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Branwen Stormherald

Branwen Blackknife was born the third child and only daughter of the Pack Blackknife Chieftain, a moderately powerful Pack within Clan Nightriver. Her mother was a warrior of great renown, who won Chiefhood of the Pack through honor duel, and led alongside her mate, a warrior of almost equal might.

Branwen, though, was a scout. Her strengths were keen eyes and sense of smell, and great skill in interpreting birdsong. Although a fierce fighter, her methods were not those of a proud warrior, but those of an alley-scrapper. Where her parents stood tall and fought with sword, and shield, and spear, and bow, Branwen crouched low and favored knife, and fist, and fang, and thrown stone. And as such, she was a disappointment.

Living ever under the shadow of her parents and brothers, she had to journey outside of the village to gain respect, to escape the continual damning by faint praise. She found a place, for a while, guarding trade caravans. First small parties as they passed from her village to the next, then larger troupes as they traversed all through Nightriver territory. From there, she joined a large coalition of merchants who had traveled from one coast to another and over the mountains in between, and required a replacement guard for their return journey.

Branwen guarded that caravan, led by the Watchwolves, through two more trading runs without incident that summer, crossing the mountains twice each time. But the third trip came in autumn, and winter arrived early in the high mountains.

After freeing themselves from the first storm and coming to rest below the treeline, where the snow was still light, Branwen climbed the highest tree near camp to try and spot the trail ahead. From there, she saw a treacherous path ready to collapse, smelled strong winds sweeping up from the still far-away sea, tasted frozen dryness in the air, and heard only the faintest birdsong – the quiet song that went “Fly south, line your nests. Winter is here.”

The group did not want to hear her, when she told them to go to ground, to stay where they were. They all just wanted to go home. The argument lasted until the first flakes began to fall.

Two and twenty Ulven went up into the Great Wolf’s Hackles that fall – sixteen merchants and artisans, six guards and scouts. Five stayed there come spring. The first three perished in an avalanche after the first snowfall, and were left to the wild. The next two, Griogair and Edana, fell during the winter, each during their turn to hunt or gather firewood.

After returning to the lowlands they had longed for months to see, the caravan rested, and healed, and let themselves be rejuvenated by the spring rains washing over Mardrun. Some were content to stay where the ground lays flat for the rest of their days, but the rest found themselves drawn back to the mountains by the time the summer sun rode directly overhead. None moreso than Branwen, who saw most clearly that it was not the snow which had doomed them, but the earth. Snow would always fall in winter, but crumbling footpaths could be widened and shored so they would not collapse, and boulders cleared to where ice cannot break them loose from their resting place.

Their mission clear, the remaining travelers went to their Packs, to gather what assistance they could, be it food, tools, or Ulven hands. Chieftain Blackknife saw no honor in building roads. “The Great Wolf does not hear the names of children playing in the woods,” she said, and denied aid to the mission. “The Blackknife family will not have a coward bricklayer in its midst,” she said, and disowned her daughter.

When the group that would become known in a few years as Pack Coywolf came back together to begin their mission, the other survivors of the original caravan gave Branwen a new name. They called her Stormherald, to honor the day she saved all their lives simply by climbing a tree. Although the Coywolves have never had a formal Chieftain, whenever Branwen Stormherald was near, they would listen most closely to her. She always seemed to know when the weather was about to turn, and when the path was not as stable as it seemed.

For the rest of her life, Branwen pondered the need to destroy Ulven flesh before the journey to meet the Great Wolf can begin. Custom dictates that fire be the preferred means. What is done with the bones after they have been stripped of flesh – be they sealed in jars or buried in hollow hills or kept and burned again at midwinter – varies from Clan to Clan or even Pack to Pack, but to be burned seems to be the wish of all Ulven. It is accepted that being consumed by animals will do the job as well as fire, but she could not help wonder if that didn’t truly send you on your way, but merely dispersed one’s soul through the local fauna. She suspected that was why Edana and Griogair seemed to follow her wherever she went, and wondered if they would one day haunt her children, as well.

When she died, Branwen’s heirs laid her body in a clearing where the ravens gathered and the coyotes prowled, as per her wishes. She wished to test her theory, you see. If she was right, then there were far worse fates in her eyes than following the wild things for all eternity. And if she was wrong, she could only hope that the Great Wolf might have once heard the name of a childish bricklayer.

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Coywolf FAQ

History & Geography

The Coywolves were formed in the summer of 181, as an independent group whose main purpose was to build and guard a road over Mardrun’s central mountain range, known as the Great Wolf’s Hackles (see: The Coywolves).

The road built by the Coywolves in the mountains is 45 miles long as the crow flies, or roughly 60 miles on foot, and stretches from the northwestern border of Clan Nightriver territory to just north of the Clan Grimward border. A lightly encumbered War Pack could travel it in less than three days, while a trade caravan would take about a week.

What kind of structures do they build and to what style?

Eleven small outposts, varying from unoccupied single-building waystations to three- or four-building groups of dwellings, are located approximately every 5 miles along the road. These buildings are cabin- or lodge-style buildings, often made out of stone, and sometimes dug into the side of the mountain.

Two larger villages, one on either side of the range, lie near the beginning of the road. The northwestern village, consisting primarily of the Bloodskin and Hindsblood family holdings and a shared longhouse is called Edana’s Pass; the southeastern village is Griogair’s Pass, consisting primarily of the Stormherald family holdings and a central longhouse. They are named in honor of Grimward guard Edana Redscythe and Nightriver merchant Griogair* Marshwinder, who died while stranded in the mountains during the winter of 180 – the original Coywolves dedicated their mission them.

*pronounced “GRI-kuhr”

What is the population of the Coywolves?

The population varies from year to year, or even from season to season, generally belonging to one of two groups: those who are born, mated, or otherwise permanently living with the pack, and those who live with lowland packs over the winter. Around members in early summer is a reasonable population estimate, dropping to perhaps in midwinter.

Some Coywolves, after a time in the mountains, choose to later join lowland packs, but once there often continue their work by extending the road to the major trade towns of Mardrun.

How do the Coywolves relate to other Ulven?

Officially, Pack Coywolf are part of the Watchwolf Clan, and have regular contact with most other Ulven clans. Although the bulk of their members were originally from the Watchwolves and Clan Nightriver, they have had members from almost every clan on Mardrun at one point or another. While most Ulven feel the Coywolves fulfill a necessary task, and are grateful, many see the task as lacking the glory needed to face the Great Wolf. It is for this reason, especially in the early days of the pack, that more than a few members were disowned by their families when they left to join the Coywolves – a certain animosity can remain between the disowned and their former families.

Organization

Is there a particular talent, trade skill, or resource that this pack has or focuses on?

All Coywolves are expected to know some sort of trade or craft related to road-building or living in extreme terrain. Stonemasonry, carpentry, trapping/hunting, and foraging are by far the most common; blacksmithing, alchemy, and healing are highly valued, but far less frequent; storytelling and music are prized, but mostly exist as secondary skills.

What kind of leaders do they have and what is their structure and importance?

The Coywolves do not have a formal Chieftain or Priestess. Individuals will step forward into a leadership position for a specific task by merit of knowledge or skill, and there are some whose voices carry a little more weight than others, but any decision that has an effect on the entire pack is made by rough consensus of members (usually through gathering of senior family members). In the event that no consensus can be reached, but a decision must be made, then the matter is usually brought before the leader of a closely allied group (e.g., Watchwolf High Priestess, Nightriver Clanleader, etc.).

True Daughters of Gaia are quite rare among the Coywolves. Most who wish to follow that path need to leave the Pack in order to be formally trained, and very few return. Slightly more common are witches who have been informally trained, for whom magic is generally a minor secondary skill. The Coywolves have developed a strong storytelling tradition outside of traditional Lore circles (usually in the form of songs sung while working) to compensate for this shortage, as well as a tendency towards written recordkeeping.

How do they handle economy and wealth?

When the colonists introduced their coin-based trade system, the Coywolves were very quick to adopt it. Because of the narrow scope of their mission and skills, barter goods were often a burden they were not equipped to bear, so lightweight tokens of wealth allowed them to accept gifts and procure items they need without risk of accidentally becoming goatherds.

Mores & Folkways

What belief structures do the Coywolves have? (sayings, totems, rituals, superstitions)?

Most of the tradition and symbolism used by the Coywolves is descended from Watchwolf lore, with some variation according to which Clan an individual’s family came from, as well as a few additions that are semi-unique to the Coywolves.

Hospitality is the most highly prized trait among the Coywolves. If a traveler comes to the door of a Coywolf house, they are obligated to offer food, water, and a place to sleep if needed. Allowing an invited guest to come to harm in your home is one of the greatest transgressions you can commit among the Coywolves.

Are there any symbols or animals important to this pack?

Coyotes are seen as representing the cleverness and pragmatism that define the Coywolves, and are treated with respect similar to wolves. Other symbolically important animals include ravens, squirrels, and rabbits.

Is there anything considered taboo or forbidden to the Coywolves?

Some common Ulven taboos have a much lighter hold on the Coywolves, mostly for pragmatic reasons. Limited resources in the mountains has resulted in a more relaxed attitude towards taking items from the dead (particularly clothing and equipment), and risk of wildfire in summer has caused the acceptance of sky burials (leaving bodies for scavengers to eat) as a respectful funeral.

Although the Coywolves still generally observe the Ulven taboo against intentionally speaking to the dead, that belief has also decayed somewhat. Many of the founding members of the Coywolves maintained that they were haunted by the ghosts of Edana Redscythe and Griogair Marshwinder, to the point that they would describe strong intuitions as advice from their fallen companions. Whether this is a literal haunting, or an artifact of guilt is uncertain, but many Coywolves will still attribute strange noises or impulses in the pass to the ghosts.

Fighting

What kind of fighters does this pack have? Are they known for anything in particular?

The Coywolves, like all Ulven, are competent and fierce fighters, but very few are true warriors. They defend the pass from Mordok primarily by laying an extensive network of traps on either side of the road, enough to keep travelers relatively safe (from Mordok – there are stories of unfortunate folk who left the road to relieve themselves, only to end up with a bear trap clamped someplace very unpleasant).

When it comes to direct conflict, many prefer ranged weapons such as bows or slings; their melee fighters tend towards smaller swords or light fighting axes, and dual wielding is quite common. Their tactics assume being outnumbered by their foes, and as such strongly favor using speed to gain favorable terrain rather than brute force, often choosing to retreat to a point where they can gain reinforcements.

What is their stance in the Ulven Civil War?

The Coywolves are officially neutral in the Ulven Civil War. Although they are allied very closely with the Watchwolves, and generally view the colonists as guests on Mardrun (thereby deserving of protection), they do not have the military strength to fight against either side for very long and several members of the Pack have relatives within Grimward (or enemies within Nightriver). As such, their primary concern is finding a peaceful resolution, with minimal loss of life for both Ulven and Colonists. Political neutrality notwithstanding, after briefly being held by Grimward forces, the Coywolves’ road over the mountain is currently controlled by Longfang and Watchwolf warriors. The Coywolves themselves are going about their business, shoring up the road against spring floods.

Important Figures

Ylsa Stormherald (235 – present) PC
Prominent heir of one of the largest Coywolf families, she is currently living outside of the Pack, and is mated to the brother of the Watchwolf ambassador.

Ioan Hindsblood (?? – present) NPC
Leader of a Coywolf hunting party, he is currently a prisoner of war somewhere in Grimward territory.

DECEASED: Branwen Stormherald (159 – 241)
One of the original founders and de facto leaders of the Coywolves, she was the first to assume a new family name upon joining the Pack. She is also mother of the largest family within the Pack.

DECEASED: Amynedd Bloodskin (161 – 230)
One of the first Ulven to join the Coywolves after they were originally formed, father of the third largest family in the Pack.

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Pack Coywolf

The Coywolves (Pronounced Kai-wolves)

The Coywolves are not a Pack in the traditional sense. Three generations ago, they were only travelers, traders, and bodyguards – unfortunate ones at that. They began as a trade caravan traveling between the Watchwolf settlements of Luna and of Sol, whose number also included traders from almost every Clan whose territory lies between the two Watchwolf Packs. Their allegiance was through trade, not family, as this band of many Packs crossed the Great Wolf’s Hackles, the central mountain range of Mardrun, bringing salted fish and fine jewelry from the Northwestern coast, and fruits and furs from the Central woodland, to barter for grain from the steppes of Nightriver’s holdings.

The mountain pass was dangerous and unmaintained, little more than a goat path. Still, it was safer from Mordok raids than the Northern route that threads between mountain and lake, and faster by a week or more than the Southern route around the range, at least for those with skill and strong backs. But sometimes skill is not enough. Winter comes early and storms strike suddenly in the high mountains. While leaves had only begun to fall in the lowlands, the travelers were stopped by the first blizzard of the season as they began their descent, high on the Eastern side of the range, where even the strongest trees crept across the ground like moss.

When the skies finally cleared, they found the trail both before and behind them collapsed and buried beneath knee-deep snow. Three scouts died discovering this. They hid everything they could not carry on their backs in a small cave and pressed onward, roped together and clinging precariously to the side of the mountain while they searched for a stable path. They soon rejoined the trail, and descended to where the trees grew tall once more. Still high above their destination, they stopped to rest in a large hollow. There is where they were when winter closed its fist on the mountains, and there they stayed until the spring thaw released them.
Some of the surviving travelers returned to their Packs and families once the ordeal was done, but many took it upon themselves to see that such a thing would not happen to any other traveler. They returned to the mountains, some taking their families with them, some leaving mate and children in the lowlands… and a few were stripped of their family name and warned never to return to those they left behind, their determination to aid strangers seen as a betrayal to their own blood.

A handful of young Ulven from other Packs on both sides of the mountain saw this as an honorable mission, and joined them. Allegiances blurred among the ever-shifting bands working to build and maintain paths and outposts through the mountains. The small groups began to feel kinship not just with the noble wolf, but with the artful coyote as well. This was a kinship also observed by their many detractors, who saw this new Pack’s near-anonymous labor as shameful and unworthy of the Great Wolf’s attention when compared to the deeds of Ulven warriors, and who called them Coyote the Disloyal, Coyote the Scavenger, Coyote the Coward.

And so the Coywolves were born. Claimed by the two primary Watchwolf Packs, but with little voice in the business of either, their numbers spread out over many leagues, they have paved a road over the Great Wolf’s Hackles, which their strongest constantly work to maintain throughout the year. Some of their older members, and those with very young children, work to extend that road to either coast. But though they are often far from home as a matter of course, they are not nomads – they are guardians. Their hearths are always warm, and their larders always stocked for company. Wayward travelers are always welcome at their doors, and one of the greatest taboos among the Coywolves is allowing a guest to come to harm under your roof.

The survivors of the original caravan all died upon the mountains, eventually, but life among the Coywolves is not for everyone, nor for every time in an Ulven’s life. Members of the Pack come and go. A born Coywolf joining a lowland Pack is not considered to have left, but to have become of two packs, and an outsider joining the Coywolves is accepted without ceremony.

Coywolf FAQ

Known Members
Ylsa Stormherald (235 – present)
Ioan Hindsblood (?? – present)

Branwen Stormherald (159 – 241) + mate & descendants
Amynedd Bloodskin (161 – 230) + mate & descendants

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Watchwolves of Sol

The Watchwolves of Sol are a tribe of Ulven from the Northeastern coasts of Mardrun. All Ulven believe themselves to be descended from the union of a primordial dire-wolf (Fenrisulfr/Hroovitnisir) and a humanoid nature spirit (Gaia), but the Watchwolves of Sol claim to trace their lineage specifically to the first son of the Great Fenrisulfr (Hroovitnisir), Skoll Hroovitnisson. According to the Watchwolves of Luna, the eldest two sons of the Fenrisulf, Skoll Hroovitnisson and Hati Hroovitnisson, are responsible for chasing the sun horse and moon horse across the sky, respectively, in order to bring about the dawn and dusk. When the two demi-gods are not chasing the horses, they guard the horizons to the East and to the West, in order to keep the horses from running early or from going the wrong way. Obviously, The Watchwolves of Sol are closely related to their counterparts, The Watchwolves of Luna, who believe themselves to be descended from Fenrisulfr’s second son, Hati. The two tribes have always been close allies, and Ulven from either tribe refer to a member of the other as “Cousin”.

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Watchwolves of Luna

The Watchwolves of Luna are a tribe of Ulven from the Northwestern coasts of Mardrun. All Ulven believe themselves to be descended from the union of a primordial dire-wolf (Fenrisulfr/Hroovitnisir) and a humanoid nature spirit (Gaia), but the Watchwolves of Luna claim to trace their lineage specifically to the second son of the Great Fenrisulfr (Hroovitnisir), Hati Hroovitnisson. According to the Watchwolves of Luna, the eldest two sons of the Fenrisulf, Skoll Hroovitnisson and Hati Hroovitnisson, are responsible for chasing the sun horse and moon horse across the sky, respectively, in order to bring about the dawn and dusk. When the two demi-gods are not chasing the horses, they guard the horizons to the East and to the West, in order to keep the horses from running early or from going the wrong way. Obviously, The Watchwolves of Luna are closely related to their counterparts, The Watchwolves of Sol, who believe themselves to be descended from Fenrisulfr’s first son, Skoll. The two tribes have always been close allies, and Ulven from either tribe refer to a member of the other as “Cousin”.

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The Fangs of Kyrkogrim

The Fangs of Kyrkogrim pride themselves as being the best warriors in the Ulven Nation. They believe that if they earn enough renown, the Great Wolf will not only know their names, but ask them to serve him in guarding the Wolf Road and Ulven holy grounds as members of his own pack of unearthly black wolves. Members of this Clan always have the word “fang” as part of their name. They are fearless in battle, and never retreat, no matter the odds. The Fangs of Kyrkogrim value martial prowess and honor above all else. They never resort to trickery or deception. The most skilled warriors of this Clan will sometimes leave their pack in search of an opponent who can best them in a duel and become their mentor. When colonists first began arriving from the Old World, many Fangs of Kyrkogrim left their packs to challenge the newcomers. The Fangs of Kyrkogrim hoped that they could learn new weapon-fighting styles and disciplines from the foreigners. The Fangs returned home disappointed. They have had little contact with the Colonists since.

Known Packs:

Pack Dreadfang

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February 18th, 2018 – Clan Ironmound Social Dinner

== STORY INFO ==

Last month’s honored hunt with the Great Wolf was a momentous occasion for the Ulven people. Warriors from all across Mardrun volunteered to be deemed worthy to join the Great Hunt. This honored event, combined with the recent Grand Moot, has raised the morale of the Ulven people considerably. The entire continent seems to be lit up with excitement over this turn of events and the start to this new year with purpose.

Honored as it may be, the Great Hunt is also a terribly bloody event… numerous war packs and dozens upon dozens of ulven are killed during these hunts. The mordok are fought and slaughtered every chance the ulven get and combined with the efforts to clear the forest by adventurers and local warriors, the Great Forest on Mardrun is almost entirely cleared of Mordok. The army of mordok that used the forest to devastate the former Clan Riverhead is no more. Save for a handful of scattered mordok and the surviving shaman that was sighted, the Great Forest is deemed clear. Now, attention turns north to the swamp.

The Wardens, a new faction based out of Clan Ironmound, has been tasked with using their home settlement with being a host to a number of visitors and potential allies or partners to this “shield of mardrun” project. The largest obstacle is the logistical challenge of getting warriors, supplies, and building materials north. This is no small feat and just the coordination alone could prove to be the biggest enemy to this bold new plan. Clan Ironmound has volunteered to become a “central hub” for the coordination north towards the Dirge. Merchants, nobles, warpack leaders and people of note are expected to travel to Clan Ironmound to find a way to get involved… or find a way to profit or gain from this large scale venture.

Whether the momentum of the unified ulven people continues to drive onward or stalls under the weight of logistics and deep rooted feuds has yet to be determined.

==EVENT SUMMARY==

Dignitaries and representatives from the largest of the Ulven clans made their way into Ironmound territory to the settlement of Semya Haven, home of the Wardens. Soon enough they were joined by their human and Syndar counterparts. A banquet was prepared and drinks served as the attendees began discussing their business.

Nightriver and Grimward seemed to finally agree on the first point since the civil war, that the Mordok were a credible threat and that the people of Mardrun needed to band together and take the fight into the Dirge Swamp.

Scholars and Griffins of Starkhaven banded together with their Spiritclaw allies, hoping to convince others that the arms race this war would bring required research: the Mordok had several years of preparation, and the Ulven needed to catch up.

Newhope, secure in their location, encouraged a modicum of caution moving forward, preferring to secure the border and strengthen the bonds and economies of their lands in the wake of their recent split.

Clan Stormjarl, bolstered by their New Aldorian allies, sought to sail around the swamp and deposit troops and supplies along the northern coast and forcing the Mordok to fight on multiple fronts and helping to secure a victory for the people of Mardrun.

Despite the many voices calling for attention, those of Nightriver and Grimward were heard the loudest: by calling in favors, making deals, or intimidation, the two clans have convinced a large number of settlements to send what they can spare to the swamp, hoping to push as far northward as possible before the swamp thaws too thoroughly and traversal becomes nearly impossible.

 

==PHOTOS==

Click HERE to view photos from the event!

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What I am

Bryech made his way into a larger mining village near the base of the Great Wolf’s Hackles. It was a rather crowded community with people and miners moving in and out of homes and small shelters. The main road was filled with small shops selling a wide assortment of goods; from tools to trinkets. Bryech slowly waded through the crowds towards a smith of some renown who was said to live down in the smithy at the end of the main road next to the hall. Bryech finally made it to the home after several attempts at breaking through the crowd. Even though he was in full armor and armed to the teeth, the villagers had seemingly no problem shoving him in their attempts to make it to their destination. Bryech had gone from a calm and aloof demeanor to his infamous scowl which finally seemed to grant him a second glance and a little more space. As Bryech ran through the materials he needed to request of the smith, he was surprised by a man whom he hadn’t seen in years appear from underneath the open walled pavilion. The man gasped as he looked at the young Ulven; they both stood taken off guard. For a long time neither of them said anything, just stood there in the cacophony of moving people until the man broke the silence.

“You’ve grown my boy.” His voice was a strange mix of caution and pride. Bryech snarled and with only that as his only warning, punched his father in the face sending him backwards into the crowd of people who quickly moved away as Bryech moved in to continue his assault. Before Davrik could fully recover, Bryech pulled him up and began raining blows on him with his right hand and holding him by his tunic with his left.

“You coward! You abandoned us! You abandoned your own son!” Bryech roared as he punched his father again and again. As he drew back his fist for a heavier strike, he felt a dull thud on his back and turned to see a small blonde girl who couldn’t have been more than a year younger than him hitting him with what looked to be a rolling pin. Bryech released his father who quickly stood and backed away to wipe the blood off of his face. Turning, Bryech slapped the girl’s hand sending the pin flying into the gathered crowd. The girl made to slap him but Bryech grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t touch her!” screamed a reed thin blonde woman who looked like an older version of the girl as she stood in the door of the house attached to the smithy. A young boy stood behind her with wide eyes. Bryech pulled the girl and in a fashion threw her at what Bryech assumed was her mother. Bryech looked around at the assembled crowd of people. Some whispered amongst themselves, some cheered, other watched intently. Bryech began to stumble around, looking at the gathered Ulven. He saw it in their eyes. They thought he was dangerous, like a rabid dog. He felt fire and hate burn in his heart and snarled.

“Bryech, I’m sorry.” Davrik interrupted his son before he lost himself in his anger. Bryech stared back at his father in his usual scowl, surveying the damage he had done. A split lip and a small cut on his brow, as well as an eye that was already swelling shut.

“Gaia be with you father, for the Great Wolf judges harshly.” Bryech replied, turning his back and making his way to the road once again. The crowd parted as he approached. This pleased Bryech, while at the same time it filled him with anger.

Bryech sat next to his small fire as the sun disappeared behind the horizon and moonlight began to blanket the countryside. His mail lay wrapped in his cloak so that the morning dew wouldn’t cause it to rust along with his sword and scramasax. Bryech spent his evening eating the last of his packed provisions combined with some fresher meat he had managed to trap. The hare was healthy and had plenty of meat on it. It was a pleasant change of flavor from dried meats and bread. With no one to keep watch while he slept, Bryech was hesitant to sleep, but regardless of his attempts at merely resting his tired feet he felt his eyelids grow heavy as the moon reached its peak.

Bryech sleepily gazed at the moon and let his mind wander. He thought of Ingrid. He missed her smile, her laugh, he missed her. Part of Bryech told himself that he needed to forget her but he just couldn’t cut her out of his heart. His mind jumped to his father. Bryech instantly felt a growl unconsciously form in his chest. He felt cheated, deceived, and it made him boil inside. All of his former packmates were right. His father was nothing Bryech remembered him as. Bryech seethed as he pictured killing his own father instead of just bloodying him like he had. He futilely shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. Finally, his mind drifted to war…

Bryech heard the screams of dying men and jolted awake. Looking around Bryech could only see mist, he was in an area completely foreign from his camp. He was confused, but the sounds of a nearby battle peaked his interest and held his focus. He rushed towards the cacophony of battle to only find more mist. Behind him Bryech heard movement and turned quickly to find the source. He was not searching long, for a large hulking figure stood before him. A strong cover of fog hid his face from view but his eyes glared with the light of the sun. He was Ulven.

“Who goes there?” Bryech asked, forcing his voice to be stable though he was wrought with confusion.

“You know me brother.” replied the figure. Readjusting his stance as he did. Bryech didn’t understand the stranger, he had no memory of that voice. He felt it was deep and gruff but he had no recollection of who carried the voice.

“No games!” Bryech barked losing his patience. His voice sounded strong but there was doubt in it, detectable by Bryech and the figure. The Ulven chuckled and began to step forward as Bryech tensed. As the figure strode closer it began to become clearer through the mist, he was in full armor chain with a plated brigandine and a specific helm.

“Harlok?” Bryech asked dumbfounded. He staggered backward a few steps before composing himself.

“That’s not possible. You died. I watched you die!” Bryech yelled, no longer attempting to act like he was in control of himself.

“I have a warning for you friend.” Harlok continued. Not offering any explanation.

“You’re not Harlok, Harlok couldn’t speak.” Bryech argued.

“My body couldn’t but my spirit is another thing boy!” Harlok barked, with the hint of a challenge in his words Bryech snapped out of his stupor of confusion.

“Is this the hunting grounds then, was I killed in my sleep by some Mordok mongrel?” Bryech snapped back, returning the challenging tone. Harlok laughed. This didn’t please Bryech who began to snarl.

“That’s the warrior I knew, now I have a warning for you.” Harlok said, his long fangs glinting in the strange light that permeated through the fog. Bryech nodded but did not say anything, he was still so confused. Suddenly the mist around them filled with dark figures like Harlok and one by one they stepped forward. Bryech recognized all of them though he didn’t remember all of their names, but he had seen their faces. Suddenly, familiar faces started to appear. Orando, Timar, Nikolai, finally two that stung him as they approached.

“Orrin, Krieger?” Bryech asked, his voice weaker than it used to be. Krieger nodded with a grunt and Orrin smiled that ridiculous smile of his that Bryech had seen so many times.

“A darkness is coming brother.” They all said at the same time causing the phrase to echo with surprising volume.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Bryech replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“Do not take this warning lightly!” snapped Krieger, his tone was far more aggressive than Bryech remembered him by. Bryech was taken aback, but he nodded to show his understanding.

“What am I to do?” Bryech asked the figures surrounding him, looking at each individual waiting for an answer.

“Are you strong enough?” all of the assembled voices asked, with their crushing volume it physically staggered Bryech. There was something deeper in that collection of voices. It set itself apart from the rest. Bryech looked up from where he knelt to see a massive shadow moving from within the crowd. It was not Ulven, it was something else. Bryech gasped as his star of Gaia began to burn him underneath his tunic. When he looked back toward the figure it had already entered the small clearing in the fog. It was a massive midnight black wolf standing more than a full head taller than the tallest Ulven, eyes the color of the sun. Bryech stay staggered on one hand and one knee in awe. Could this really be him? Had Bryech been killed because of his carelessness and was now to be judged? Bryech felt his heart beating fast in his chest. He was sure all of the figures surrounding him could hear it especially, The Great Wolf. Bryech met The Great Wolf’s eyes and stood, trying to stand at his full size despite the questions stampeding through his mind. The Great Wolf looked at him for what felt like an eternity, Bryech could feel The Great Wolf sizing him up. Bryech awaited the question he knew he would one day hear. Instead, the beast threw back his head and howled, just like in The Song of Creation. It was deep and loud, full of loneliness and rage.

Bryech’s breath caught in his throat and he felt tears well in his eyes. The Great Wolf’s cry reminded him of how he had felt for so long, and how he felt after knowing what it’s like to not be alone. Bryech tried to control himself but he couldn’t. The memories and emotions were too strong and he began to sob as he once again fell to his knees. He roared through his tears, letting all of his pain and rage fill his howl. The softer cries of wolves began to rise till the sound was deafening. Bryech wiped the tears from his eyes and looked around. Harlok was gone, a wolf stood in his place. The same was the case for all of the Ulven that had once surrounded Bryech. Looking back at The Great Wolf, Bryech was surprised to see his eyes had changed color. They were now a deep red and they began to glow. Bryech screamed as he felt a splitting pain pierce through his skull and pulse in his eyes.

Bryech yelled as he panicked and bolted upright. He scrambled and stood upright, scanning frantically around his meager camp. His fire had died down to mere embers and he could see the dawn breaking. Bryech sighed an exasperated sigh as he dropped down and sat against a tree. Closing his eyes, Bryech scolded himself for not being more careful. Despite that Bryech began to laugh at himself, a small chuckle which grew into a laughing cough. Bryech shook his head and rubbed his eyes, wincing slightly as he did.

“Keep laughing like that and someone will think you’ve lost your mind.” said a voice very close by. Bryech jumped back into a better stance and found himself facing a cloaked figure sitting across the embers from him. Bryech saw the large dane axe sticking out of the ground in front of the stranger and he looked towards his bundled up cloak where the handle of his sword was sticking out.

“No need to worry, I’m not here to kill you.” The stranger commented nonchalantly. Bryech was once again confused, this stranger had an air of familiarity and Bryech couldn’t figure out why.

“I’ve already had enough roundabout conversations these last few hours so spare me.” Bryech barked, sizing up the man. He had red eyes that had a slight glow to them when the sun hit them. He smiled a wolfish grin, hitting Bryech with another wave a familiarity. His fangs caught the sun as did his eyes, revealing at least something about him.

“Who are you?” Bryech demanded more so than he asked. The stranger made a strange motion with his hands before responding.

“A memory, a fate, a doomed idea, I am many things.” Bryech snarled at his response. He was growing tired of hearing riddles and cryptic omens.

“Answer me!” He barked at the stranger. The Ulven grew quiet but made no attempt to challenge. Slowly the stranger reached for the hem of his hood and pulled it back, revealing a mass of shaggy hair and a long scar running down the left side of his face. Bryech growled, he looked just like him. Before Bryech could speak the stranger cut him off.

“I am Bryech Savagefang, warrior, leader of war parties, scourge of the Mordok.” Bryech’s identical stood and began circling the bed of embers. Bryech mirrored him, sizing him up again. They were similar in stature. The stranger seemed to be older than Bryech, something which puzzled him. His garb was different too, leathers and mail included. He even had a perfect copy of the star of Gaia he hung from his neck, except for one striking difference. The stranger had his necklace adorned with what looked like fangs.

“Tell me then, why do you bear trophies from the dead?” Bryech asked apprehensively.

The stranger chuckled and held the necklace in his hand, admiring it for a moment before looking back to Bryech.

“Because I know what I am and where I come from, but unlike you I embrace it.” The stranger was trying to aggravate him with that, the stranger knew about his past it seemed. The stranger cut Bryech off again.

“Tusks, cut from Mordok slain by my hand.” The two had finally come full circle and now stood next to their weapons. The stranger grabbed the haft of his axe and with one swift motion pulled it from the ground, holding it in his right hand, he pointed at Bryech who had already drawn his sword and held his shield down at his side.

“I am everything you could have been! I am glory! I am legend!” The stranger roared the same roar Bryech knew to be his own.

“So much for not being here to kill me, huh?” Bryech asked calmly. He felt his heart beat faster as he anticipated the coming fight. He knew this calm though. It was that of a warrior who had seen battle and sought more. The calm of a warfighter.

The stranger gave no response save a battle cry as he charged over the embers. Bryech raised his shield and braced his feet as he saw the dane axe come down with a strong overhead strike. Though his strike was strong, the stranger couldn’t break Bryech’s guard. Bryech stepped in and thrust his sword towards his opponent’s torso. Bryech watched as the tip of his sword met the strangers mail which exploded into countless shards of metal and punched through his torso just below the sternum. Bryech did not flinch when he heard the deep wet crunch that came with the strike, he had heard it far too many times for it to affect him. He enjoyed it even as the stranger made that gargling noise as he began to choke on his own blood. The dane axe fell off to the side and also shattered into pieces as Bryech lowered his shield and looked his opponent in the eye while still holding his sword. With a swiftness surprising for a dying man, the stranger placed both of his hands on the sides of Bryech’s face and locked eyes with him.

“Never forget who you are!” The stranger said, no longer choking on his own blood. Bryech tried to escape his grasp but the man held tight.

“For all you could have been is all you still can be.” The stranger said as he began to fall apart, almost like he was turning into ash. Bryech growled as the ash began to swirl around him, the pieces still burning with the small flickering orange glow on the edges. Bryech looked at the Ulven as he faded away.

“Never let your fire die, lest your heartsong end as well.” The man said before he finally turned wholly into ash. Bryech looked around him as the ashes began to move faster. Bryech felt a strong sensation fill his body. He felt a fire burn inside him with an intensity he hadn’t felt in some time. Bryech roared into the rising dawn and was overtaken by darkness.

Bryech’s eyes opened as a branch snapped in the distance. Bryech looked around his camp and it was exactly as he remembered it. Sitting up, Bryech saw no sign of the stranger and with slow and steady movements, looked around confused. Bryech tensed as he heard more noise approaching his camp. It wasn’t loud. It was meticulous, almost patient. Bryech had no time to ponder his dreams, he was being hunted. Bryech quietly hopped to his gear and drew his sword and scramasax. Quickly as he could without making too much noise, Bryech made his way to a fallen tree a few yards away and hid behind it. Seconds after he had mantled the fallen oak, two Mordok made their way into view. They crouched down, sniffing the air on the other side of a creek. Bryech guessed they were a hunting pair out searching for prey before coming upon his scent. Bryech watched as they crossed the creek with a surprising quietness. Bryech once again scolded himself for being so careless as to fall asleep while he was alone. The Mordok found his camp easily, his scent and poor attempt at finding a concealed position made it almost look like child’s play. Bryech crouched as he sized them up while at the same time pondering what they were doing so far south in Ulven territory. The closest one was a real brute with a vicious looking axe in one hand and a rusty unkempt dagger in the other. While his partner was a smaller mordok armed with a bow. The Mordok investigated the campsite. Bryech was sure they would’ve ransacked it if they thought the camp had more inhabitants. Bryech tensed as the brute suddenly turned towards him and sniffed excitedly. Bryech ducked down behind his tree and readjusted his grip on his sax. Dropping his sword, he waited in anticipation as he heard the Mordok begin running over to the tree. He heard a grunt as the beast jumped onto the log. Bryech looked up and saw it look out and over him. Without hesitation Bryech drove his dagger into the Mordok’s stomach and grabbed him with his free hand dragging him over the tree. The beast was caught off guard and fell off of Bryech’s sax and onto the ground with a dull thud. Before the Mordok could react he leapt on top of it, pulling his scramasax out with a fluid motion before flipping it in his hand and driving it through the brute’s temple once, and then twice. Bryech pulled back for a third strike before he felt a piercing pain shoot through his left hand causing him to drop his sax. Rolling off his quarry, Bryech took cover as an arrow sank into the tree with a loud thunk. Bryech growled as he looked at the arrow sticking through the center of his palm. He looked over the log as the remaining Mordok took aim again. Bryech sunk behind the log and grabbed his sword with his right hand after some reaching.

“You just made this more fun for me bitch!” Bryech roared as he jumped up and over the tree. He began to rush towards the Mordok as it loosed another arrow. The arrow flew just past Bryech’s face as he showed no sign of slowing down. The Mordok nocked another arrow as Bryech closed the distance but was a moment too slow. Bryech bellowed as he cut the bow clean in two and on his return drove his sword hilt deep into the archer’s chest and out through its back. Relishing in the sounds of the kill, Bryech growled. After the beast dropped to the ground, sword still buried deep in its chest, Bryech spat.

“Tell your friends about that you fuck!” Wincing, Bryech slowly pulled the arrow out of his hand. He looked at the hole in his hand and grunted. He hadn’t been wounded in quite some time. It was almost a foreign concept to him. Strangely, the throbbing pain in his hand seemed to be mirrored in his head as he felt pain in the front of his skull and down into his nose and eyes. After treating his wound and donning his armor, Bryech looked at his star of Gaia, the lone star glinting in the sunlight. Bryech contemplated his dream and what his ghost had told him. Bryech glanced at the corpses of the Mordok piled next to each other and drew his sax. Bryech spoke to himself aloud as he walked towards the bodies.

“No more hiding what I am.”

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Torvald Dugan

PLAYED BY:Brandon Potter

CHARACTER NAME:Torvald Dugan

GENDER:Male

CLASS:Rogue

AGE:18

RACE:Human

HAIR:Brown

EYES: Blue/Green

OCCUPATION: Freelance sell sword

KNOWN SKILLS: Duel wielding and back shield.

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

NOTABLE TRAITS: none

RELATIONSHIPS: none

I was born on Faedrun but I have no memory of that place because I was just under 1 year of age when we boarded the ships and left. I grew up on my families small farm just outside of New Aldoria. I had a large family consisting of three sisters, three brothers, and my mother and father. I was the oldest of all my siblings. We were able to produce enough food on our farm to barely make a living. My favorite days were the ones when we would go into the market these were a rare occasion because most of our food came from the farm. Whenever I was not working the farm I would go to the coast and study the sea turtles. I admired how free they were and not bound to the shore. Life on the farm was quite and peaceful. When New Oarsmead fell some of the thugs tried to take refuge in our home. When my father denied them entry they burned our crops. We managed to put out the fire but none of the crops survived. Within a few months my younger brothers and sisters began to thin so I took it upon myself to leave. I was one more mouth to feed so when i left it freed up food for my family. I became a sell sword it made decent money, enough to keep me alive. I now travel looking for business.

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Serena Oesel

Serena Oesel (nee Galladir)
Player: Manda Rossenbach
Age: 28
Eyes: Hazel
Height: 5’ 3
Known Relationships: Ronin (Son), Thallan (Brother), Uthyur (Brother)

Serena Galladir was born in Vandregon on Faedrun and has two older brothers named Uthyur and Thallan. Uthyur is 13 years older than Serena and Thallan is 5 years older. They were very close growing up and she was always wanting to sword fight with Thallan when she didn’t have her nose in a book. Her thirst for knowledge was great and soon she was needing to travel to nearby villages to find new things to read and learn. Thallan trained her just enough so that when she was out running around, she would be able to defend herself. When Serena was 15 (Year 254), Uthyur, Thallan and she took a day trip to a nearby city and when they returned, they found their parents dead. Serena was devastated as she had been close to her parents as well. After looking around, they realized that their parents had been slaughtered by the undead. They boarded the next ship and travelled to Mardrun.
Once there, Thallan joined a group of fighters in New Hope determined to avenge their parents’ deaths while Serena turned to books and other artifacts to learn as much as she could. Uthyur, being 28 when they arrived, went off on his own to continue to fight. He had been closer to their father than he was to his siblings. Serena hoped that she would be able to find answers to how best be able to protect herself and her brothers from an unnatural death in the books and artifacts that she researched.
Three years after they arrived in New Hope, Serena met Kyse Oesel and fell in love. They married shortly after, with Thallan giving her away. Serena moved to Kyse’s farm just outside of New Hope and they worked the farm. In year 258, Serena gave birth to a baby boy named Ronin and Kyse was ecstatic. They were the perfect little family. They worked the farm together and Ronin loved playing with his dad. This happiness only lasted five short years however. The three of them were out playing in the field by their house when a group of bandits showed up. Kyse was able to fend them off long enough for Serena and Ronin to get away. Serena ran with Ronin to New Hope and left him with Thallan before going back to the farm where she discovered Kyse had been slain. She tended to the body, packed a few things up and with a broken heart, she left the farm, never to return.
She returned to New Hope with the few items she had and turned to the closest family she had, Thallan. She explained the situation and Ronin and she moved in with him. They continued to stay there while Serena worked on research for the mana construct, in hopes of finding a cure for the corruption. Now that Ronin has started as an initiate of the Order of Arnath’s Light, Serena decided to move to Starkhaven with her son and she is also working on becoming a member of the Order.