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Martin De Paixetdoucer

PLAYED BY: Gabriel Hellerud

CHARACTER NAME: Martin De Paixetdoucer or Brother Martin of Arnath’s Gentle Path

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 24

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Brother and scholar in The Order of Arnath’s Light

KNOWN SKILLS: Divine Magic, Resources in Divine, Arcane, Ritual, Lore Ritual, awkward pauses, tripping over nothing, baking cookies

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria

APPEARANCE: Small, Brown, and un-assuming

NOTABLE TRAITS: Tends to wear a pair of very large spectacles.

RELATIONSHIPS: very dear friends with Brother Dom

RUMORS: Martin would be the last to know!

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Praise Arnath! May His goodness and light guide my hand as I write these words because, honestly, I’m not sure how to start this journal. If I am writing about the Glory of Arnath or translating his manuscripts, then the pen flows quite easily. To write about myself is quite a monumental task!

I suppose I should start at the beginning of my life. Unlike many I was blessed with little memory of my homeland, Faedrun. I was only a toddler when we had left. My parents had been members of The Order of Arnath and as such, had been able to secure passage to the New World for myself and my siblings. I am very fortunate in this respect because some of my siblings are old enough to recall the horrors of that cursed land and I am glad to not have memory of the terrible things they witnessed.

Most of my earliest memories are all of Starkhaven, the building of the keep, and my little family. I learned of the brilliance of Arnath while sitting on my mother’s knee and my father would take me out into the town and point out the “little works” of Arnath. A person sharing their coin with the less fortunate, a child standing up to bullies, a woman giving out food at the market to those who couldn’t afford it were all blessings to be observed and lessons to be learned. “See Arnath’s path in all the good that you find,” My father would say, “For His is the path of righteousness, goodness, and kindness,”

Naturally I was also taught about His blazing justice. I recall seeing the Lions, the Griffins, and the Eagles all in their shining armor and scarlet robes. How could one not love them? How could one not be filled with hope? How could your heart not be set aflame with love for Arnath and His chosen defenders?

…

Forgive me, see how easy it is for me to be carried away when I think of Him? Anyhow, when I reached an age of slightly higher reasoning, I believe it was around the age of six, I asked my parents to allow me to join the order. Naturally, they were thrilled to give one of their many children to The Order of Arnath. I was a fitting gift to the god who had guided them from the blood-stained land of the dead, to the new, green world we all lived comfortably in. Of course, our parting was painful, but it was a sacrifice that both my parents and I happily made.

Upon entering into the arms of The Order of Arnath however, I learned it would be a challenge to find my place. I quickly discovered that combat was not exactly my strongest skill. I nearly killed the bow instructor, the shields were too cumbersome for my frame, I tripped far too often to be remotely successful in stealthier approaches, and without my spectacles I couldn’t even scout very well. After a few years of attempted combat training, I was shuffled off to become a scribe and it was there I found my love of books.

I learned quickly that there is nothing quite as enjoyable as the smell of parchment, the gentle rustle of turning pages, the feeling of ancient scrolls. The moment I stepped into the library I knew that was where I was meant to be. I fell under the wing of a kindly older sister while I was there. It was clear she had been delivered to me by Arnath because in her tender care my love of Our God and His knowledge only bloomed. My love and devotion for Arnath manifested itself the gift of divine magic when I was somewhat older, and it wasn’t long after that I became an official Sister in The Order.

Now for the most part, I spend my days happily pouring over dusty tomes, scouring ancient manuscripts, and squinting at crumbling scrolls. Each day is filled with His Light as I search for a way to bring about an end to the corruption magic and hunt for hidden knowledge of the undead. I really couldn’t be more over joyed. Arnath has blessed me with a wonderful path, a righteous purpose, and a holy family.

Live in His light!

Brother Martin of Arnath’s Gentle Path

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Patty McConnor O’Mulligan McHair O’Sullivan McGee Malone

Player Name: Tyler Dubey
Name: Patty McConnor O’Mulligan McHair O’Sullivan McGee Malone
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Race: Human
Hair: brownish Red if grown out
Facial Hair: Red
Eyes: Hazel
Occupation: Beggar man, hobo, vagabond
Class: Rogue
Known Skills: Lore: Survival (0), Lore: Political (1), Pierce (7), Resource: Gather Info (13), Resource: Spies
(14), Waylay (5), Sap (6), Traps and Devices (13), Break Away (8)
Birthplace: Faedrun
Appearance: Ratty green tunic, sometimes with a black undertunic, pack, and hammock.
Notable Traits: Accent and that lovable charm
Bio:
Patty wasn’t always a wandering vagabond, in fact he was once a well respected member of society back
in Vandergon. During that time, he worked the fields, farms, and helped the elderly, and many more
altruistic actions that never gained him anything other than the smiles of those around him. However,
when the penitent attacked his home village. He was left with nothing but remorse and sorrow, his
heart heavy with the grief of those lost. From there on out, Patty wandered the lands, helping those that
needed it. Whether it was just a small laugh, a momentary smile, moving their belongings, it brought
some small hope to him that the world shouldn’t be forsaken.
It was by his sheer luck and charm that got him on a boat to Mardrun, even if he had to be smuggled.
Once on Mardrun, he took to wandering the land doing odd jobs to earn coin to just eat. Some of those
jobs were to help set up traps for wild game, help a group of bandits steal some coin, help repair a sail
for some pirates, listen to the woe’s of a nobleman, split wood for and elderly couple, and the list goes
on. For during these travels, Patty has procured many wild stories and experiences that he will gladly tell
the willing, and unwilling, around a campfire in trade for some food and good drink.
And when you finally sit down and listen to a story, you too will fall under the most lovable hobo’s
charm.

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Erik Silverclaw

Played By: Soren Daniels

Character Name: Erik Silverclaw

Gender: Male

Class: Warrior

Age: 23

Race: Ulven

Hair: Brown, with white streak on the right side, cropped short

Eyes: Brown

Occupation: Mercenary/Wanderer

Rumors: There are whispers that he’s a dishonorable coward who killed ten unarmed pups in cold blood. There’s no doubt that he has great combat skill, however, so not many people would dare say that to his face.

Known Skills: Dedicated fighter, wears heavy armor, skilled at using a shield. Also skilled at writing music and poetry, though he keeps that a secret.

Birthplace: Clan Grimward territory

Appearance: Erik has brown hair cropped, single-point fangs, brown eyes, and a white streak in his hair on the right side of his head that he’s had since birth.

Relationships: Erik respects and is fiercely loyal to Toralf Grimmsvulker, who saved his life and gave him a home and a pack again.

Bio/Background Info: Erik was born to Chieftain Bjornavik Silverclaw, the leader of Pack Silverclaw, a small pack deep within Clan Grimward territory. For the first decade of his life, Erik accepted his parents strong anti-colonist views without question. So did most of the pack– except one. Horth Redaxe was an older Ulven who had suffered a wound to his leg whilst fighting Mordok. He could still walk, but it was extremely hard for him to fight effectively. This, coupled with the fact that he was very open and unashamed about his belief that the colonists could be learned from, led to him being shunned by most of the pack and forced to live in a hut on the outskirts of the village.

When Erik was 11, civil war broke out between the anti-colonist Ulven and the pro-colonist Ulven. Most of the village’s warriors left to fight on the front lines, leaving behind those unfit to fight and enough warriors to keep the village safe. Erik was left behind– and so was Horth.

One day, Erik was out gathering herbs for the village healer. He was bending down to pick a plant when a loud roar made him whip around, only to see a massive bear lumbering towards him through the forest! Before he could react, the bear swiped him across the chest with a huge paw, sending him flying to the forest floor, stunned and bleeding. He lay there, waiting for his death to come– but it never did. He opened an eye to see none other than Horth Redaxe, his axe rising and falling with deadly efficiency, despite his wounded leg. Horth drove the bear off and helped Erik back to the village.

After that, Erik began visiting Horth– at night, so no one would see– to train with him. He began to pick up more and more of Horth’s pro-colonist views. Horth, in addition to being a master warrior, was also a poet and a bard as well, and here Erik found in his heart a burning love for poetry and music– a love he felt great shame for, feeling as though the arts were un-warriorlike and that he would be looked down upon by the other Ulven if they found out about it.

While all the other pups in the village could talk about was coming of age and going off to fight in the war, Erik felt as though the war was horrible, and that Ulven should not be fighting one another over such a trivial matter as this. Why couldn’t they just leave the colonists in peace? When the news came that the war was over and a treaty had been signed, he felt his heart lift. Not so for the rest of the pack.

As Erik was walking to Horth’s hut that night to talk and train with his friend and mentor, he heard the sounds of fighting. Rushing towards the sound, he found that five of the older boys, including two of his older brothers, had ganged up on Horth. They had beaten him to the ground and were kicking him, yelling about how he was a “fucking colonist lover” and that traitors like him should be put to death. Seeing red, Erik drew his sword, and before the five knew what was happening, three of their number were dead on the ground. The other two tried to fight, but were no match for the blood-crazed young Ulven. When they were dead, he dropped to his knees next to his mentor.

“When I die,” croaked Horth, “I want you to have my armor and shield. Just… let me keep my axe. I want a weapon in my hand when I meet the Great Wolf.” Those were Horth Redaxe’s last words in this world.

Overwhelmed by shame at what he had done, Erik donned his mentor’s armor and slung the shield over his back. Building a small pyre for Horth– with his axe, as he had requested– Erik fled the village of his birth, never to return.

Over the next few years, he wandered Mardrun, taking odd jobs guarding caravans and the like. Without a pack to call his own, and the guilt of his past eating at him, he sank further and further into depression and despair. Eventually, he found himself on the eastern end of the Shield of Mardrun. One night, in a flash, he realized that he had nothing left to live for. He resolved to hike into the swamp, find a group of Mordok, and take as many of them with him to the Great Wolf as he could.

And that’s just what he did. His sword flashed left and right, stained with the blood of his foes, but he knew there were too many. He received wounds– a cut here, a stab there, and he felt himself begin to weaken. He was ready to die. But the Great Wolf would not call his name tonight. Out of the darkness, blade flashing, came an Ulven who Erik would later learn was named Toralf Grimmsvulker, and following him was an Axehound hunting party. Together, they dispatched the rest of the Mordok.

Afterwards, Toralf praised Erik’s fighting skill, and told him that he was forming a pack and that he could use warriors. And just like that, Erik had a pack. A few months later, he found himself heading south– to home.

Update: Erik traveled with Toralf for a while, fighting many battles and skirmishes against Mordok. One day, while tracking a group of Mordok, Erik, Toralf, and their warband came across the burnt out remains of a village, with only a handful of survivors. After hunting down and dispatching the foul creatures, they returned to the village to take on what few warriors remained and to escort the pups and greybeards to safety.

Among the warriors who decided to stay with the warband was a female named Gyda. She was a fierce fighter, and she and Erik grew close, eventually joining as mates. Once Gyda was blessed with child, however, they agreed that they couldn’t raise a pup in a warband on the march. After much discussion, they agreed to move south near the colonies to raise their family.

Bidding his friend Toralf farewell, Erik and Gyda headed south. Erik found work on a farm near New Aldoria, and for several short months, everything was perfect. However, it was not to last. Tragically, Gyda died in childbirth with their son. Their son, who he named Ivar, only lived for a few hours outside the womb before he, too, went to the Great Wolf.

Heartbroken, the only thing Erik knew to do was to go wandering again. He threw himself into mercenary work, taking odd jobs here and there before eventually falling in with a mercenary company called the Eagle Fellowship. He traveled with them for several years, honing his connections with the mercenary groups and military forces of Mardrun.

Early in the year 273, news reached him of a slaughter at the Ironmound Moot. He also heard a familiar name. The renowned warrior Toralf Giermundson of the Einherjar had been taken captive by the Grimward and Stonetooth forces. Erik remembered the time he had spent fighting alongside Toralf, and resolved to help with the rescue efforts in any way he could. He left the Eagle Fellowship and headed north to Shieldhaven for the upcoming market faire, hoping to find Toralf’s mate, Ylva, or any other Einherjar members, in order to pledge his sword to the efforts to find and recover his old friend.

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Fredrick Zimmerman

PLAYED BY: Jacob Veldhuizen
CONTACT INFO: www.facebook.com/jacob.veldhuizen
CHARACTER NAME: Fredrick Zimmerman
NICKNAMES:
GENDER: Male
CLASS: Cleric
AGE: Born in the year 226 (42 as of 268)
RACE: Human
HAIR: Blonde
EYES: Grey-blue
BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria, Faedrun
NOTABLE TRAITS and APPEARANCE: Tall and lean, Fredrick looked every bit the part of a servant of the Order before his features were horrifically damaged by second and third-degree burns while trapped in the fire in the Keep at Starkhaven during “The Order Civil War”. Outwardly contemplative and gentle with an intensity simmering just below.
RELATIONSHIPS: Sister Josephine (Friend, killed June 267), Brother Hugo (Friend before the fire)
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
June 24th, 267
The flames that had consumed Brother Fredrick’s body were now little more than small embers glowing in the early morning light. Dew had formed in areas not scorched by the previous night’s fire and a light fog hung in the morning’s June air. What little Brother Fredrick could feel of the soft breeze caressing his blackened body was sheer pain. Torturing his raw newly exposed skin and nerves, he might have been thankful that most of his body was unfeeling as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Laying trapped under fallen beams Brother Fredrick slipped into memory.
He had been excited, nervous, but he was prepared. Weeks of study and practice had gone into readying himself for that fateful summit. Proud that he had been given this diplomatic mission he stood tall as Brother Oliver walked to the table. He almost felt bad for the man. He was a good servant of Arnath. He just happened to have succumbed to corrupting influences. And that’s why he, why the Chapter of the Fist, were there. To once again make the difficult decision, bare the pain that others could not so that light could find its way in the world. Brother Fredrick was not surprised when he was informed of the Fist’s decision to march on Starkhaven. A corruption of the soul had slowly crept in through the Chapter of the Light who stood poised to take control of The Order. They had become false guides and had blinded the eyes of their leader, Alexandros Makedon, the Hand of Arnath. He needed to be free of their influence. Of that, Brother Fredrick was certain.
As it had throughout the night, pain brought Brother Fredrick’s mind back into the present. He tried shifting his weight under the large oaken slab only to feel an immediate surge of hot pain shoot down his left arm. He knew his left hand had been crushed. Little energy left, he slowly felt down his side with his right hand to itch at an angry red piece of flesh. The fire had long ago reduced his clothing to ash and he now lay naked to fate, slipping into unconsciousness once again.
Brother Fredrick felt similarly exposed when initial dialogs had stalled at the table and the talks spilled into the streets in what had rapidly turned into a very public debate. Lay Order Sergeant Basil Gavras had taken the reins from the more soft-spoken Brother Oliver and used his commanding presence to turn the favor of the crowd to the Chapter of Light’s side. Brother Fredrick had not prepared for such public debate and was shakily holding ground. He knew his arguments to be true but could do little to combat Basil’s loud twisting of the truth. Anger began to cloud his groomed demeanor.
That anger had only grown as Brother Fredrick lay helpless. It had not been washed away by tears of pain, nor wished away on prayers for relief. It had not dissolved when hopelessness began its insidious creep into his thoughts or when exhaustion took hold. His anger burned right on through the night, becoming ever more violent, lashing out at circumstance and suspects to his dying. He screamed with and at that anger. As if to mock his efforts only dry coughing left his burned throat before he collapsed into nothingness.
At the top of his lungs, Brother Fredrick yelled to the Hand to stop the fighting that had broken out between the two chapters. He yelled at the Fist Lions standing watch. He yelled at the Chapter Master who continued to guard the Hand locked in the Keep. Blood was needlessly being spilled and it was on the hands of all present. Only moments prior had an uneasy calm took hold over Starkhaven once both parties left the debate to re-group. Brother Fredrick had assumed they would reconvene and continue negotiations. He was shocked when reports reached him that fighting had started, attempting to dislodge the Fist. He knew it would not work. The Fist was too well prepared and entrenched to be pried out without massive loss of life on both sides. It was this knowledge that caused him to run to the Keep. It was this knowledge that caused him to yell to anyone in power to stop. And it was what caused him to ignore the fire quickly spreading throughout the Keep.
He awoke to shouts for help. Quickly the large beam that pinned him was lifted. The pain and sensation knocked him out. More voices. More debris removed. He was moving when he awoke next. Carried on a stretcher, a healer walking beside reciting prayers. In and out of consciousness again. The healer speaking to others standing around him. Months of healing ahead. Hand lost. Darkness and then soft light. Soothing balms and cool soups. His bandages were changed regularly and he began to remember the days. He was no longer trapped under oak logs but it would still be weeks before he was walking again. He had survived. The fire in the Keep had long since been extinguished but it would long be carried in the heart of Fredrick Zimmerman.

RETIREMENT STORY:

Extremism alights from the dying embers of conquest. So it was for the diplomat, Fredrick Zimmerman. As his surviving brothers and sisters from the Fist were sent to their inevitable deaths at the Shield of Mardrun, Fredrick could do nothing but writhe in the pain of healing. More painful still, were the reports of Fist members who had renounced their allegiance and repented for their “sins” against the Order. Cowards. Spineless worms. Better to die by the hand of a monster in the frozen north that winter than kneel to the traitorous fiends of the Light. When he was finally well enough to move on his own accord, he fled. But only for a time.

In the years since his humiliation, heartbreak, and defeat during the Order Civil War, Fredrick rebranded himself as Verbrandt. A name to match the scars that were burned across his whole body. The assumed name allowed him to return to civilization. He would start small. Taking a lowly clerk position at the offices of the mayor of Silver’s Crossing, Verbrandt would work his way into power. He planned not just revenge, but justice. He promised himself and his fallen comrades that he would rebuild the Order into the great house of old. Alas, his ambition outran his ability, and impatience cost him. The rage that fueled his every move was hard to keep under wraps. Verbrandt’s attempts at financial treachery and blackmail failed to pan out. He once again fled into the shadows. Still scarred, but older, wiser, and darker of soul. The ghost of Fredrick Zimmerman still lurks, waiting for his time to strike.

‌

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Morning Glory

Name: Morning Glory (Glory, for short)

Age: 28

Race: Human

Hair: Dark Brown

Eyes: Dark Brown

Occupation: Bard and Traveler

Birthplace: May’Kar Dominion

Notable Traits: Glory is afflicted with a severe stutter. The only reprieve she gets from her impediment is when she sings.

Relationships: Glory and Zeke are close friends. First meeting in her youth, they have since gone their separate ways. She hopes to reunite with her old friend in the days to come.

Rumors: It was once said Glory was named “Queen of the Rascals” by a band of thieves after gaining favor for herself and her traveling party during an intense hostage situation.

Glory was born of a union of two warriors – two traitors, who fell in love during the betrayal of the May’kar people. Her mother a healer, her father a warrior; they abandoned their duties once they became aware of their child and fled from their homeland to bring her up safely, far away from harm and darkness. Named “Morning Glory” after the flowers her mother loved, she was raised with all the virtues of their home before the betrayal and was instilled with a deep faith in the goddess Ilyara, to whom she is a devout believer. Her mother, being a cleric, was as nurturing and caring as any mother could be. Her father, being a fighter on the front lines of many battles, gave her the means to defend herself should the need ever arise.

Being 10 years old when she stepped onto the boat, Glory was only 17 when she left her parents to learn and ply her trade. She trained with anyone who would take her as an apprentice, and she spent the rest of her time traveling to any place her heart led her. There were a few sticky situations, due to her travelling alone, but she was happy and relieved to find more good people than bad. Many a warm bed and full belly was at the kindness and hospitality of strangers, something which she has never forgotten. Using every opportunity to learn stories and write songs, she spent the next 10 long years plying her craft and traveling throughout the world.

After all this time, however, she no longer felt fulfilled.

As a believer of Ilayara, Glory knows true beauty lies within creation itself. She looked back at all her books and scrolls of scribbled songs and stories and could not find one original work. Despite her best efforts, every time she would sit down and rack her brain, she could not seem to be capable of creating a work of her own. She became increasingly frustrated while looking for answers inside herself, and so, she turned her gaze towards the world. She settled on a new goal: To find a “True Hero”, whom she hopes would inspire her to create her own masterpiece.

During her travels, Morning Glory received a harsh blow to the head from a shield when fleeing from a scuffle. Taking the blow in stride, she kept running to the nearest settlement with almost unnatural focus. Her only goal: safety. Thinking back on the accident, she believes her mind may have already been damaged from the impact for her to have such a simple goal. Her wound, which was once thought small, was in fact grievous and damaging to her body, after the settlement she fled to pointed to her bloodied tunic and a large open wound on her forehead. After being bandaged and treated, Glory insisted that all she needed was water and rest. However, when she awoke the next morning, she was unable to speak without stumbling and stalling on her own words. A local doctor assured her that rest and her body’s natural healing would take of things, despite the severity of the wound.

It has been almost 2 years since the incident, and there has been no change in her stutter. Glory is still struggling with this, though she is happy and relieved her singing has not been affected.

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December 9, 2018 – War in the Dirge

STORY INFO

Last month, the combined forces of the Ulven army were met head on by a sizable Mordok force. How the Mordok were able to organize such a force and who is commanding them is still unknown. Reports of a strange new Mordok, adorned in brighter colors and displaying high level of intelligence, have been seen leading them. This new enemy appearing cannot be dismissed as coincidence. In an immense battle involving thousands of warriors on both sides, the Mordok forces were able to deal a massive blow to the Ulven army. Slogging through the muck of the swamp, the fighting was reduced to brave Ulven and brutal Mordok meeting in close and vicious combat. The fighting lasted hours as both sides were unwilling to retreat.

The decisive move of the Mordok to send considerable forces at the Ulven army’s flanks proved to be too dangerous to ignore. Under threat of being overwhelmed from the sides, the Ulven forces called for a fighting retreat. War packs were cut off from the main lines, and supply wagons abandoned as the terrain would not allow them to regroup easily with the main army forces. Small camps were overrun and occupants butchered or dispersed. In a single day of violent battle, almost two thousand Ulven and Mordok lay dead in the swamp, staining the ground and waterways red. Although this initial defeat is harsh on Ulven forces, these proud warriors are a long ways from being beaten or overwhelmed.

The Ulven army, under the command of the Clanleaders and their Warleaders, have pulled their forces back to a high ground in the area. Above the muck of the swamp, this area is the best place to attempt some kind of defensive fortifications or semblance of a camp. Crews take turns sleeping, defending, or building to stay warm and to ensure there is enough room in the camp. Over a few weeks a decent camp emerges. Wounded continue to trickle in from the defensive perimeter and war packs sent to counter Mordok movements engage in short and brutal missions, necessary to keep Mordok forces from dominating the area for too long.

Some reinforcements arrive from the Shield of Mardrun but sending supply wagons is risky; the Mordok continue to patrol and harass and maintain a solid presence near the camp. As the buildup to another bloody confrontation continues, the ability to prepare for this next battle and maintain critical routes for troops and supply wagons could be the deciding factors.

In this Dirge Swamp combat event, players will help determine whether the Ulven forces recover from this initial defeat and push the fight back to the Mordok or are forced to attempt to retreat back to the Shield of Mardrun… if they even can.

Event Summary

With the Ulven Forces and their allies pulled into a defensible position the need for clear paths became staggeringly clear but the Mordok forces in the area proved to be much too numerous for the pathways to be maintained. Many of the brave warriors of the Ulven army and their allies were butchered or pushed back to their defended post. Many lives were lost in an attempt to clear the pathways, but it was just too difficult to hold the open areas of the Mordok’s homeland. With the knowledge of the approach of the main Mordok forces it was decided that the warpack of Ulven and their allies would try to draw the attention of the Mordok and take some of the pressure off of the main warfront.

As the fighting was about to begin the strange Mordok in bright blue was seen again and many claimed it issued a dire warning in the common tounge to the warpack before unleashing a frenzy of Mordok onto their lines. The battle that came against the warpack and its allies was intense and chaotic. The warpack itself was almost completely destroyed and those that remained were beaten, bloodied, and broken. But just as the fight seemed as if it would be hopeless, the Mordok numbers waned. The survivors of the onslaught looked around to take stock of the damage. Hundreds of bodies littered the battlefield of both ally and foe. A cheer could be heard as the brave warriors clung to their brothers- and sisters-in-arms. Despite the steep cost of lives, the commotion the warpack caused allowed the main forces of the Ulven army to survive and recuperate from the devastating loss of the last month. A short-lived sigh of relief could be felt through the Ulven forces but they must make a choice soon as to what actions the armies should take. Do they try and push back against the Mordok or do they take this chance and retreat back to the shield and recoup their losses?

PHOTOS

Click here to see photos from the event!

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December 267

This month Clan Stormjarl caused quite the uproar as they raided the lands of Clan Grimward. There was a public outcry from the members of Clan Grimward that the actions Clan Stormjarl are cowardly as they waited until all of Mardrun’s backs were turned to strike at their perceived foe. There are voices of support among the other clans for Clan Grimward stating that many have put their own issues aside to deal with the Mordok, the enemy of all Ulven. On the other hand there are voices crying in support of Clan Stormjarl saying that it is their honor and right to take the fight back to Grimward and free those bound into service. As for what consequences may come from these actions, only time will tell.

However, Clan Grimward isn’t the only area that has had trouble with raiders. Bandits over the past month have shown some strange tactics in hopes of nabbing supplies for the winter. Many communities and roads within the City States of Newhope are being plagued with these bandits. While some are used to this increase in the fall, many are taking note of their more frenzied and continued surge being abnormal when compared to previous years.

Syndar on Mardrun prepare for a holiday this winter solstice, and a rather interesting one at that. Back on Faedrun, those in the Kingdom of Fawyth, would gather around their hearths and tell stories. This was to honor of the Goddess Lyara, deity of Stories and Madness. This holiday is said to have a practical reason as well, to ward off cabin fever in the deepest dark of the harsh winters. While this winter has been mild thus far, many are still upholding the tradition and speaking of legends and myths from so long ago. Mayhap some new stories are being told this winter.

Work crews in Daven’s Hold rejoice at the completion of many buildings before the onset of winter. Storehouses, hold-fasts, better walls, and much more have been built over the past year. With this month coming to an end a grand temple and library have been completed by the request of Lady Al-Azarma. Within these walls, much of the colonist’s histories, cultures, and religions are stored, and even some of the late Lord Al-Azarma’s personal library is now accessible to those who wish to read.

The buildings are not the only thing sprouting from Governess Catherine’s city. More and more remnants of Vandregon flow to the city gates, slowly growing and populating the city. While there are only handfuls of people coming by the week, there was an instance of where what looked like the remains of a Vandregonian army, in rusted chain and plate, baring the tattered and battered flag of their former unit walking to the city. Rumors are spreading quickly that this could mean the return of the Vandregonian presence upon Mardrun, that the spirit of Vandregon still exists.

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November 267

The continent of Mardrun is abuzz with activity, between the war, the colonies, and what happens in the shadows.

The war with the Mordok tends to take a sour turn this month. The Mordok forces seem to be showing an unforeseen cunning in their fighting tactics. With a few maneuvers they are able to push back the Ulven forces to a more defensible position. During that fallback the Ulven suffered a decent amount of losses in supplies, momentum, position, and in troops. However, with their feet now planted, they are hoping to push back and regain control of the war.

However, that isn’t the only fighting happening with the Ulven. It seems a small group of Clan Stormjarl decided to launch a raid against Clan Grimward. Many of the other clans have shown great distress and condemning the actions of Clan Stormjarl for continuing the war. However, there a few who are sympathetic in understanding that they are “Fighting for their Honor.” The response from Clan Grimward is that of utter lividity of the whole act. The consequences for these acts have yet to be seen, but many are fearful of Clan Grimward going on the warpath once more.

While chaos continues to grow, reports of bandits in The Pass in the Great Wolf Hackles continue to grow. While it isn’t uncommon to hear of bandits going after merchants this time of year, it is uncommon for them to be as active as they are. Many are reporting of the bandits going as far as killing without questions, some even speak of fear and worry in their eyes. As to the cause of these feelings, no one can guess, but there is something stirring up the bandits and it is starting to show. If this activity will continue to grow or eventually subside like it usually does, it is any persons guess.

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October 267

While the war wages on to the north in the Dirge Swamp, the rest of Mardrun continues their daily lives and hussle of the fall harvests.

In Starkhaven, a large group of heavily armored warriors march northwards towards the swamp and the front lines. Many of the faces are recognized to be former members of the Order of the Fist, which has been disbanded. Under new orders to go on a penance crusade, this crew of warriors march onwards towards the swamp, to either redemption or their deaths.

The Colony of Davin’s Hold has been expanding at an amazingly rapid pace! Walls have been improved, a holding is built, store houses are erected, a temple and library continue to be under construction. It seems the Governess Catherine is eager to expand as much as possible and become a rival of Newhope in scale and size. As it stands, some of the civilians view such construction projects too hasty and sudden, many others say otherwise.

Davin’s Hold isn’t just expanding in buildings, also in populace. It is now spoken that the colors of Vandergon can be seen flown on the banners of her lands. There is also words that speak of those whom were once of Vandergon making their way to Davin’s Hold, heeding her call to reform, and bring back what was once lost. While there are only a few, word seems to be spreading at an alarming speed.

Meanwhile, back in City state of Newhope, the power vacuum left by the departure of some of the former council has not been forgotten or uncontested for. One such noble, Celestial Arragones, has been noted by many to be soaking up the contacts, support, and influence that has been left by Governess Catherine and her aides. As to how much power she has obtained, it cannot be truly guessed at but one could guess that it is more than a fair share of what there was left in the wake.

The war is quiet this month, as the nearly countless warriors move up to the wall to prepare. While there is little fighting at the moment, the forces dwell on regrets, loved ones, dreams and aspirations. The forces enjoy this small calm before the storm, for what lies before them is what hasn’t happened in their written history. A united force of ulven numbering over three-thousand fighting together against the mordok menace.

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September 267

With the coming of the harvests, the continent is moving in to a large amount of activity.

The colonies of Newhope are busy with a large amount of building and improving their slowly growing settlements. From walls, banks, and taverns, the colonies are becoming more fleshed out with the abundance of harvest this year. However, with the harvests, comes the bandits. It has been noted that the bandit activity for the colonies has also risen, but it doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary when compared to previous years.

The Settlement of Aylin’s Reach seems to be oddly busy with a peculiar project. It seems that shipwrights and lumber mills in the area are working hard to try and create a large vessel that, has been rumored, to have been requisitioned by an extremely wealthy noble. As for the purpose or use this vessel may serve, it has yet to be seen.

Dominet Martingale seems to have thrown another party this month, and one to be remembered. The “Harvest Festival” that was hosted by the Martingale quickly turned in to a drunkard’s haven as nobles, merchants, and people of name came to this party. Many were invited, and many were let into the event, which led to overcapacity of the estate. It has been said that four casks of Phoenix Wine, two casks of Luna Shine, twelve casks of wine, and four kegs of fine whiskey was consumed in the course of the night, along with an almost endless amount of foods. The next morning there were people hanging in trees, passed out on the roads, and incapacitated in every room

The Ulven clans continue to push back the Mordok lines beyond that of the Shield of Mardrun. They are meeting only mild resistance at best during their fights. Many are concerned, while many are becoming optimistic with the war just right around the corner that their foes will continue to be as difficult as they were before. The majority of these thinkers are barely older than pups, while the more veteran warriors try their best to remind them that they are only facing the weakest of what the swamp has to offer.