Archives: Wiki Pages

Played by: Jacob Beardsley
Name: Luka
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Occupation: Servant
Birthplace: Unsure
Appearance: Wears red and grey coat
Notable Traits: Submissive and overly polite

Luka was born as a member of Clan Grimward, but he doesn’t remember where his place of birth is. At age 6, Luka was captured and raised as a servant by humans, little more than a slave. This was in a time of turmoil between the humans and the Ulven so it wasn’t uncommon for villages to be sacked and people to go missing. From there Luka was stripped of his birth name and given the name he now uses. This was to demoralize and emotionally break those who were captured. Then the beating began. Luka was beaten and forced to become compliant and obedient. Luka was then kept in a human camp as a worker and servant. This only lasted a couple years before he was moved, then moved again, and again, and again from camp to camp as more humans arrived. Once they became more established, it was decided that to keep Luka around without some pretext would be suspicious to the higher human authorities in the area. Therefore, Luka was wrongly charged with attempting to steal a valuable sword from a human officer. He was then offered a choice: death, or to continue his servitude. Luka chose the latter. Fourteen years passed since his initial capture, and life got pretty good. Luka accepted life and learned to enjoy his situation. A month ago Luka was traveling with his latest master, a small time merchant. They were suddenly jumped by bandits and his master was hurt. But out of nowhere a man showed up and rescued them from the bandits. He wore red and black and called himself Eli. Not having much to pay the rescuer, the merchant offered Luka’s services as payment and the deal was struck. Shortly after that, Eli explained that he had no wish to oppress a person in the way that Luka had been, and he freed Luka from his service. This confused Luka, as he could not comprehend a free lifestyle, and he insisted that he would stay with Eli and work for him. After a long debate, a deal was made between the two. In exchange for loyalty and service to Eli’s faction, the Crimson Shades, Luka would receive room and board. This pleased Luka and in no time he settled right back into his common role as a servant. But this time, it was different. These people didn’t see him as a mongrel criminal, but rather an actual person. He took an exceptional liking to Eli and tends to still refer to him as “Master”, much to Eli’s discontent. Luka now also cares for the needs of the rest of the faction referring to most of them as “sir” or “madam”. This is now his life and he couldn’t be happier.

Played by: Jacob Beardsley
Name: Jarta Longfang
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Occupation: Healer

“Dear journal, I have recently become the healer at the Outpost. I have taken over for Thrand since he left. It’s been rough but nothing I can’t handle. I’ve come to know the people here quite well. Stanrick, our chieftain, isn’t as cold and ruthless as the stories led me to believe. He is loud, though. There are others here, mostly Ulven but we also get humans and Syndar. They are all right, but some don’t respect our way of doing things. I myself find it annoying and disrespectful, but fighting amongst ourselves is what started this stupid war. Living at the outpost isn’t too terribly bad, but as a healer I’m always busy due to the swamp. Well that’s all I have time to say for now.”

Jarta Longfang was born in the Longfang village. He wasn’t particularly big for his age and wasn’t good at fighting. He preferred to play games and was very interested in learning rather than training. He always had a desire to help the sick and wounded, which led to him spending most of his time around the healer tents and huts assisting whenever he could. This was where he picked up the healer trade and became an assistant to one of the village healers.

Several years past and he eventually became a fully practicing healer. His ability to use a bow made him perfect for traveling with hunting parties. He actually enjoyed that because he felt he was doing a lot of good by helping gather food for the village.

One year ago he was assisting a hunting party when they stumbled upon a mordok camp. Before long the mordok swarmed like bees around the party. It was all the hunters could do to fend off the attackers. Jarta quickly started tending to the wounded. Suddenly a shaman jumped out from the trees and blasted Jarta with a wave of power. The able bodied hunters were too busy to notice the new threat. The shaman stepped over one of the wounded hunters and started casting again. Jarta knew it was going to be a bad spell just by seeing the amount of energy the shaman was gathering. As the shaman let the spell loose, an orb of black energy shot from the shaman’s hand. Jarta leaped hoping to intercept the oncoming attack. He made it. The orb struck Jarta in his left shoulder blade, blowing apart most of what attached his arm to his body. He instantly passed out from the shock.

He awoke to find a bunch of healers and a daughter standing over him. He was back in the village and was told that he was carried back by the surviving hunters. The daughter also told him that his left arm would never work well again due to the extensive damage.

This didn’t sway Jarta from his passion of helping those in need. He has since devoted his free time to learning all he can to further improve his healing. He has even picked up the ability to read and write. But on the off chance he isn’t tending to the wounded or studying he can be found singing and/or playing a few odd instruments to calm his nerves.

Played by: Julian Boehm
Name: Nikoli Bellfire
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Occupation: Guard
Known Skills: Duel Wield
Birthplace: A small village in Stormjarl, near the Grimward border.
Appearance: strong appearance stubborn
Notable Traits: Unusual, looking for a fight, will run into battle to protect the innocent, easy to talk to, easy going

Bio: My past is the same as most ulven you might come across. I lived in a small village on the border with clan Grimward.
I trained just as hard as the others but we were blessed by Gaia with peace and less mordok than other clans had to deal with.
But it all changed the day Grimward invaded, our clan leader had chosen neutrality in the war, but to clan Grimward we were as good as enemies. They invaded, attacked, and killed our people. They pushed us all the way to the sea. That was the day that really defined me, the day my father left us to join the great wolf. My family had reached one of the last villages left standing. Refuges had poured in from the rest of our lands. Grimward was on the warpath; my dad and I were keeping my brother safe; my mother was a strong warrior. She was in the rear with a few other warriors keeping us safe in case of ambush.

My father said it would be a few hours until we reached the village. I was scared that we wouldn’t make it. Grimward had been fallowing us closely and my mother said that her and the warriors had only barely been able to repel the last attack. I remember what happened next the best, we had just passed a burned down farm and the screams started. They must have sent a group to cut us off in the front because ten Grimward warriors charged out of the woods and began to attack us. I pressed forward to engage an enemy in front of me. He swung his ax at me and I blocked it with my sword, we exchanged blows for a few moments then my father joined me by my side and together we felled the warrior. Our group started running for our lives. My father and I took my brother and started to run. We could hear people screaming around us, and the sounds of fighting all over, but we kept running until our legs could take us no farther. We found a good hiding place for the night. My brother cried until he fell asleep and my father and I took shifts staying up to keep watch. We all wondered about my mother and how she was doing. I woke to movement, there were voices coming closer, my father told us to stay calm we watched from our hiding hole.

Two warriors from Grimward where searching for survivors. They passed by without finding us and we stayed hidden for a while, but soon we started to move onto the village. Hopefully mother would be there. We walked for a bit once we found the road, we knew that the village would be just a little further and we would be safe. We started to see the smoke from the town just a little bit ahead and our hopes started to rise but soon fell just as quickly.

They had come out of nowhere: three arrows flew through the sky. They each hit their target and my father fell before my eyes in an instant. I was unable to help or even move; I just watched him hit the ground and then they moved on us, four warriors: three archers and one larger ulven with a two handed ax, he struck me before I could move, the pain was more then I could take. I fell to the ground and he moved toward my brother. I tried to stop him and he kicked me in the chest. From my back I saw in horror my little brother try to plea for his life. He brought his ax up to finish my brother and started to bring it down. The world froze, time stopped, I was losing my family right before my eyes. Apparently my mother thought so to because she came in hot, she blocked the ax with her spear and drove a dagger through his chest.

He staggered back in pain, she swung her spear around and left a gash on his chest and then plunged it into his left leg and he fell. Two of the archers let loose some arrows in her direction, but my mother was warrior through and through. She dodged, leaving the spear in the Grimward warrior’s leg, she moved on to the three left and she summoned a ball of Gaia’s wrath and threw it into the chest of one of the archers, he fell instantly and the others to began to flee having seen how quickly she had dismantled two of them. She turned to us, and after that it all starts to blur together, burning my dad’s body, my mother healing us, and getting to the village. I swore to myself that day that never again would I lose any of my family to anything. I would gather the strength I needed to stand at the front and protect my family. I don’t know why but my mother put us on a ship to Crows landing. When we got to the harbor there was a man waiting at the dock, he had a green hood and he welcomed us as we got off the ship. He talked to my mother in private, and she told us that the man knew our dad and that he had given us a place to stay in town. Many of the houses were empty, since the winter was bad, and many here didn’t make it. We were thankful for the help and given a place to stay, I thanked the man. He said it’s what we do, to help those in need. I soon joined up with the rangers. I found out the man that helped us was high up in the group, and one day I wanted to be as respected and skilled as he was.

Relationships: rangers my mother and brother

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.