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Player: Jeff Mork

Character: Fiendskap Darkcackle

Race: Ulven

Gender: Male

Born: Fiendskap Darkcackle of Pack Darkcackle of Clan Stormjarl

Birth Year: 231

Age: 32

Class: Rogue

Notable Traits:

Xenophobic. “They’re animals you know, they don’t have souls…”: Fiendskap is able to work with other races, but does not like it. He recognizes that the other races are intelligent, but does not see them as sentient beings. To him, their value is only in the services they can provide. His view is that the Ulven are the only race worthy of partaking in the afterlife. He would think no more of killing a Human or Syndar traveling companion that has proved itself untrustworthy, then of putting down a lamed barn cat. Probably less, he may have liked the cat.

Extremely hesitant to kill Ulven: Fiendskap is highly focused on the afterlife, and how his actions will affect his name. While he feels no hesitation at killing “animals”, like the Humans, Syndar, Mordok, or Undead, he feels that wrongly taking the life of an Ulven is a crime he would be committing against his very soul.

If you want to understand Fiendskap Darkcackle and aren’t willing to ask him yourself, your best bet is to ask his Uncle and former Chieftain, Agnor Darkcackle of Clan Stormjarl. Agnor will tell you all about Fiendskap. He will tell you that Fiendskap was born in the eastern forests of Clan Stormjarl’s territory, just like all of the other Darkcackle. That he grew up on his family’s farm, just like all of the other Darkcackle. That as a boy he learned to laugh instead of cry when he was hurt in addition to when he was amused, until he could not tell the difference, just like all of the other Darkcackle. That he learned his father’s trade (carpentry in Fiendskap’s case) and how to hunt and farm, just like all of the other Darkcackle. He will tell you how Fiendskap is just like all of the other Darkcackle until you give up in disgust, or get angry enough to draw your sword. Then (if Agnor doesn’t think he can take you), and only then, will he tell you something different.

Agnor will tell you that the Mordok attack that took Fiendskap’s family was unexpected. Pack Darkcackle is located in the eastern part of Clan Stormjarl lands (currently under Grimward occupation) in the great forest just north of the Yurnai River’s delta. They are almost as far as you can get from the Dirge Swamp, even further southwest than Clan Grimward (who provide a ferocious shield). Members of Pack Darkcackle are content to live their lives away from outsiders, far away from any settlement worthy of the name. They don’t even carry weapons except for hunting or practice. Perhaps that was why the Mordok found them. Perhaps they stumbled upon Fiendskap’s home while seeking invisibility in the forest that provided Pack Darkcackle its seclusion. Perhaps they were foraging for food on their long trek south to “softer” targets. Perhaps the Mordok were lost. In the end, it didn’t really matter why. After the attack, Fiendskap asked if he could travel north to help Pack Longfang near the Dirge Swamp, Agnor agreed. What more could you possibly want to know?

What Agnor won’t tell you about, regardless of how hard you press him; is the laughter.

It was the laughter that first caused Agnor to turn down the path towards Fiendskap’s farm. Although he now turns from the sound of laughter in the day, he turns towards it every night in his dreams. After all, it’s uncommon to hear such sustained laughter from a solitary adult. He walks quickly, looking ahead for signs of danger, until he spies it hidden in the ferns off to the side of the path. Agnor was so perplexed by the suffocating stench of rotting meat that he had failed to recognize the scent of Mordok. The foul odor is forcing itself down his throat now though. He notices the boot, pierced through the sole by the primary punji sticks now erupting cleanly through the top, held in place by the secondary sticks the Mordok didn’t even realize till it tried to remove its mangled foot. Agnor could read the ground as well as his own lore book. The uneven scores in the blood drenched ground told of the frantic slashing with sword till the leg was free of foot. The bent and crushed grass in multiple directions, of the crawl to escape. The thicker blood and matted grass, of where the creature stopped and expired. The grass evenly smothered, as with the drag trail of game. Unwillingly, he grabs a fallen branch and starts to run, his muscles already knotting in anticipation of what his mind cannot yet remember. He burst into the clearing as the laughter suddenly ends.

In it he finds a scene that he still actively denies.

Fiendskap is sitting on a stump near the fire. He turns quickly as he starts at Agnor’s arrival, dropping his food and fluidly nocking an arrow. Fiendskap is only half a heartbeat from loosing the arrow as he recognizes his Chieftain, and freezes for entirely too long before releasing the tension. It’s at this point when Agnor usually becomes aware of his dreaming, but that only makes it worse as he continues to watch without his consent. His mind free to languish in the details he missed the first time around.

His focus widens from the tip of the gleaming broadhead to take in the sights of the yard. The two dark hides, scraped and stretched in their frames. The neatly stacked pile of meat festering in the sun. The discarded, toothless, tongueless severed heads near it. There was an even smaller scattering of Mordok fangs that might have made the rune for forgiveness. At least they might have before the majority of them were savagely kicked into the not so small fire. A fire that Agnor now recognized as the remnants of a funeral pyre.

“They’re animals you know, they don’t have a soul…” was the first thing Fiendskap said while seeming to look directly through Agnor’s. “I know the Daughters will say the Mordok I have killed will tell the Great Wolf my name, but they are wrong. Dead wrong. These ones certainly won’t, I made sure of it.”

“When I came back from the hunt I found them. They were eating my family. People don’t do that, people have souls. They may think, they may be intelligent, but the Mordok are NOT people… People have souls.” Followed by a sudden giggle.

“You know, my Father always told me that I would never need to train for war. That a Mordok, a Syndar, or a Man. They would all die the same as an animal… That I should focus on hunting. That I should kill two birds with one stone. He was wrong…

A Mordok doesn’t die the same as an animal. I can’t honestly say about a Syndar or a Man, but I suspect they are the same.”

“When you shoot an animal, if you don’t kill it outright that is; it will keep running. Even if it’s dead on its feet, it will run until it dies standing and falls to the ground. Not a Mordok. A Mordok knows when it’s beaten. All you have to do is give it a mortal wound and it lays down. It will scream in pain. It will curse at you. It will wish its foul deeds upon you and yours. And it will lie down. Only when its words have no effect and you are still calmly watching it die, will it show any spirit. It will realize that you will not leave, that you refuse to finish it.”

“That is when the Mordok thinks it might still have a chance to live. It will call to its fellow to kill you. It will call to its fellow to heal it. But, its fellow can’t come. Not if you’ve already killed it. It’s not the Mordok’s fault. So you try to help, you wear the skin of its comrade’s hands, and bandage it’s leg. But it runs away no matter how you try to help.”

“It is too stupid to heed your warnings, and stumbles into your trap. When it finally frees itself, it does something so stupidly profane that you can’t excuse it… You need to end it.”

“Then you are left with yourself… Alone… All alone… Without anyone… No matter how hard you try, you can’t laugh anymore.”

That is when Agnor wonders as he does every night why the laughter is so loud in the dead silence, until he blessedly awakens to realize that the laughter is his.

Even if you were there next to him as he woke at his weakest, Agnor would never tell why he is laughing. That he failed to discover the courage to ask Fiendskap what he was eating. Just like all of the other Darkcackle.

Name: Jorvik Skolbad
Played by: Michael Weckwerth
Age: 30
Hair: Brown
Eyes:Feral
Race: Ulven
Class: Warrior
Skills: Archery

“Come my son…we must hunt or else we shall starve.” The graying Ulven said to lad who followed at his heel. Life outside of the pack was a life of hardship, but that’s what happens when one loses ones honor.

Olsaf Skolbad had been on guard duty when his son was merely a pup, guarding the Silverhowl pack from Mordok raids that had been increasing over the past few months. His mate had been lost in just such a raid shortly after the birth of Jorvik, his son. Something strange was on the wind this fateful night however. Olsaf saw in the distance a great host marching toward the camp. Fearing for the life of his newborn son he abandoned his post, grabbed his son and fled to the woods. The sounds of battle echoed through the forest long into the night. The next morning Olsaf returned to the charred ashes of their camp to find the survivors of the attack, still licking their wounds. Olsaf knew he was a cowered and as his wounded clansmen spat at him as he approached ready for his judgment. Honor less coward they called him. There was no room in the pack for the weak of heart. Forever banished to the mercies of the Great Wolf.

Adrenaline pumped through Jorviks veins. He saw his prey and could hear the heart of the elk pounding. He notched an arrow from his quiver, and steadied his nerves. “Shoot lad!” His father whispered into his ear. The arrow loosed and found its mark. The animal jumped high into the air and took off through the forest. “Well done, the arrow flew true. Let’s track it before nightfall.” The old Ulven and his son followed the blood trail deep into the woods. A testament to the stamina of the elk, the two traveled to a part of the forest which they had not yet traveled to. The blood trail was getting more and more sparse, and the night was growing colder.

The blood trail abruptly ended in a clearing. The old Ulven’s hair began to stick up on the back of his neck, that smell from all those years ago drifted across the glen. “Jorvik, run!” Olsaf yelled as he drew his rusty blade. Mordok crashed through the brush lunging at Olsaf. Jorvik tried to notch an arrow at the nearest beast, but from behind, a Mordok crashed into him knocking him and his bow to the ground. The black creature was on top of him as they rolled around in the snow. The monster had Jorvik by the throat and was squeezing the life out of him. Jorviks attempts to bash the creatures arms off of his neck were becoming more and more futile. As the light began passing from his eyes, he remembered his hunting knife in his boot. He pulled the blade free and thrust it into the Mordok’s throat. The grip around his neck lessened, and he rolled the creatures body off of him. He looked up and saw his father. The old Ulven had seen many a winter but the spirit of the wolf was still inside of his old body. One Mordok lay slain at his feet while he was fending off two more with his ancient blade. Jorvik grabbed for his bow but it had been snapped in half. He ran as fast as he could and crashed into the nearest Mordok who was assailing his father. They grappled in the snow while Osalf fought the Mordok in front of him. The Mordok that was wrestling Jorvik had gotten on top and had pinned his arms beneath him. The Mordok unsheathed a sinister looking blade and was about to plunge it into the heart of Jorvik when the old Ulven cut the head off of the Morok on his son, but exposing himself to the Mordok he was fighting. Jorvik looked on with agony as an ugly blade appeared in the center of the Ulvens chest, and a red stream began to flow from his linen shirt. The ancient blade that the old Ulven had so masterly wielded sank into the snow in front of Jorvik. Rage filled his heart as the world became a red haze. Jorvik raised the rusted blade from the snow and advanced towards the black-skinned beast, struggling to wrench its wicked blade from his father’s chest. Jorvik hacked with all of his might at the Mordoks shoulder driving it deep into the creature’s torso. The blood on the snow looked dark as Jorvik ran to his dying father. “Son, I may have lost my honor but you, you did not run when I bade you too. You are brave and a true son of the Great Wolf. Though I will die you shall live on to do great deeds! Now I go, to be with your mother and the Great Wolf.” And with that, bleeding in the snow, passed Olsaf Skobald, the coward. Jorvik went to each Mordok he had slain and cut off their ears. With sorrow still in his heart and bloodlust in his veins, Jorvik Skolbad headed back toward to his estranged pack, to fulfill his destiny.

Ranmir Longfang
Played by: Paul “Vago” Peterson
Name: Ranmir “Brûf” Longfang
Gender: Male
Birth Year: 229
Age: 35
Race: Ulven
Hair: Dishwater Blonde
Eyes: Blue-Green
Occupation: Hunter (Rogue Class)
Known Skills: Archery, Sword and Shield
Birthplace: Onsallas Village (Mardrun)

Appearance: Standing a little over six feet, Ranmir has dishwater blonde colored hair and blue-green eyes. He dresses nondescriptly in browns, greys and greens. His cloak seems to blend in and out of view when seen at a distance. He favors these colors, as they are what have allowed him to survive in the Dirge Swamp for so long. His tattered Longfang flag is one of the few items that tie him to what he once was.

Notable Traits: Psychologically damaged by his time in the Dirge Swamp, Ranmir has become almost as much a wolf as he is an Ulven. He does not understand the ways of the humans and the Syndar, the way other Ulven do, and thus believes in the traditional ways of the Ulven. He is, as of yet, suspicious of the other races.

Biography: Ranmir was born in the year 229, the second son of Dennagarth Stormjarl and Yoreden Longfang. As a pup, he wanted anything but to be Stanrick’s little brother. Whatever Stanrick was training to do, Ranmir would make sure he was doing something else. While Stanrick was training to be a hunter, Ranmir started sneaking around, climbing trees. One morning while Stanrick was sparring with his hunter trainer, Ranmir decided to pick up Stanrick’s bow, and start shooting. He truly was a natural, and within a week was shooting just as well as Stanrick. Ranmir continued to train with the bow, while his brother began to focus on his swordsmanship.

As a Longfang, Ranmir quickly became familiar with the Mordok, due to the proximity of his home to the Dirge Swamp. After completing his hunter training, Ranmir even led a few scouting packs a short way into the swamp to better keep tabs on the movement of the Ulven’s eternal foe. At 18, he was tracked down by a band of Mordok while staying overnight in the swamp, and nearly died, but for chancing upon another hunting group to even the odds.

When Ranmir was 21, a strange vessel came to the territories bringing other tribes of different races. For a year Ranmir fought with his brethren to stop the invasion, after which, our leaders discovered they could be reasoned with. With a truce newly formed, Ranmir set off alone into the swamp: If these outsiders could come to a truce with the Ulven, surely the Mordok could as well.

He journeyed into the Dirge Swamp with only his own weapons and wits to protect him. He knew he could not return to Onsallas until he had succeeded in the task laid before him. For the first few months, he tracked the movements of the Mordok, trying not to be seen. A few times he was spotted, but his training as a hunter allowed him to evade combat and escape. After Ranmir knew their movement patterns, the encounters became fewer and fewer. He attempted to make peace with the Mordok by leaving fresh game in their paths, to no avail. He tried unarmed attempts and negotiation, but was met with hostility. After a season of failure he began to forget his original mission, turning instead to focus purely on his own survival.

When his supplies ran low, he would silently make his way to the camps of small packs of Mordok, taking as much food as he could carry, before retreating into the night before the Mordok could be roused. The longer he stayed in the swamp, however, the more desperate for supplies he became, occasionally not even waiting until nightfall to steal from the Mordok. As he would run from his targets, Ranmir eventually picked up on a single word they would shriek as soon as he was discovered: “Brûf”. For years he remained in the Dirge Swamp, with no contact save for with the Mordok, forgetting all he once was. Ranmir was gone. Left now was only “Brûf”.

Now, twelve years after entering the swamp, he spotted a band of warriors, hunters, and clerics, dotted with a familiar face or two, who had ventured into the Dirge Swamp. Curious but cautious, he followed their movements along their journey until they left the swamp which he had called home for over a decade. His journey was just about over. It was time to go home.

Relationships:
Brothers: Stanrick Longfang, Yawn Longfang
Great-aunt: Solvig Longfang
Cousins: Harlok Longfang, Rill Longfang, Reyna Longfang.
Courting Brother: Selena Stargazer
Niece: Siren Longfang

Rumors: I once had a brother who had hoped that the Mordok could be reasoned with I have not seen him in over 10 years when he walked off into the darkness that cold night. –Stanrick Longfang

Playername: Kendra Seering
Character: Iris Treemaster
Race: Ulven
Gender: Female
Age:10
Bio:
I was a young Ulven in a small village north of Hazemane Village. I was in the middle of trading with a Syndar when the Mordok found my town. Our village was hidden from sight by large granite outcroppings and was relatively unknown. When we found out about the Mordok, it was too late; they attacked us and killed some of our people and somebody was corrupted. When I tried to help my family by healing them the best I could, they told me to run because they thought I was more important; I training to be a Daughter of Gaia and able to perform healing magic. Though my skills are currently limited, my family knew my skills would improve and be far more useful in the future.

The leaders of my village had sent a team of bodyguards to protect me and sent me away right when another group of Mordok attacked. We almost got away but we were ambushed. Though they were excellent fighters normally, they weren’t very good fighters against Mordok. Well, not very many people are good against Mordok. I was so scared that I passed out in the middle of the battle and the Mordok thought I was dead, so they just left me there. I woke up and got away, heading south like my village elders said to do. I was alone and scared and I was traveling for a week on my own. I passed out again, this time from no food, little water, and no sleep. When I awoke an elder Daughter of Gaia was cooking food; I had a blanket and water! She helped me advance my skills for the upcoming trials as we traveled south together but eventually she had to return to Pack; I learned that she was a lone traveler from Pack Fieldcrow and she invited me to seek them out to learn more about magic. We parted when we linked up with a merchant caravan heading south. All I knew was to make my way to the coalition or allies of Clan Ironmound. It would be nice to try to hope most of our people made it safe out of our village, so I will seek them out later on.

I had found lots of food and water while training for what comes ahead and my challenge of being one with Gaia. I am still young and the bulk of my story has yet to be written.

Player name: Elizabeth Sobek
Character name: Kara ( car- ah) Skywillow, of Pack Skywillow, of Clan Riverhead
Gender: Female
Eyes: Haze
Hair: Brown
Age: Not sure maybe 29-30 years
Race: Ulven
Children: 1- father unknow
Occupation: Traveling Merchant former employee of Marrah Faile and occasional mercenary although its not common knowledge.
Known Skills: Buying, Selling, Trading, Hunting, Trapping, Archery
Background:
July of year 250:
When Kara was a young huntress and warrior in training from Clan Riverhead she left her pack to fight the colonists from Faedrun.

Year 251:
After the truce was made between the Colonists and Ulven and upon learning of the circumstances behind the immigration of the colonists Kara developed a tolerance for the humans and the Syndar, even befriending a few of them.

Years 251- 261:
As a young Ulven she traveled around the territories fighting in skirmishes here and there but keeping mostly to herself until she eventually found her way into Marrah Faile services were she learned the skills of buying and selling.

Year 261- present:
After working for Marrah for four years she ran with Pack Long fang in the Civil war but rejoined her clan after hearing the rumors of the gathering Mordok horde.

Player: Michael Hannes

Class warrior

Age 25

Race Ulven

Hair brown

Eyes brown

Occupation Blacksmith

Skills sword and shield/two handed and dual wield, mending, disease and poison resist, rage!

Appearance: long brown hair usually tied back in a ponytail or half pony with the sides of his head shaved, well built, sometimes kept goatee.

Relationships: made a pact with two humans to form a mercenary trio.

Lifemate: Ylva Giermundson

Rumors: I heard he slaughtered 4 Mordok on his own through pure rage and hate alone!

My name is Toralf Giermundson though for many years I was known as Toralf Grimmsvulker. I am an Ulven male that has left Pack Stormfang under Clan Axehound in search of coin and honor in the name of the great wolf. When I left, I discarded my fathers name and gave myself a new surname. Grimmsvulker. I was born in the year 244. My mother died in child birth and my father resented me for it ever since. My father lost his leg to disease so I was forced to fight in order to provide for us. I was but a boy when I left my pack, no more than 9 years old. I knew that abandoning my clan and pack would make me an outcast, but that didn’t change my mind. I needed to get out and find my own way instead of fighting for scraps in order to keep my father and I barely scraping by.
I had nothing but the sword and shield given to me by my grandfather and had to beat the elements and hide from the roaming Mordok to survive. I fed on what I could scavenge and took weapons from dead travelers and Mordok to defend myself. Blood and battle were all I knew as I grew to a man. Through the years of wandering I became a mercenary of sorts, as a way to make coin. I also became quite proficient in the ways of the sword, changing from sword and shield to using two weapons as well as a greatsword. Not an honest living but I had no other option at this point.
Upon my travels as I moved Southward I happened upon two strange creatures. They looked like me but had no fangs and strange eyes. They readied their weapons at the sight of me as I did at them. I caught a familiar stench in the air. Mordok began to emerge from the tall grass to ambush us. I did not know these two men but they fought the Mordok same as I did. After the skirmish I inquired about them. One was a rogue of sorts carrying a bow and sword on his hip; he introduced himself as Leon Beldwick. His friend being brutish is stature, was wielding sword and shield such as myself introduced himself as Lux. I introduced myself and shared my tale of hardship. They too had similar beginnings and informed me of the colonists coming from another world. From that moment on we made a pact to fight alongside each other taking equal shares of coin we earned. We wandered for days until we came upon the settlement of the colonists. Perhaps here we can finally be at peace with our pasts, and find others who share our goal of ridding the world of these Mordok filth and bringing honor upon our names.

UPDATE: After years of hard work, much has happened to me. I regained my honor in a duel with Vilkas Stormfang, I met Ylva, the woman who would become my lifemate, and together we joined Stormjarl under Fritha. I realized that the name that I gave myself no longer suited me and I took back the name I was born with, Giermundson so I could give it to my mate.

I am Magnus Forgebreaker of Clan Ironmound, born in the year 225. I am mate to Thalia and father to our three young ones. I am a blacksmith and Ulven warrior, forged by the traditions of my Clan and by the love of Thalia. She is my world and I will do anything to keep her safe. She is the iron that my family is forged from and I am her hammer. The first time I saw her, I knew I had found my mate. Her father and her were ambushed by Mordok near our settlement and he was killed by them. She fought with the spirit of the Great Wolf. Seeing her covered in the blood of her enemies and never giving up against an over whelming force was all I needed to know of her. My fire and hers were combined in that moment. We work as one family as we have moved thru life. With honor to the Great Wolf with our iron and blood.

My father was killed by Clan Grimward during the civil war. A fact that I will never forget or forgive. I continue his legacy as a blacksmith and warrior for the Great Wolf. I will forge my impact on this world with blood and fire as he did.

I believe the Great Wolf breathed fire into our hearts when he forged us. This fire is our honor. When we live by honor, we feed that fire. When living with no honor, we diminish that fire. I live by my honor. Insults to my honor will result in swift challenges by the traditions of Clan Ironmound. No exceptions. The Great Wolf sees all.​

I am Thalia, mate of Magnus Forgebreaker. I was born into Clan Goldenfield in 231, and married off to Clan Ironmound. I grew up learning to grow everything, and bring life to the land. Caring for all that grew. When I was twenty-two, I met Magnus Forgebreaker and joined my life to his. My father died so that we could meet, so even finding out that he was from another clan couldn’t prevent me from becoming his mate.

We traveled throughout his Clan’s lands, looking for a place that we could call home. After three young ones, and many homes, we have decided to settle. I hope to bring life to this place, and feed its people. I hope to see it thrive through my skill with the land and Magnus’ protection. I hope to build a safe place for my young to grow in peace.

Character Name: Brynja Blackpaw
Player: Sadie Raab
Race: Ulven
Class: Warrior
Born: August 239
Known Skills: Martial abilities focusing on shields and large-weapon fighting, instruction.

Pack Blackpaw is an anomaly among the Ulven race. We are fierce, proud warriors from Clan Nightriver, each and every one of us. Our farmers. Our merchants. Our healers. Above all, our Daughters, a group I am glad to be a part of. Most of the Ulven seem to think that, when we die, our spirit travels to meet the Great Wolf, and in that regard, they are correct. Where they start to drift from the truth is in what happens next. They believe that, if he has heard your name and you were an honorable warrior in life, he will invite you into his Pack to hunt with him for the rest of time. They’re deluding themselves. They perform their heroic deeds, then let themselves grow soft, complacent in their history. What they refuse to accept is that meeting the Great Wolf is simply the first step. You are called to challenge him to an honor duel. You are not expected to win, but rather show your skill and honor in battle. If he is impressed, then you will be rewarded with a spot in his Pack. If he finds you wanting, your soul is devoured, left to wallow in agony within his belly for eternity.

This is why the Daughters of Pack Blackpaw forego many of Gaia’s gifts, eschewing magical talents for physical ones. We still act as spiritual guides for the pack, but we do so by training their minds, souls, and bodies for that final duel. We are instructors, not priestesses. This is also why I am a Daughter of Pack Blackpaw. I am Brynja Blackpaw, and always will be. That is the name the Great Wolf will hear when my time is at an end, but it is not the one I was born with.

My birth name was Brynjolf Axhound, and my parents were thrilled. I was energetic and healthy as a child, and to them, I seemed happy. One evening shortly after turning four years old, however, we had a conversation they thought would be innocent, but changed our lives forever. “My son, tell me,” my father began. “What do you want to be when you grow up? A great warrior, who defends the weak? A skillful hunter, serving as eyes for those you protect? A sturdy farmer, providing for your community? Where does your path lead you?”

“Papa, don’t be angry with me.”
“I could never, Brynjolf. Why would I be angry?”
“I want to be a Daughter of Gaia.”

Silence fell quickly over the table, and lingered for what seemed like an eternity. When finally it was broken, it was my mother, ever compassionate, who spoke, addressing my father. “He’s just a boy. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Leave it be, he’ll come around.”

I never did, though. For the next few years, I would play and speak almost exclusively with the young females in my pack. They were welcoming at first, eager for a new face, though I was gradually seen as an outsider as some of the older girls came of age and started to notice changes. It was at this point, around three years after that first conversation that I knew I needed to speak to my parents again.

They had watched my behavior, and knew this was no longer just a phase. This was a part of me that would never change. Clan Axhound is not known for their progressive views, however, and standing in defiance of the roles of a male or female would bring ridicule on both my family and me. As their only child, my parents wanted most of all to see me happy, so they agreed on the proper course of action. I was to be sent to Pack Blackpaw, deep in Nightriver territory. I would change my name, act and dress as the new person I would become. I could learn the ways of the Daughters without standing out due to my lack of a magical gift. I chose the name Brynja as a tribute to my parents, and we prepared to depart in the night without a word to the pack.

The day we arrived in Blackpaw village was the most bittersweet moment of my life. My heart was breaking because I knew that in a few short moments, my parents would leave forever. At the same time, I was rejoicing in the freedom I would surely find in pack Blackpaw, and was thrilled to finally live as Brynja. My parents hugged me a final time and sent me on my way.

When they first arrived, the humans struck me as an oddity at best, and a threat at worst. We, as most Ulven did, tried to exterminate these invaders as they arrived on our shores. As the initial fighting died down, however, many of the humans and Syndar displayed a level of honor in their fighting that I had thought beyond them. Over the years, they have earned my respect as a race, although there are many among them who seek to ruin that reputation. Now, with the civil war, the threat of the Mordok, the shadow of the hungry ghosts brought by the colonists, and Gaia knows what else is out there, who knows if I will make it out alive. I do know this, however: when my time comes, the Great Wolf will hear my name, and he will remember it.

Steiner Ulf
PLAYED BY: James Bergles
CHARACTER NAME: Steiner Ulf
GENDER: Male
CLASS: Warrior, Mineralist, Bard
AGE: Unknown but around 50
RACE: Ulven
HAIR: Brown too Bald
EYES: Green
OCCUPATION: I, Steiner Ulf, am a semi-retired warrior. Throughout my travels with clan Stormjarl, I have participated in many battles and am now seeing the effects of living a long and violent life. With the numerous lands I have traveled, I took notice of the different minerals and woods present. By sampling and testing I have determined their constructive value. I have developed unique methods of extracting minerals from the crust of the land. I have found out through trial and error that many of the minerals react well with others during the smelting and shaping processes, making for a higher quality product
As I slowly move out of being a full-fledged warrior, I wish to teach minerals and their uses to the Ulven and their allies. The stronger the metal and woods we can infuse into our armor and defenses, the weaker it will make our enemies. Graytir of Clan Stormjarl is a staunch supporter of my work. He has supported my efforts to find stronger minerals to make our armor more impenetrable. His riches grow with every land I visit. I find it an honor to bring back new minerals to present to him and describe what they can do. It is the least I can do with what he has done for me.
KNOWN SKILLS:
As stated previously, I have been an Ulven warrior for many years. During that time, I have developed a trade I call “Mineralist.” The skill of Mineralist is one who has great knowledge of all natural items that come from the folds of Gaia’s ground. A Mineralist knows their uses and what existing elements they can be fused with to cause greater strength and durability to metal and wood objects.
A second skill I have is Bard. Simple musician that can play the Lute, Bodhran and mandolin.
BIRTHPLACE:
The earliest memory I have is being a Nomadic traveler amongst the seas. The family I had, spent their years traveling many Islands but always would return to the Village Chieftain every 5 years to share knowledge and gifts they had gathered.
APPEARANCE:
Seeing I work in the ground, I choose to dress brown to black in normal Ulven clothing. In times of battle, I don armor of steel and leather. I have seen many fighters fall from a ship only to have their armor drag them down to the dark depths of the sea. What I wear allows me to stay buoyant for a short time. Long enough to rid myself of extra weight that would pull me down. During mass battle I will wear a blood red tunic. If I am wounded, it cannot be noticed by the enemy.
NOTABLE TRAITS:
My most notable trait is nothing. I blend into the village as a normal person and this is how I want it for now. After long journeys I may come back with a beard. If I am spending longer times in the village, I may shave it off. I have found some minerals to cause sparks and flames which does not go well with beards. One item unique to my skill is the wicker pack. Some minerals I have found react with the moisture in leather so I use caution and carry all in a wicker pack. Another notable trait is teaching music to anyone who asks. It is a gift that will never end as they teach it to the next person, and so on and so on.

RELATIONSHIPS:
Since my life has been endless travel, I have started no relationships. It would serve me no purpose to have a family follow me and I would die on a foreign soil. If this were to happen, I would be an unsettled soul. Once I open my business for trade on the new island, I will look for help to assist in the shop. This person would learn the trade and how reactions of minerals are more reliable than magic. Until this person is trained, I would hope to not allow others into the field. Mineralist is not a skill one hands out like free ale. People who want to dig, carry or cut can always be used.

RUMORS:
I have heard rumors that I practice in the dark arts. All this is utter nonsense. It is only people afraid of the unknown. Because I can produce stronger steel than most smiths or bring forth gems from raw stones, makes me different. Because I can melt colored glass onto steel to form patterns of honor leaves them thinking magic must be involved. Their ignorance of not understanding our natural soil elements only makes me wanting to show them more.
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
Being a semi reclusive Ulven, opens me up for storytelling. My parents were washed overboard during a strong storm at sea. I was able to hold onto some flotsam and washed ashore months from our home village. I found it easier to join a new village by demonstrating my skills to Chieftain Graytir Stormjarl. This showed I had use and was not just an unlucky traveler. I was a traveler who could make unique items from minerals and metal. At one point I instructed a Smithy on how to smelt minerals into metal for greater shield boss strength. When the Chieftain smashed his war axe into the shield, he saw that though the mighty blow left a hefty dent, it did not crack as it should have. At this point I became a valuable commodity and was allowed into Clan Stormjarl.
The Chieftain requested I travel with his army to find more minerals and unique woods on the Fire Isle. At the Stormborn settlement I wish to open the first Steiner Ulf Mineralist shop. The Fire Isle has not been explored for minerals. I am looking forward to the new terrain of this island and what it will give me. I feel my first task will be to support the troops as they venture into the Dirge Swamp. From what I have seen from the edges of the swamp, I may find some iron based minerals that resistrust. The few Mordok I have seen possessed weapons and armor that resisted rust. I feel they must have found a resource that is natural to the swamp that is malleable into fightable iron?
One of the first people I must befriend in the Stormborn Settlement is the Smithy. With his or her knowledge of metals, and my introduction of new elements, we can build armor that will resist cleaves and cause arrows to deflect. I wonder if that is a good idea because the arrow may hit the person next to its target? I have a feeling I may find the missing element in the Dirge Swamp. If not, I will keep looking.