her like a stone as the numb feeling was ripped away from her without warning. She tightened her own grip on the woman’s hand in return. This young woman, so much braver than herself, wanted to feel everything, meanwhile Ylva had been snuffing her own feelings out, trying to take the easy way out and numb the pain. This simple moment reignited her so suddenly. They locked eyes.

“I understand. And I am here with you.” Ylva said as she gave the woman’s hand an extra squeeze before releasing it and returning to the grim work of stitching her flesh back together, continuing as gently as she could.

Ylva found herself overwhelmed with emotion as she worked, struggling to bear listening to the woman whimper and wince in pain.  She fell into repeating a pattern of comforting words to the woman as she worked.

“You’re going to be okay.”

“I know it hurts, honey, I’m sorry.

“I’ve got you, you’ll be okay.”

“Let it out, it’s okay.”

“Breathe with me.”

Ylva led the young woman through breathing exercises to keep her calm, but secretly, she needed them for herself too.

The sobs in the yurt ebbed and flowed like the waves that carried their longships. As the injured were tended to, sounds peaked together- patients setting each other off in fits of cries and screams. Somebody yelled out that they were going to vomit and a bucket was promptly provided. The smell of sick filled the air and mingled with the rusty metallic tinge of the spilt blood and the harsh smell of antiseptics. Another crash of unexpected feeling as the woman groaned and gasped beneath her hands.

“Just breathe”, Ylva urged for both of them as she once again led the woman through guided breaths.

It was not panic in Ylva’s chest, but the crushing weight of realizing what this war would look like for her. It would not only be the hardened warriors she was used to. These are not people who signed themselves up for danger. And they’ve now lost their homes, and had their entire lives uprooted. She would be seeing more of the same day after day, and going through it without her mate, her one person she turns to for comfort at the end of the hardest days. In this moment, it felt like there was nothing she could do to help any of them, not these villagers, not her mate, nor herself. “Look for me. See me in them.”, that Motherly voice echoed in Ylvas mind again, breaking her out of her impending spiral into hopelessness. Gaia.

She took another big breath and continued.

Ylva finished her work on the woman and once satisfied that her wounds were properly closed and would not become infected, she took a look around the tent. The other healers were holding their own quite well and everything was being managed. She felt her heart warm at this. Not the madness and panic that she was used to seeing from brand new healers when mass casualties flooded in, but medics who were calm and self-assured.  Not adding to the panic of the injured, but dissuading it. This…this was what she was able to do for them- healing – and perhaps there was more she could do to heal them than just care for their physical wounds…

Normally, once a patient was resting, she would have to move onto the next one, but right now, with so many other healers present, she had the luxury of time. She stayed with the woman for the entirety of her rest, holding her hand and gently stroking her hair. Watching her chest rise and fall steadily. Just being with her, making sure she was not alone.

“Is there anyone who came here with you that I can bring you to?” Ylva asked the woman softly, once she was sufficiently rested. She shook her head.

“I’m so sorry”, she said, “let’s get you sat by the fire to warm you up” She helped the woman into a seat by the fire, and promised to return to check on her again when she could.

But first, she needed to take a moment to balance herself. Ylva strode to the edge of the camp and gripped a tree to keep her upright as the intense feelings of grief threatened to pull her under. This past month she had so easily fallen into the habit of continuously moving, always onto the next thing. She had never let herself stop to feel her own loss, her fears for her mate. Ylva choked down her sobs, stifling them so that she would not take away this time from those processing their own trauma nearby. But she did not let herself go numb again.  She let the feeling wash over her, pushing and pulling her, but never drowning in it. Not this time.

She ultimately decided to go for a walk, to once more clear her mind and reach out for Gaia, but this time she heard nothing. She must have been given all the information already, and would have to work it out herself. Another breath. Look for Gaia in them, she thought to herself. That must mean her work with these refugees was not over.

As she returned to the fire, she spotted the young woman she had tended to and approached her. “How are you feeling? Any sharp aches or pains?”. The woman shook her head, but said nothing. Ylva looked one by one, to all of the faces around the camp. The crying had ceased. It was almost peaceful, until it struck her how numb they all looked. Numb… numb. She felt something pull at her heart strings. It was as though Gaia was pleased she had figured it out and was willing to give her reassurance on the matter. This must be it, the healing was not complete, and would not be for a long time, but she could help start that process. They were all doing as she had done, shutting down to avoid feeling it, processing it.

The feeling in her heart growing stronger, she spoke up, “You have all been through something so terrible. And for that I am so sorry for your losses. I am here as a Daughter of Gaia to help heal your spirits, and to help guide those of the lost on. Would anyone like to share stories or words for their fallen? Things that they’d like Gaia and the Great Wolf to know as they start their journies to him?”

The silence was thick, and held for a long time.  So much so, that she was afraid no one would say anything. Until finally a voice cut the silence- 

“My dad”, a young man said. “I’d like the Wolf to know… that he was an asshole. But he was my asshole. And still a good man. I loved him”, he choked out through a final sob. Ylva reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “They will know,” she said.

“My sister”,  another voice rose up, a young man she recognized from in her healing tent. He had been apologizing to the others that he wasn’t able to save their loved ones. All the while, he had lost someone too.

“She was out tilling the fields when the raid started. I was too far away, I couldn’t get to her in time, but I saw everything”, his words choked off by a sob. The young man who shared about his father reached out, encouraging him, “What would you want Gaia and the Great Wolf To know of her?”

He pondered for a moment, before giving a small smile and letting out the tiniest breath of a chuckle, “She made the best mead in the village. She was always so proud of her craft” the others around the fire also gave small laughs and nods of agreement. “Skol,” someone called out.

Ylva walked over to another young girl, and recognized her as the person who lost the contents of her stomach in the yurt. “How is your stomach? Settled?” Ylva Asked. A simple “Yes.” The only response.

“Do you have words for anyone?” Ylva urged her. 

“My mom”, she said, and then caught a sharp breath. “She did everything for us… she was the type of woman who put everyone before herself. Even when her health failed.”

Ylva squeezed her shoulder. “I have a strong belief that those are the Ulven Gaia takes into her arms and walks directly to her mate herself. She no longer feels the pain of her failing health. She walks with Gaia”

The woman nodded and gave a small smile, tears rolling down her cheek. 

As she continued on, Ylva felt a motherly presence hover over her shoulder. Could this be the girl’s mother? Perhaps Gaia. Either way, she took it as a sign that this was where she was meant to be in this moment.

Hersir Kerrith Stormjarl pulled her aside. “I want to thank you, Lifemender, for tending to not only our warriors, but these villagers too. I do not claim to understand the intricacies of Gaia and the work of the Daughters, but I have a deep appreciation for what you do. You and the rest of the Einherjar bring honor to yourselves and our Clan at large”

“I appreciate your kind words, Hersir. The Einherjar will always come to Stormjarl’s aid and help in any way that we can,” Ylva responded. They clasped arms in acknowledgement of each other before he carried on, and Ylva came to sit next to another woman at the fire. She hadn’t seen her earlier, and wasn’t sure where she came from. If she had been in Thurgenfell. So she did not prod her. 

Stories and memories of the fallen continued to be shared around the fire, the mood lifting ever so slightly as conversation continued and people unburdened themselves. Ylva let out a sigh of relief and took in a large breath to settle herself once again, contented to watch the fire and listen for things to pray to Gaia for the people present.

The woman next to her cleared her throat and spoke, “That was very kind of you… to help everyone through their grief”.

Ylva gave her a slight smile, “It is my duty as a Daughter. I cannot possibly imagine what they all feel in this moment, but I know of loss. I, too grieve in my own way”

Suddenly it felt like the conversation around the fire died out.

“Did you also come from Thurgenfell?” The woman asked.

Ylva became uncomfortable. “No, I am here as part of the Einherjar… this day was not my tragedy. Mine has been a month ago already. It is not for me to grieve openly now. This is your space,” she said. 

The woman stared at Ylva, seemingly perplexed. “We are all part of the same war,” she said, sternly. “No one person’s grief is any more important than any other’s. Please. Share your story with us, so that your own burdens may lift too”

Ylva thought for a moment, about how easy it would be to shove it all back down. To tell them all she was fine and let herself be numb again. And she now realized, sitting there with all of them, she would need to let herself feel all of it if she was going to survive.

With this realization, she felt an embrace wrap around her shoulders. She thought it may be a friend, but when she looked, no arms were there. Another urging from Gaia. “I see her now, in them,” she thought. 

“I was at the moot.” She started, softly. The quiet from those around her felt deafening, “We were betrayed and trapped, and my mate went into a rage to try and buy us time”, she felt the words pouring out now, “We saw them take him, I know he is alive, I can feel it. Even now, I find myself watching down every road, as if he is about to walk up it at any moment and fall into my arms… I know it may seem ridiculous, but I’ve been carrying a clean set of his clothing with me… for when we find him. But I don’t know what has become of him.”

“That’s the hardest part”, the Woman said, placing her hand on Ylva’s knee, “The unknown. It can consume us and leave us feeling empty… I don’t know what has become of my family either. I was out collecting supplies when I saw smoke and I fled on my own once I realized it wasn’t just a fire, but a raid.”

Ylva blinked, realizing she had yet to ask this woman for any words on her family and she had indeed been from Thurgenfell.

“I’m so sorry. I truly hope for you that they made it out. Are there any words or prayers for them that you would like lifted to Gaia?” Ylva asked.

The woman seemed to think on it for a long moment before responding, “No… that’s very kind of you. I may need the words some day, but until then, I will hold onto hope that they are alive. It is the same reason you carry a set of clothing for your mate. Hope,” she said, squeezing her knee reassuringly. And although the conversation was so heavy, they smiled at each taking comfort in knowing neither of them were alone.

An older man came to join the fire, and Ylva got up to relinquish her seat to him, instead finding a place in the drier dirt, close to the fire. The warmth felt so good, she hadn’t realized how cold she had been. The heat, once again making her feel as though she was in a phantom embrace. “Well done, my Child”, she thought she heard through the crackling logs.

She felt a presence beside her, and even though she expected this may be Gaia once more, she turned to look anyway. To her surprise, it was the Thurgenfell woman she had healed earlier, the one who had been so brave to face what happened to her, now making herself comfortable on the ground next to her.

“Thank you, for what you’ve done today. You saved people in more ways than one” she said, taking Ylva’s hand again and meeting her gaze. “I truly hope that you find your mate and he is well” she said in earnest, squeezing Ylva’s hand.

Ylva squeezed the woman’s hand in return, “Thank you-  I… I realize I never asked your name”

“Anje Siltmaw”, she replied.

“Thank you, Anje. I think you saved me today too.” Ylva replied, feeling introspective.

The two held their embrace by the fire for some time, comforting each other through  silent tears. As they sat, Ylva thought through everything that had happened, lest she forget the important lessons learned this day. Anje had wanted to remember everything… and now, Ylva did too.

A COLD DISH

Fall 271

“Are you sure you don’t want semi-permanent ink?” asked the tattoo artist.

“This one is sure. It will need to last a long time, as this one has much work to do.”

Through a swollen eye from a recent beating, Nairesh looked at the crumpled parchment in his hand as the artist’s needle began to poke the magically infused ink onto his skin. He winced in pain, not only from the artist’s needle but also from the numerous wounds sustained in battle against the City-State task force sent to detain Celestial Arragones that had not yet healed. The fact that he was alive at all was a small miracle. After the fines were paid for the charges levied against him for “obstructing justice” and “intending harm on City-State citizens” and the promised community service in exchange for clemency, the coin handed over to the tattoo artist was literally the last that he had.

Nairesh focused on the words on the list of the first page.

Vaels of the Broken Blade Company…

Celestine Neidre…

Harkov of the Order of Starkhaven…

Ozric of the Ravens…

There were other names on the list, along with notes and descriptions of some of the groups involved during the attack on Celestial Arragones’ estate, but these names stood out more than the others at this time. Nairesh painfully remembered being bound, knocked unconscious several times, and being berated and belittled. Of how Nairesh, so sure of his imminent death in the moment, gave in fully to the emotion and the anger of the moment. Years of practice to not allow emotions to rule him utterly evaporated in seconds as he bled from multiple wounds in the dirt. The pain and sorrow of casting his life’s work into the fire in an act of defiance while watching his friends and fellow scholars bleeding and wounded or laying cold and dead from the City-State’s assault. But Nairesh did not feel one particular emotion; there was no regret for his part in destroying these invaluable things with fire. He was bitter and glad to play his part in the Celestial’s show of defiance; of denying the aggressors what they so desperately wanted that day. They brought their banners and marched on the Celestial’s holdings but the prize they sought was reduced to nothing more than ash.

The beginnings of a solid line from brow to chin sanctifying the Rahd Noc, the Syndar mark of vengeance to those wronged, had officially begun. Vision blurred through emotional anger and the pain of the tattooing, Nairesh squinted and stared at three names in particular, burning them into his mind in this moment as permanently as the tattoo needle set the ink into his flesh.

Researcher Martha…

Noemi…

Zeke Ravana…

END

Fall, 268

After the Ulven treaty was finished, with his mate Fritha Stormjarl being instrumental in getting some sort of peace established between Clan Stormjarl and Clan Grimward, Thrand took some time to travel home.

The lands that his birth-family had lived on near the coast was in a territory that was conquered and then controlled by Clan Grimward for a long time. He suspected his family had been captured and taken as thralls to Grimward, expected to work the fields and tend to the settlement of the conquerors. With the treaty, Clan Stormjarl thralls were to be released back to their Clan should they wish to be. Fritha had been busy overseeing Stormjarl representatives making sure that all kept thralls were given the chance to return home and were not forced to stay under coercion or duress. While the treaty officially released all Stormjarl captives that wished to leave, it officially yielded the disputed Stormjarl territory known as “Haygreth’s Scar” to become Clan Grimward lands.

It was a painful journey; the remnants of settlements yet to be rebuilt from the conquest of Clan Grimward during the Ulven Civil War were visible along the way. Yet life carries on; with new settlements being built and considerable defensive positions being established on the Stormjarl-Grimward border.

It had been years since he had seen them, since he was honor-bound to be sent to Pack Longfang for service at Onsallas Outpost far north near the Dirge Swamp. Thrand arrived at the village and went to work finding his birth-family in an attempt to reconnect with them and tell them of his journeys, his stories of expeditions in the swamp, of standing against Clan Grimward, of conquering new lands for the Stormjarl people on the Stormborn Coast. He had many stories to share.

One story in particular was very recent and involved the treaty.

——–

“You can’t afford this fight.” says Thrand Stormjarl to Haygreth Grimward, Clanleader of Clan Grimward.

Taken aback, the Clanleader focuses in and gives his full attention to the Ulven before him. His recent comments were haughty; depicting Grimward as superior and that Stormjarl was “lucky” for this outcome.

“You really think we wouldn’t win if this fight continues?” says Haygreth in an inquisitive and condescending tone. His interest was peaked that someone would dare speak up to him like this.

“I didn’t say we would win. I said you can’t afford this fight” repeats Thrand confidently, before continuing.

“Your Clan may be larger and have more warriors, supplies, and land, but a fight to the end with my Clan would be the end of yours. You can’t conquer our people, you can barely hold what you’ve already taken, and Clan Stormjarl’s tenacity would cost you so dearly that you would be no match for any other Clan in the future and you would never recover. You would kill the cornered wolf… and then die from losing too much blood.”

Haygreth takes in these words for a moment, locking eyes with Thrand and sizing him up.

“Then I guess it’s for the best of both our Clans that we came to an agreement and a treaty this day” finally says the Clanleader deliberately.

“I guess it is then, for the best, so both our Clans have a chance at a future” replies Thrand before he turns and walks away.

———

“You should have seen the look on his face, father. I think he was at a loss for words that someone would question him and say something like that. Luckily, he didn’t notice how terrified I was!” laughs Thrand.

“Mother, you always taught me to look for the good in others and give them a chance. Some of my experiences have made that difficult. Ulven fighting Ulven, Colonists overstepping their bounds… it makes the world a complex place. But I promise I will try.”

“And Brother, I fondly remember the times we spent running the woods and learning to shoot bow and arrow and run along the grasslands watching the ships sail by the coastline. Who would have ever thought I would run with Pack Longfang, let alone train their warriors for battle.”

Thrand reaches out and touches the stone with reverence. On it, contain the carved names of over two dozen Clan Stormjarl Ulven. The large stone, and the smaller ones around it, is a small memorial honoring those that died in defense of the settlement during the Clan Grimward invasion. The memorial was all that was left of the village, the decaying lumber of burned buildings peeking through the overgrown grass.

“I will remember you all, of your bravery in defending our Clan’s home and the lessons you all taught me” says Thrand as he removes his hand from the memorial stone and turns to look North.

In the distance, barely visible, are the border flags marking the territory between Clan Stormjarl and Clan Grimward, the lands beyond now known as Haygreth’s Scar.

“Honor demands retribution.” says Thrand deliberately as he turns and walks away, heading South further into Clan Stormjarl lands.

END

After watching the mace fell the proud Branthur Nightriver, leader of Clan Nightriver, the feeling of rage, betrayal, shock and fear rose amongst the assembly… I, among them. Apparently I was unable to hide my anger as the New Aldorian representative felt the need to remind me not to make the first strike, to stand down and only defend myself if necessary. The fool… I knew what needed to be done, I knew what it would look like if a human struck first but of course with tension already high I bit my tongue.

The grimward taunted us, offering a chance to surrender or death and while no one knew what would happen if we did surrender everyone had a feeling it wouldn’t end well if you were a colonist… Thankfully no one tested that theory though there were a few that looked tempted to save themselves and as time slowly passed a glimmer of hope was discreetly passed around, a note informing us that Branthur’s Warpack was moving to the settlement. A choice was made within mere moments of receiving this news, we needed to buy time and wait for the warpack to strike to make our escape. Bryech went around seeing who would stay behind to hold the grimward back as those who could not fight fled. I chose to stay behind and stand with the few others that made such choices as well, though as I looked back at those who CHOSE not to… Able bodied, armed, some even armored or capable of using magic.

Self proclaimed Guardians…

Supposed do-gooders Golden Hand…

And many more faces though unrecognizable to me, hiding behind the few brave enough to stay behind.

Pathetic… Cowards all of them!

I will remember their faces, and the faces of those who stood with me as the horns blew and Grimward attacked. Seymour and Voltaire of the Blades of Sol, Vaels of the Broken Blades and the Bryech and Toralf of clan Stormjarl. As soon as the Grimward attacked everything happened so quickly, we had to fall back but we made sure to make them struggle for every inch. Slowly losing people as the fight drew on… First it was Voltaire needing to retreat, then Vaels, Seymour… Then me at the very frequent command of Runeseer Aslaug.

As I turned to retreat I overheard the rage filled battlecries of Toralf ring out. I’ve heard these sort of battlecries before… Usually right before the person flies into a rage to stave off death just long enough to take others out with them. Cursing the Runeseer under my breath I continued my retreat, eventually meeting up with the retreating assembly and was immediately questioned by the ulven accompanying Vaels “Where’s Vaels?”

“What do you mean? He should have arrived before me.” I scanned the group and he was nowhere to be found, and as quickly as I caught up to the group I left to search for Vaels only to come within eyeshot of him being finished off by a Grimward Warrior, the same one who taunted us… Once again I returned to the assembly, unable to face the ulven’s question I prepared myself to face the attackers once more as they drew closer. Taking another look at the cowards who chose not to fight, curse them… If we had more willing to stand and fight no one would have had to die!

As the final clash happened and the remaining assembly fled, I found myself squaring off with the one who announced the coming of the stonetooth. If it was any other situation I would have thrown myself at her in an effort to cut her down but my primary goal was to hold and buy time so I just held and made sure to keep her spear at bay until finally it was my time to flee.

I left that battle angry… I am still angry as I carve my way to Clan Stormjarl now in hopes of offering aid.