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PLAYED BY: Jared Levine

CHARACTER NAME: Dúrnir Stonegut

GENDER: Man

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 31

RACE: Ulven

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Most recently, Dúrnir has been acting as a shiphand and militia fighter. Previously, he was a farmhand.

KNOWN SKILLS: Combat training, navigation, knot-tying, fishing, basic armor and weapon maintenance, agriculture.

BIRTHPLACE: Originally, a large fishing village along the southern coast of Stormjarl territory

APPEARANCE: Dúrnir has long hair, often kept tied in a ponytail, as well as a full, bushy beard.

NOTABLE TRAITS: None to the eye, though he would come across as unusually good-natured for an Ulven man.

RELATIONSHIPS:

• Saga Elinsdottir – Wife
• Mæva— Infant daughter. Missing, presumed dead.
• Joni Thoginsson – Employer

RUMORS: The people from Dúrnir’s original village might cast aspersions on him as ‘the son of a fool’, while those that knew him during his time in the militia may blame him for the death of his first wife.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Dúrnir’s story begins before his birth. His father, Ráðgeirr Stonegut, was possessed of great convictions of the nature and destiny of the Ulven. He believed that the Great Wolf demanded independence and self-sufficiency, and that an over-reliance on clan and community was a stain of weakness upon the soul. While living in one such community, a large fishing village that stank of that weakness, he schemed, disappearing for days at a time, occasionally weeks. Over the years he built himself not just a family, but also a homestead, which sat along the river nearly half a day’s walk from the place he had begrudgingly lived in for over a decade. With his new home deemed fit to live in, he took his family there in the night, without a word to any of the people who had mistakenly called him friend.

Dúrnir himself was one of many, a pair of hands created so that family could do the work that most would expect of community. He was paradoxically raised from a young age to believe in the same independence of his father, and also in an unending obligation to his parents; to keep their home strong and thriving, no matter the cost. These beliefs pulled Dúrnir in opposite directions, and he resolved the contradiction in a way only a child could- falling ill and failing in both regards, requiring constant aid and attention while being unable to attend to his family’s well-being in any way.

Ráðgeirr was unreasonable, but not insurmountably so. When his son’s life appeared to be in genuine danger, he returned to their prior place of living and fetched a healer. A terse visit and exchange of coin alleviated the worst of the boy’s symptoms, for a time. The second time the spectre of death came to visit, Ráðgeirr delayed a touch longer than he ought to before making the journey once-more. When it returned for the third time, the man hardened his heart and waited for nature to take its course.

But through some miracle of circumstance or upbringing, the boy did not die. Rather, he gradually recovered, and when vigor finally returned to his body, he was set back to work, a sense of duty to the family that had so graciously kept him alive weighing down doubly upon him. It took several more years for him to realize the position he was in and the treatment he received in it, and for the small ember of resentment to develop from that realization.

His life continued in isolation, the only people he knew being his family, and the fever-hazed memory of the healer who had attended to him. He didn’t even know where the village he was born in was, having moved so early in his life that the memory of it had all but evaporated. When a Stormjarl warrior appeared at the edge of their homestead, having been told of its location by the healer, speaking of a civil war and a need for soldiers, Dúrnir could only manage to fear her as he would a wild animal, despite having reached young adulthood.

Ráðgeirr was unreasonable, but not insurmountably so. With war on the horizon, he accepted that one man alone could not face all of clan Grimward, and set off to join the army, so that violence would never fall upon the sanctuary that he and he alone had built. He never returned, and in less than a year of his absence, his family was forced by starvation and helplessness to return to the fishing village. By all accounts, they had instilled within them the skills they needed to survive, but without their patriarch, the cohesion forced upon them had dissolved.

Dúrnir found community to be frightening and confusing. He had been denied decades of socialization and education. He had nothing to his name, not even the means or words to ask for help. He was a native outsider, having only been trained on his father’s particular strain of faith and culture. It would take him years to make up what had been denied to him.

Luckily, he found a home in the Stormjarl militia. The Ulven Civil War had not yet abated, and time working on the farm and hunting in the woods had equipped him with the basic motor coordination needed to wield a weapon. The militia provided him with a softened form of the hierarchy and structure that he was used to, and offered food and lodging, so long as he kept his blood in and his enemies’ out. The next few years were a whirlwind. He fell in love with one of his fellow soldiers, Lopthæna Stormjarl, though lacked the experience to recognize it for what it was. Luckily, she didn’t, and pulled him, as an equal, into marriage. When she fell in battle next to him, the grief and rage he felt came much more naturally.

When the Civil War ended, Dúrnir found himself without purpose, but now enough wits to know that he needed one. He did odd work where he could, and eventually found himself a hand on a whaling ship, serving under a man by the name of Joni Thoginsson. Joni was something of a brute and a scoundrel, but the two of them developed a genuine friendship over their first few months at sea together, bonding over the mutual hardship each had withstood in their youths.

After a particularly bountiful and perilous voyage, he returned to port, finding it full of new faces, many of them refugees. With Joni’s ship too damaged to set back out any time soon, he settled down, no longer the outsider, and stained his soul with the weakness of community. He made friends, and even some healthy rivalries. With one of those friends, Saga Elinsdottir, he found the movements and stirrings of love, which he now had the words and motions for, and found himself bound once more in marriage, embodied in their child, Mæva.

It was a good life, for a time. But the war that had broken his first family had not died, merely slept, and in its waking thrashings, it tried to break his new one. A raid, carried out by clan Grimward, descended upon their village in the night. By all accounts, Dúrnir, having served in the militia before, should have been one of the Ulven ready to defend his home with grit and steel. But when he imagined violence crashing upon his wife and daughter, panic overtook training, and he tried in desperation to get the three of them to the docks and out onto safe waters.

They were waylaid briefly, as Saga looked for her sister and parents in the chaos. Having found none of them, they turned instead to try and make their way to the docks. It was overstuffed with countless others who had the same idea, forming a solid wall of flesh and bone that pressed in on all sides as they attempted to push their way through. Dúrnir clung to his wife tightly, and she to their daughter. Among the cacophony of shrieking and movement, he heard Saga scream, and by the time he turned to look at her, their daughter was gone. They pushed back, trying to find her, but the tidal wave of Ulven dragged them, almost in punishment, towards the docks.

They did not find safety there. Raiders set upon them. Dúrnir, in his unwillingness to simply stop looking in hopes of seeing his daughter somewhere among the crowd, allowed an attacker to sink a blade into his back. Saga set upon the Grimward soldier with arcane magic and dragged her husband away to safety, as shock consumed him.

They fell upon a boat, lacking the time or wherewithal to find its proper owner, and cast themselves out upon the sea. It was a marginal vessel, not made for long voyages, but it seemed to be fueled by the rage inside of them, and so they sailed for the Fire Isle. As days passed, and the island was nowhere to be seen, they realized that they had traveled too far east. Rather than turn around, though, Dúrnir took this as a sign. During his time in the militia, he had come to know one of the Stormjarl Einherjar. He knew of their deeds, and their mettle, and knew they would not leave this aggression unanswered. The two continued eastward, fire in their hearts, eager to lend their blades in the name of vengeance and justice.

PLAYED BY: Marisa Considine

CHARACTER NAME: Saga Elinsdottir

GENDER: Woman

PRONOUN(S): She/Her

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 27

RACE: Ulven

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Ex-farmer, refugee, and healer

KNOWN SKILLS: Some magic, ritual magic, healing skills, very basic combat training, knowledge of herbs and plants.

BIRTHPLACE: A small farming village in what is now Grimward territory but was at the time Stormjarl territory.

APPEARANCE: Wears a blue apron dress over top of an underdress. Fur is draped over her shoulders.

RELATIONSHIPS:

● Elin Geirdísdottir—Mother, Daughter of Gaia, and Teacher. Missing.

● Bertil Agnarrsson—Father, Farmer. Missing.

● Ottar Elinson–Older Brother. Missing, presumed Dead.

● Dalla Elinsdottir–Younger Sister. Missing.

● Mæva— Infant daughter. Missing, presumed dead.

● Dúrnir Stonegut—Husband

RUMORS: People in the town she and her family fled to probably gossip about how her family lost everything to the Civil War. Some might wonder how they survived.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Saga was never meant to know battle. Born in a small farming village in central Stormjarl territory in the year 246, her father, who had lost both a leg and an arm fighting the Mordok in the north and her mother, a Daughter of Gaia, had hoped that settling in such a well protected and remote area would give their children the life of peace that they themselves did not grow up with. One in which training and joining war efforts could be a conscious choice rather than a necessity.

For the most part, they were right. Though news of colonists or refugees (depending on who you asked) landing on the shores of Mardrun certainly reached the village, and though this was discussed in length amongst the adults, Saga never saw them. Mordok were relatively far away, and the village was too poor in coin to be of value to bandits or other ne’er-do wells. Saga’ childhood was idyllic. Her days were spent helping her parents tend to their fields, studying magic with her mother, and playing with other children of the village, especially her older brother Ottar and younger sister Dalla.

Saga’ parents couldn’t have predicted that the perfect life they had planned for their children would be shattered by the Ulven Civil war. Saga was just 16 when it began. The people of her village had heard of fighting in far off places before, but this was different. This was Ulven fighting Ulven, this was a war close to the border of Stormjarl territory, not too far from their home. Saga returned home one day from helping another family fix their barn after a storm to find her Father and Ottar in the midst of a heated argument. Ottar wanted to fight. It was a manner of honor for him. Bodies were needed on the front to fight against clan Grimward, he needed to go. Saga’ father refused. Ottar knew nothing of war, had barely trained with a sword, had never seen a Mordok or faced another Ulven in battle. Ottar left that very day. Saga never saw him again.

The attack came at dawn. As the light of the sun peaked out from behind the horizon clan Grimward came with swords and spears and torches. Fields were set ablaze. Those who tried to fight back were killed or captured. It would be nice to say that Saga was heroic, that she stood and fought back against the throngs of Grimward warriors, but she wasn’t. She and her family hid in the cellar with a few other members of her pack praying they wouldn’t be found. They listened to the screams of their pack mates being slaughtered above them. What could they do? When the sounds of fighting faded they emerged, frightened, but safe. They ran. Fled back behind the new Stormjarl lines. After weeks of hiding from Grimward warriors, living off the land, sleeping little, and walking for most of the day, the realization that she and her pack had successfully made it back to Stormjarl territory was the greatest joy she had experienced up to that moment. Unfortunately, that was the last time Saga saw her home. When the treaty was signed her village remained part of Grimward territory. But they had each other and that is what mattered.

Saga and her family resettled in a port village near Haygreth’s Scar on the easternmost coast of Stormjarl territory. With a new home came new friends and new opportunities. Trade coming in from Syndar and Human colonies nearby granted the ability to meet others and learn from them. It was there she met Dúrnir. They quickly fell in love. Their wedding was a joyous day for both families. A daughter, Mæva, came quickly after.

The raid came at night. The village was unprepared for war, its leaders having not yet received news of what had happened at the Moot that very day. Few guards were on patrol, few people remained awake. Saga awoke to the blowing of horns and the great sound of the alarm bell ringing out. The scent of smoke filled the air. Was something burning? The screams soon betrayed the truth, the port itself was under attack by warriors under Clan Grimward banners. Images of what happened to her people the last time Grimward attacked played in her mind. Where was the baby? Safe, thankfully. Screaming, terrified, with big fat tears rolling down her

little chubby face, but safe. Saga grabbed Mæva’ blanket and began the difficult task of swaddling her. If Grimward was attacking then nowhere in western Stormjarl territory could be safe. There just wasn’t enough land to be lost. Any colonies would be likely to come under attack. She knew of a Stormjarl settlement on The Fire Isle. They’d need to make it to the ships by running straight past Grimward soldiers to the docks and pray that at least one boat had been spared. First she’d need to find her pack.

Stepping outside the house Saga was met with crowds of panicked individuals running to get away from the flames and the fighting. People were screaming. Fire leapt from the docks to the straw thatched roof of a house. By the time Saga made it to Dalla’s house she found it empty. Fire blocked the path to where her parents lived. Worse yet, they were running out of time to make it safely to the remaining boats. A decision was made. They’d have to hope that Saga’s family found a way to survive on their own. By now though the fire and fighting had caused the panicked villagers to be herded into one small alleyway between two large buildings. Groups of people trying to run away from the docks and those running towards the boats pressed up against each other. There wasn’t an obvious way around. With one hand holding Dúrnir’s and the other clutching Mæva tightly they dove into the throng of people.

It was a mistake. With enough people in one area it becomes impossible to decide where and how you move. Fire jumped to the building on Saga’ left. The crowd panicked more, Ulven, Human, and Syndar all pushing against one another trying to get away. Saga clung tightly to DúrnirS’s hand, tried to pull Mæva in towards her chest but in one violent motion Saga was flung forward in the crowd, her arm twisted behind her, and Mæva disappeared. She screamed, cried out for her infant, but she physically couldn’t get back to where her baby was lost and in the darkness and confusion no one could have helped her.

When they emerged from the crowd on the other side Saga insisted on going back in. She had lost everything. Again. Her family may survive without her, but Mæva was helpless. Even if Mæva had been crushed under the throngs of people in the crowd, so long as she was alive Saga knew she and Dúrnir could save her. She had to save her. Mourning and denial was interrupted by a Grimward soldier attacking Dúrnir from behind. Saga was facing away and only felt the spray of blood on her back and heard her husband’s cry. She spun, cast flare on the attacker, grabbed her husband and ran. She was not losing another member of her family today.

At the docks she found a small ship that had been spared. A small sailboat designed only for short trips. Whoever owned it had left some moderate provisions inside and a map. With Dúrnir busy working on patching himself up to the best of his ability Saga pushed the boat away from the docks.

Saga did not grow up on the shores of Stormjarl territory, so she was not the best sailor and it was very dark at night. It became clear the next day that Saga had lost track of where exactly they were. Saga and Dúrnir used the sun to guide them. After a few days of travel when The Fire Isle never showed up on the horizon they realized that they must have overshot it. Then came the question of what to do next. Saga felt empty and lost. Everything and everyone was gone. She didn’t know what to do. It was Dúrnir who came up with the answer. During his time training in the militia at Haygreth’s Scar he met members of the Stormjarl Einherjar. Saga immediately knew what she wanted to do. She was done running.

Name: Aina “Possum” Riverhead (last name: Stolthåll) – pronounced “ee-na” & “stolt-hole”

Gender: Woman

Pronouns: she/her

Class: Rogue

Age: 26 approx.

Race: Ulven

Hair: Black

Eyes: Blue

Occupation: Bard

Known skills: collecting songs; writing songs; collecting lore; can reluctantly use a shield.

Birthplace: Riverhead

Appearance: Aina often wears a small scarf in her hair. Her clothing leans towards traditional Ulven cuts and colors, but she likes to collect pieces here and there on her travels; she sometimes wears mismatched clothing or a “pop” of color from colonial fashions.

Bio:

“What they don’t know, won’t hurt them,” Aina repeats to herself often as a refrain, “…and besides, this is for the greater good!”

Aina is a young adult Ulven from former Clan Riverhead. She grew up as one of 5 pups in a highly traditional family, and was raised to revere local warriors and skilled craftsmen alike. Aina showed a strong natural inclination towards music from a young age. Her father taught her the arts of drumming and singing, but the repertoire of songs and techniques felt needlessly limited. She dreaded repetitive practices and her father’s ceaseless lectures about “right ways” and “bad habits that will be difficult to correct later.” Her family didn’t appreciate her toying with the lyrics of traditional folk songs, though they begrudgingly tolerated her offbeat nature. As a teenager, her family nicknamed her “Possum,” noting resentfully that she “takes the bite out of our music,” and this cemented her role as the odd one out in her family.

During this period, interaction between Ulven and Colonists was generally increasing. She found herself energized at the thought of learning new tales and ballads and melodies and instruments from the blend of cultures that landed. Knowing her interest was highly taboo, though, she admired very quietly and from afar.

Unfortunately, her curiosity was superseded by the recurring problem of Mordok in the area. She had been raised with some basic fighting proficiencies, though she was never remarkable in this skill. She had a strong sense of allegiance to her clan and to her family, as good Ulven do, despite the silent clashing of her disposition with theirs. She put her all into the defense of Riverhead, yet it fell when she was around age 20. She and her family retreated to Clan Goldenfield.

After the evacuation, Aina’s family only doubled down on their staunch beliefs about Ulven pride and the urgent need to rebuild Clan Riverhead. Tension rang through the air on a daily basis. She decided around age 23 to leave home and become a travel bard, promising her family that she’d spread Ulven music and send money home as much as she could, in the name of rebuilding Riverhead.

She has been traveling across Mardrun for the past 3 years, collecting songs and lore from all peoples. She takes great pride in the preservation of these cultural snippets, regardless of their origin; this was a bastardization of her family’s values, and she kept the diversity of her repertoire a “soft” secret from them (for they simply never asked…). She sings songs in several styles, covering topics of Mardrun, Faedrun, and the general suffering of our shared condition. She reclaimed her nickname “Possum” as an informal stage name, used from time to time in friendly company.

Her hopes are to keep raising money for Riverhead, to help healthy Ulven efforts wherever she can, and to continue collecting treasures for her Bard book.

PLAYED BY: Winter Edwardson

CHARACTER NAME: Solveig Nightshade

GENDER: Woman

PRONOUN(S): she/they

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 31

RACE: Ulven

HAIR: brownish

EYES: blue

OCCUPATION: witch

KNOWN SKILLS: arcane and divine

BIRTHPLACE: a small village in clan Spiritclaw territory

APPEARANCE: dressing oddly for an Ulven, she wears more adornments and jewelry that’s more similar to colonial styles and fashion

NOTABLE TRAITS: a spiderweb of scars around her left eye

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

I don’t really remember my parents. They passed when I was very young, I was never told how. I survived much on the kindness of others and my willingness to do odd jobs. I started traveling from village to village working for room and food and learning new skills where I could. Some people saw me as a nuisance others would look at me with pity but I tried to pay them no mind. When I felt like I had overstayed my welcome I would move to the next town. Eventually I heard of the colonists and their landing on our shores. They started some conflicts and disputes with some packs but tempers seemed to calm at least for some of the clans. I decided that maybe these new people would be a good place to learn some new skills so I entered into their settlement of New Hope. Many of the other Ulven talked like these outsiders were some strange and unknowable creatures but their settlement didn’t seem too different from our own villages. Many people seemed glad that I was only asking for room and board as payment for working for them. That was when I met Corvain.

Corvain was a syndar who introduced himself to me as a researcher just hoping to understand our world. He offered to talk over a meal at his workshop. He asked me all sorts of questions as we ate. Where was I from? How long have I been in New Hope? Why did I come here? I answered him as best I could. The food was delicious. He asked if I would like to be his assistant and I said yes. He seemed ecstatic at this and we shared a drink. Soon after the room started to spin and I fell to the floor. When I woke I was moved somewhere else. It felt like maybe a cellar. I was locked in a cage and I could see Corvain working at a small table muttering something under his breath. I tried to mumble out what was going on but my head felt like it was trying to crack in half from the inside. Corvain stopped his writing and turned to me. He exclaimed “oh good you’re awake! We have so much to learn” as he stared almost hungrily at me with his violet eyes.

Much of my time with Corvain is hazy. The days blurred into weeks into months into years. He would test all manner of experiments on me. I would wake up with my cage in the center of a ritual circle as he performed some incantations. I would sometimes be brought unconscious with pain or euphoria. He would test odd alchemical concoctions. Some of them were mild poisons and others caused me to have hallucinations and weird dreams. I started to have recurring dreams of the new moon, like it was watching over me. At some point Corvain started to let me out, with a chain around my ankle, to act as his assistant in some larger experiments. One night after I had been sent to bed I had my recurring dream but this time it lasted much longer. I dreamt I was walking along a path in the forest. There were many people out but it was late and a new moon hung in the sky. I found my way to a path that no one else was walking down and it seemed like they couldn’t even see it. I started walking this new path and as soon as I left the other people behind I woke up. Corvain must have forgotten to lock my cage as I was standing in the room behind him with a heavy log from the stove in my hand. I wasn’t sure how I got there but I knew this was my only chance. I brought the log down on his head and he fell hard, collapsing like a sack of grain on the floor. I moved quickly, grabbing the keys off his belt. I undid the chain around my ankle and fled up the stairs dashing out the back door of his workshop into the night.