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Sitting here in the shade of the Great Forest at the edge of a lake with my traveling companion Theridan. I contemplate rumors of war and what it means for me. I practice my craft while I do. I focus on the weave of reality. I take hold and bend it to my will. Pushing, pulling, crafting the power that lies locked behind arcane understanding. Blue sparks writhe in my palm until a small orb of lighting forms its power generic but easy to manipulate. I flick the orb to a nearby tree and watch it burst against the bark, crackling energy sending wood chips flying as the energy impacts. Theridan looks up nervously from their journal. They have always been rather nervous. I would be too if I had gone through what they had. I have heard a part of Theridan’s story. I know there is more that is hidden. Such is the way with our order. Secrets are all we had in this age, secrets and stories. That secret is out now though and no one trusts our stories, all we have is the question of what those of us who still hold onto our purpose are to do now. I continue to ponder this as I weave a stronger spell together. Again I focus, and maifest my power. This time a luminous stone. Bright red, with small shards that float around it.

“My father taught me our stories and our secrets before he taught me the magic.” I say to Theridan, feeling the subtle strain on my control of the magic. I don’t look at them, still mostly focused on my spell.“He told me that knowledge is one thing. The willingness to do what must be done and the sacrifice one has to make another. The power another still.” I flick my wrist causing the orb to spin in my hand.“He wanted to be sure I understood what it meant to be a Lorespeaker. He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t just want the power. You should’ve seen the look on my face when he showed me the powers we had been keeping from our people.”“What does it mean to you then?” Theridan replied skeptically. I look at them, for once their green eye meet my gaze. In the months we’ve known each other we have both changed. I wouldn’t call us the greatest of friends. I feel as if we’ve done good work and have learned much from each other. In this moment, I can’t help but feel hopeful. I’ve seen their pride in being a Lorespeaker, a pride I share. I look back to my spell, my focus and time slipping.“It means we serve the greater good for the Ulven people. It means we sacrifice so that our entire race may prosper. The Ulven people learned the hard way how much bigger the world is than us.” I stand slowly and take aim at the tree again. With a flick the red stone orb whips forward and blasts a chunk out of the tree. Wood chunks scattering into the lake sending ripples laced with magic across the surface of the water. Theridan doesn’t flinch this time. I look back to my companion.“The greater good used to be our great secret. No longer. We can’t wait around for someone to tell us how best to serve people who despise us but so desperately need us. We must do what we can” I sat back down, done practicing for the day.“If Grimward really has allied with Stonetooth then the Ulven of the south are in dire need.” I say, purpose filling my words. Theridan puts away their journal and assembled notes.“Where would we even start Einar? Not a soul outside of Grimward leadership or Stonetooth knew this was coming. Three clans are already starting on the back foot, Shattered Spear will be lucky to last the season. And so far it’s just you and I.” I pause at the last part. I am unsure if Theridan has shared everything they know. I have to take it at face value. I think for a moment more before I reply. They are right, it’s impossible to know what the best course of action is. But imperfect action now is better than waiting for the perfect chance.“We start the same way the Lorespeakers who came before us did. We tell our story, wherever we can, to whoever will listen.”

It has been one month since Ylva’s mate was taken from her.

Images of the Moot still flash through Ylva’s mind whenever she lets herself be idle.  Haygriths rotting head in a crate, Branthur Nightriver being bludgeoned before them all.  Most often, she saw her mate Toralf being carried away and felt the scream that welled up in her throat before Bryech threw his hand over her mouth and Fritha brought the pommel of her seax down on the back of her head, knocking her out. Ylva does not blame them or hold any grudge. Had the scream escaped and allowed them to be spotted, they might all have been killed. Still, she has been unable to shake the feeling of the scream that never got to make any sound. No matter how many times she has screamed since that day, it still sits in her throat like a rock forever at the bottom of a river.

With war preparations, thankfully Ylva has been able to avoid much time for idleness. She spent the first couple days back home frantically  writing. Letters for friends in all parts of the continent. Warnings and pleadings for help with discovering where Toralf is being held so they may reclaim him. But also, hours spent pulling together her amassed knowledge on healing, organizing it into a lesson plan. Now is the time to train as many people as possible on saving lives and getting fighters back in the fight quickly. 

It is not long before Clan Stormjarl calls upon the Einherjar to return to the motherland and they begin boarding their longship. She will miss her bed in Ulvesal, which still smells of Toralf, but the furs have felt so cold without him… not like she’s been able to sleep much anyway.

Before leaving, she carefully folds a pair of Toralf’s pants and a tunic and stuffs them into a bag, loading it with the rest of her precious healing supplies. With any luck, they’ll be finding him soon, and he will need them.

They arrived in the coastal settlement of Sundvik, where the call for aid was vital to protect ships and waterways. Ylva made quick work of coordinating with other healers and beginning a lesson on battlefield healing. The day continued on much the same as any other front line she’s healed on. Something was different though, at first she had thought her calmness was due to her years of practice.  But it was more than calm,  it was unfeeling. She realized she had started to feel numb… Numb to the screams and grunts of pain as she plucked out arrowheads and stitched patients back together. And numb to the condolences she received over and over when people realized who she was and what happened to her.  She didn’t like that she felt this way, but she felt her options were slim: Feel numb and composed, or be a wreck and useless.

She needed to keep it together, so numb it was.

Besides the other Einherjar,  there were not many there that she knew, but between rounds, she saw a familiar face, Kaylek Nightriver. They greeted each other with an embrace, it had been nearly a year since they last saw each other. “We will get him back, Ylva” he said, with confidence. Not condolences, but a promise. A kind reminder that she did have other friends on her side. Their conversation was brief before they both had to return to the work at hand.

Things turned dire as news reached them that several ships had been lit ablaze. And each time her Jarl Breych returned to camp, he came with more and more wounds and less usable armor. “Just do what you can to cleanse the wounds so I can get back out there” he said, “I cannot afford the rest and fatigue that comes with healing. There is no time.”

Ylva’s stomach turned as she looked him over, legs torn up by sword slashes and ripping out arrows. She would not send him back out with an array of bandages being the only thing allowing him to keep running. She opened a divine conduit between them and one by one, pulled all his wounds onto herself. She tried her best not to cry out as her flesh was torn open over and over, but it was too much. Bryech thanked her and quickly rejoined the fight to defend the outpost.

Ylva’s hands shook as she pulled another two wounds onto her own body from another warrior. She felt as though she may lose the contents of her stomach as she collapsed onto a healing mat. She pulled the bag containing Toralf’s clothing toward herself, hugging it to her body and taking in his scent.

As her body relaxed, Ylva pulled herself into a meditative state and pleaded with Gaia to take away her suffering so that she may continue being useful to the cause. It may have been her losing her mind, or perhaps Gaia really did speak to her this day, but she could have sworn she heard a calming voice in her mind. “Fear not, Daughter. Your world will be righted. Do not let yourself lose hope and give into this numbness you feel. Watch for me today, I will show you.” and with that, she awoke physically restored, and feeling reflective.

The hours raced by. Healing, preparing for the next patient, taking turns in the watchtower, sending down arrows upon them when Grimward or Stonetooth managed to reach the gates. And suddenly, it was dark around them, and much too quiet. But not for long.

A chorus of cries erupted as a flood of wounded people overwhelmed her yurt. They quickly learned that the nearby Thurgenfell had been raided and fallen. These were villagers, not warriors. Between Ylva and the other healers, they quickly triaged and tended to patients. But this was much different than tending to the battle hardened Ulven they’d been seeing all day. These patients were not desperate to get back on the field to fight again. These were young farmers, fishermen, craftsman, likely too young to have fought in the Civil War years ago. People who may be experiencing their first serious wounds. With everyone stabilized, Ylva got to work on a young woman. She introduced herself as she often does to strangers. “I am Ylva the Lifemender of Clan Stormjarl. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay”

After a brief assessment she found the woman’s chest had been slashed with a mace. Thankfully she had been lucky, as there was a jagged gash on her chest,  but the bone underneath was unshattered. After administering something for pain,  she got to work.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Ylva asked in a calm tone. She often spoke to patients to try and keep them from falling into shock.

“Grimward”, the woman said through shuddering sobs as Ylva worked on cleaning out the wound on her chest from dirt and debris. She must have fallen. “They were killing everyone. No prisoners, no mercy… my home.. I watched my home burn. I was the only one to get out in time” She winced and cried out in pain as Ylva had to cut around the jagged tear to get a good clean line to stitch. This would help her to heal with less of a scar in the long- run, it was necessary “Let me get you something more for the pain”, Ylva said as she reached for the small glass bottle of powerful pain medicine. One had not been enough.

“No!” the woman interjected, catching  Ylva’s blood-drenched hand in her own and gripping it hard, “I need to feel it. I want to remember what they did to me.”

Ache tore at Ylva’s heart and hit her like a stone as the numb feeling was ripped away from her without warning. She tightened her own grip on the woman’s hand in return. This young woman, so much braver than herself, wanted to feel everything, meanwhile Ylva had been snuffing her own feelings out, trying to take the easy way out and numb the pain. This simple moment reignited her so suddenly. They locked eyes.

“I understand. And I am here with you.” Ylva said as she gave the woman’s hand an extra squeeze before releasing it and returning to the grim work of stitching her flesh back together, continuing as gently as she could.

Ylva found herself overwhelmed with emotion as she worked, struggling to bear listening to the woman whimper and wince in pain.  She fell into repeating a pattern of comforting words to the woman as she worked.

“You’re going to be okay.”

“I know it hurts, honey, I’m sorry.

“I’ve got you, you’ll be okay.”

“Let it out, it’s okay.”

“Breathe with me.”

Ylva led the young woman through breathing exercises to keep her calm, but secretly, she needed them for herself too.

The sobs in the yurt ebbed and flowed like the waves that carried their longships. As the injured were tended to, sounds peaked together- patients setting each other off in fits of cries and screams. Somebody yelled out that they were going to vomit and a bucket was promptly provided. The smell of sick filled the air and mingled with the rusty metallic tinge of the spilt blood and the harsh smell of antiseptics. Another crash of unexpected feeling as the woman groaned and gasped beneath her hands.

“Just breathe”, Ylva urged for both of them as she once again led the woman through guided breaths.

It was not panic in Ylva’s chest, but the crushing weight of realizing what this war would look like for her. It would not only be the hardened warriors she was used to. These are not people who signed themselves up for danger. And they’ve now lost their homes, and had their entire lives uprooted. She would be seeing more of the same day after day, and going through it without her mate, her one person she turns to for comfort at the end of the hardest days. In this moment, it felt like there was nothing she could do to help any of them, not these villagers, not her mate, nor herself. “Look for me. See me in them.”, that Motherly voice echoed in Ylvas mind again, breaking her out of her impending spiral into hopelessness. Gaia.

She took another big breath and continued.

Ylva finished her work on the woman and once satisfied that her wounds were properly closed and would not become infected, she took a look around the tent. The other healers were holding their own quite well and everything was being managed. She felt her heart warm at this. Not the madness and panic that she was used to seeing from brand new healers when mass casualties flooded in, but medics who were calm and self-assured.  Not adding to the panic of the injured, but dissuading it. This…this was what she was able to do for them- healing – and perhaps there was more she could do to heal them than just care for their physical wounds…

Normally, once a patient was resting, she would have to move onto the next one, but right now, with so many other healers present, she had the luxury of time. She stayed with the woman for the entirety of her rest, holding her hand and gently stroking her hair. Watching her chest rise and fall steadily. Just being with her, making sure she was not alone.

“Is there anyone who came here with you that I can bring you to?” Ylva asked the woman softly, once she was sufficiently rested. She shook her head.

“I’m so sorry”, she said, “let’s get you sat by the fire to warm you up” She helped the woman into a seat by the fire, and promised to return to check on her again when she could.

But first, she needed to take a moment to balance herself. Ylva strode to the edge of the camp and gripped a tree to keep her upright as the intense feelings of grief threatened to pull her under. This past month she had so easily fallen into the habit of continuously moving, always onto the next thing. She had never let herself stop to feel her own loss, her fears for her mate. Ylva choked down her sobs, stifling them so that she would not take away this time from those processing their own trauma nearby. But she did not let herself go numb again.  She let the feeling wash over her, pushing and pulling her, but never drowning in it. Not this time.

She ultimately decided to go for a walk, to once more clear her mind and reach out for Gaia, but this time she heard nothing. She must have been given all the information already, and would have to work it out herself. Another breath. Look for Gaia in them, she thought to herself. That must mean her work with these refugees was not over.

As she returned to the fire, she spotted the young woman she had tended to and approached her. “How are you feeling? Any sharp aches or pains?”. The woman shook her head, but said nothing. Ylva looked one by one, to all of the faces around the camp. The crying had ceased. It was almost peaceful, until it struck her how numb they all looked. Numb… numb. She felt something pull at her heart strings. It was as though Gaia was pleased she had figured it out and was willing to give her reassurance on the matter. This must be it, the healing was not complete, and would not be for a long time, but she could help start that process. They were all doing as she had done, shutting down to avoid feeling it, processing it.

The feeling in her heart growing stronger, she spoke up, “You have all been through something so terrible. And for that I am so sorry for your losses. I am here as a Daughter of Gaia to help heal your spirits, and to help guide those of the lost on. Would anyone like to share stories or words for their fallen? Things that they’d like Gaia and the Great Wolf to know as they start their journies to him?”

The silence was thick, and held for a long time.  So much so, that she was afraid no one would say anything. Until finally a voice cut the silence- 

“My dad”, a young man said. “I’d like the Wolf to know… that he was an asshole. But he was my asshole. And still a good man. I loved him”, he choked out through a final sob. Ylva reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “They will know,” she said.

“My sister”,  another voice rose up, a young man she recognized from in her healing tent. He had been apologizing to the others that he wasn’t able to save their loved ones. All the while, he had lost someone too.

“She was out tilling the fields when the raid started. I was too far away, I couldn’t get to her in time, but I saw everything”, his words choked off by a sob. The young man who shared about his father reached out, encouraging him, “What would you want Gaia and the Great Wolf To know of her?”

He pondered for a moment, before giving a small smile and letting out the tiniest breath of a chuckle, “She made the best mead in the village. She was always so proud of her craft” the others around the fire also gave small laughs and nods of agreement. “Skol,” someone called out.

Ylva walked over to another young girl, and recognized her as the person who lost the contents of her stomach in the yurt. “How is your stomach? Settled?” Ylva Asked. A simple “Yes.” The only response.

“Do you have words for anyone?” Ylva urged her. 

“My mom”, she said, and then caught a sharp breath. “She did everything for us… she was the type of woman who put everyone before herself. Even when her health failed.”

Ylva squeezed her shoulder. “I have a strong belief that those are the Ulven Gaia takes into her arms and walks directly to her mate herself. She no longer feels the pain of her failing health. She walks with Gaia”

The woman nodded and gave a small smile, tears rolling down her cheek. 

As she continued on, Ylva felt a motherly presence hover over her shoulder. Could this be the girl’s mother? Perhaps Gaia. Either way, she took it as a sign that this was where she was meant to be in this moment.

Hersir Kerrith Stormjarl pulled her aside. “I want to thank you, Lifemender, for tending to not only our warriors, but these villagers too. I do not claim to understand the intricacies of Gaia and the work of the Daughters, but I have a deep appreciation for what you do. You and the rest of the Einherjar bring honor to yourselves and our Clan at large”

“I appreciate your kind words, Hersir. The Einherjar will always come to Stormjarl’s aid and help in any way that we can,” Ylva responded. They clasped arms in acknowledgement of each other before he carried on, and Ylva came to sit next to another woman at the fire. She hadn’t seen her earlier, and wasn’t sure where she came from. If she had been in Thurgenfell. So she did not prod her. 

Stories and memories of the fallen continued to be shared around the fire, the mood lifting ever so slightly as conversation continued and people unburdened themselves. Ylva let out a sigh of relief and took in a large breath to settle herself once again, contented to watch the fire and listen for things to pray to Gaia for the people present.

The woman next to her cleared her throat and spoke, “That was very kind of you… to help everyone through their grief”.

Ylva gave her a slight smile, “It is my duty as a Daughter. I cannot possibly imagine what they all feel in this moment, but I know of loss. I, too grieve in my own way”

Suddenly it felt like the conversation around the fire died out.

“Did you also come from Thurgenfell?” The woman asked.

Ylva became uncomfortable. “No, I am here as part of the Einherjar… this day was not my tragedy. Mine has been a month ago already. It is not for me to grieve openly now. This is your space,” she said. 

The woman stared at Ylva, seemingly perplexed. “We are all part of the same war,” she said, sternly. “No one person’s grief is any more important than any other’s. Please. Share your story with us, so that your own burdens may lift too”

Ylva thought for a moment, about how easy it would be to shove it all back down. To tell them all she was fine and let herself be numb again. And she now realized, sitting there with all of them, she would need to let herself feel all of it if she was going to survive.

With this realization, she felt an embrace wrap around her shoulders. She thought it may be a friend, but when she looked, no arms were there. Another urging from Gaia. “I see her now, in them,” she thought. 

“I was at the moot.” She started, softly. The quiet from those around her felt deafening, “We were betrayed and trapped, and my mate went into a rage to try and buy us time”, she felt the words pouring out now, “We saw them take him, I know he is alive, I can feel it. Even now, I find myself watching down every road, as if he is about to walk up it at any moment and fall into my arms… I know it may seem ridiculous, but I’ve been carrying a clean set of his clothing with me… for when we find him. But I don’t know what has become of him.”

“That’s the hardest part”, the Woman said, placing her hand on Ylva’s knee, “The unknown. It can consume us and leave us feeling empty… I don’t know what has become of my family either. I was out collecting supplies when I saw smoke and I fled on my own once I realized it wasn’t just a fire, but a raid.”

Ylva blinked, realizing she had yet to ask this woman for any words on her family and she had indeed been from Thurgenfell.

“I’m so sorry. I truly hope for you that they made it out. Are there any words or prayers for them that you would like lifted to Gaia?” Ylva asked.

The woman seemed to think on it for a long moment before responding, “No… that’s very kind of you. I may need the words some day, but until then, I will hold onto hope that they are alive. It is the same reason you carry a set of clothing for your mate. Hope,” she said, squeezing her knee reassuringly. And although the conversation was so heavy, they smiled at each taking comfort in knowing neither of them were alone.

An older man came to join the fire, and Ylva got up to relinquish her seat to him, instead finding a place in the drier dirt, close to the fire. The warmth felt so good, she hadn’t realized how cold she had been. The heat, once again making her feel as though she was in a phantom embrace. “Well done, my Child”, she thought she heard through the crackling logs.

She felt a presence beside her, and even though she expected this may be Gaia once more, she turned to look anyway. To her surprise, it was the Thurgenfell woman she had healed earlier, the one who had been so brave to face what happened to her, now making herself comfortable on the ground next to her.

“Thank you, for what you’ve done today. You saved people in more ways than one” she said, taking Ylva’s hand again and meeting her gaze. “I truly hope that you find your mate and he is well” she said in earnest, squeezing Ylva’s hand.

Ylva squeezed the woman’s hand in return, “Thank you-  I… I realize I never asked your name”

“Anje Siltmaw”, she replied.

“Thank you, Anje. I think you saved me today too.” Ylva replied, feeling introspective.

The two held their embrace by the fire for some time, comforting each other through  silent tears. As they sat, Ylva thought through everything that had happened, lest she forget the important lessons learned this day. Anje had wanted to remember everything… and now, Ylva did too.

A COLD DISH

Fall 271

“Are you sure you don’t want semi-permanent ink?” asked the tattoo artist.

“This one is sure. It will need to last a long time, as this one has much work to do.”

Through a swollen eye from a recent beating, Nairesh looked at the crumpled parchment in his hand as the artist’s needle began to poke the magically infused ink onto his skin. He winced in pain, not only from the artist’s needle but also from the numerous wounds sustained in battle against the City-State task force sent to detain Celestial Arragones that had not yet healed. The fact that he was alive at all was a small miracle. After the fines were paid for the charges levied against him for “obstructing justice” and “intending harm on City-State citizens” and the promised community service in exchange for clemency, the coin handed over to the tattoo artist was literally the last that he had.

Nairesh focused on the words on the list of the first page.

Vaels of the Broken Blade Company…

Celestine Neidre…

Harkov of the Order of Starkhaven…

Ozric of the Ravens…

There were other names on the list, along with notes and descriptions of some of the groups involved during the attack on Celestial Arragones’ estate, but these names stood out more than the others at this time. Nairesh painfully remembered being bound, knocked unconscious several times, and being berated and belittled. Of how Nairesh, so sure of his imminent death in the moment, gave in fully to the emotion and the anger of the moment. Years of practice to not allow emotions to rule him utterly evaporated in seconds as he bled from multiple wounds in the dirt. The pain and sorrow of casting his life’s work into the fire in an act of defiance while watching his friends and fellow scholars bleeding and wounded or laying cold and dead from the City-State’s assault. But Nairesh did not feel one particular emotion; there was no regret for his part in destroying these invaluable things with fire. He was bitter and glad to play his part in the Celestial’s show of defiance; of denying the aggressors what they so desperately wanted that day. They brought their banners and marched on the Celestial’s holdings but the prize they sought was reduced to nothing more than ash.

The beginnings of a solid line from brow to chin sanctifying the Rahd Noc, the Syndar mark of vengeance to those wronged, had officially begun. Vision blurred through emotional anger and the pain of the tattooing, Nairesh squinted and stared at three names in particular, burning them into his mind in this moment as permanently as the tattoo needle set the ink into his flesh.

Researcher Martha…

Noemi…

Zeke Ravana…

END

Fall, 268

After the Ulven treaty was finished, with his mate Fritha Stormjarl being instrumental in getting some sort of peace established between Clan Stormjarl and Clan Grimward, Thrand took some time to travel home.

The lands that his birth-family had lived on near the coast was in a territory that was conquered and then controlled by Clan Grimward for a long time. He suspected his family had been captured and taken as thralls to Grimward, expected to work the fields and tend to the settlement of the conquerors. With the treaty, Clan Stormjarl thralls were to be released back to their Clan should they wish to be. Fritha had been busy overseeing Stormjarl representatives making sure that all kept thralls were given the chance to return home and were not forced to stay under coercion or duress. While the treaty officially released all Stormjarl captives that wished to leave, it officially yielded the disputed Stormjarl territory known as “Haygreth’s Scar” to become Clan Grimward lands.

It was a painful journey; the remnants of settlements yet to be rebuilt from the conquest of Clan Grimward during the Ulven Civil War were visible along the way. Yet life carries on; with new settlements being built and considerable defensive positions being established on the Stormjarl-Grimward border.

It had been years since he had seen them, since he was honor-bound to be sent to Pack Longfang for service at Onsallas Outpost far north near the Dirge Swamp. Thrand arrived at the village and went to work finding his birth-family in an attempt to reconnect with them and tell them of his journeys, his stories of expeditions in the swamp, of standing against Clan Grimward, of conquering new lands for the Stormjarl people on the Stormborn Coast. He had many stories to share.

One story in particular was very recent and involved the treaty.

——–

“You can’t afford this fight.” says Thrand Stormjarl to Haygreth Grimward, Clanleader of Clan Grimward.

Taken aback, the Clanleader focuses in and gives his full attention to the Ulven before him. His recent comments were haughty; depicting Grimward as superior and that Stormjarl was “lucky” for this outcome.

“You really think we wouldn’t win if this fight continues?” says Haygreth in an inquisitive and condescending tone. His interest was peaked that someone would dare speak up to him like this.

“I didn’t say we would win. I said you can’t afford this fight” repeats Thrand confidently, before continuing.

“Your Clan may be larger and have more warriors, supplies, and land, but a fight to the end with my Clan would be the end of yours. You can’t conquer our people, you can barely hold what you’ve already taken, and Clan Stormjarl’s tenacity would cost you so dearly that you would be no match for any other Clan in the future and you would never recover. You would kill the cornered wolf… and then die from losing too much blood.”

Haygreth takes in these words for a moment, locking eyes with Thrand and sizing him up.

“Then I guess it’s for the best of both our Clans that we came to an agreement and a treaty this day” finally says the Clanleader deliberately.

“I guess it is then, for the best, so both our Clans have a chance at a future” replies Thrand before he turns and walks away.

———

“You should have seen the look on his face, father. I think he was at a loss for words that someone would question him and say something like that. Luckily, he didn’t notice how terrified I was!” laughs Thrand.

“Mother, you always taught me to look for the good in others and give them a chance. Some of my experiences have made that difficult. Ulven fighting Ulven, Colonists overstepping their bounds… it makes the world a complex place. But I promise I will try.”

“And Brother, I fondly remember the times we spent running the woods and learning to shoot bow and arrow and run along the grasslands watching the ships sail by the coastline. Who would have ever thought I would run with Pack Longfang, let alone train their warriors for battle.”

Thrand reaches out and touches the stone with reverence. On it, contain the carved names of over two dozen Clan Stormjarl Ulven. The large stone, and the smaller ones around it, is a small memorial honoring those that died in defense of the settlement during the Clan Grimward invasion. The memorial was all that was left of the village, the decaying lumber of burned buildings peeking through the overgrown grass.

“I will remember you all, of your bravery in defending our Clan’s home and the lessons you all taught me” says Thrand as he removes his hand from the memorial stone and turns to look North.

In the distance, barely visible, are the border flags marking the territory between Clan Stormjarl and Clan Grimward, the lands beyond now known as Haygreth’s Scar.

“Honor demands retribution.” says Thrand deliberately as he turns and walks away, heading South further into Clan Stormjarl lands.

END

After watching the mace fell the proud Branthur Nightriver, leader of Clan Nightriver, the feeling of rage, betrayal, shock and fear rose amongst the assembly… I, among them. Apparently I was unable to hide my anger as the New Aldorian representative felt the need to remind me not to make the first strike, to stand down and only defend myself if necessary. The fool… I knew what needed to be done, I knew what it would look like if a human struck first but of course with tension already high I bit my tongue.

The grimward taunted us, offering a chance to surrender or death and while no one knew what would happen if we did surrender everyone had a feeling it wouldn’t end well if you were a colonist… Thankfully no one tested that theory though there were a few that looked tempted to save themselves and as time slowly passed a glimmer of hope was discreetly passed around, a note informing us that Branthur’s Warpack was moving to the settlement. A choice was made within mere moments of receiving this news, we needed to buy time and wait for the warpack to strike to make our escape. Bryech went around seeing who would stay behind to hold the grimward back as those who could not fight fled. I chose to stay behind and stand with the few others that made such choices as well, though as I looked back at those who CHOSE not to… Able bodied, armed, some even armored or capable of using magic.

Self proclaimed Guardians…

Supposed do-gooders Golden Hand…

And many more faces though unrecognizable to me, hiding behind the few brave enough to stay behind.

Pathetic… Cowards all of them!

I will remember their faces, and the faces of those who stood with me as the horns blew and Grimward attacked. Seymour and Voltaire of the Blades of Sol, Vaels of the Broken Blades and the Bryech and Toralf of clan Stormjarl. As soon as the Grimward attacked everything happened so quickly, we had to fall back but we made sure to make them struggle for every inch. Slowly losing people as the fight drew on… First it was Voltaire needing to retreat, then Vaels, Seymour… Then me at the very frequent command of Runeseer Aslaug.

As I turned to retreat I overheard the rage filled battlecries of Toralf ring out. I’ve heard these sort of battlecries before… Usually right before the person flies into a rage to stave off death just long enough to take others out with them. Cursing the Runeseer under my breath I continued my retreat, eventually meeting up with the retreating assembly and was immediately questioned by the ulven accompanying Vaels “Where’s Vaels?”

“What do you mean? He should have arrived before me.” I scanned the group and he was nowhere to be found, and as quickly as I caught up to the group I left to search for Vaels only to come within eyeshot of him being finished off by a Grimward Warrior, the same one who taunted us… Once again I returned to the assembly, unable to face the ulven’s question I prepared myself to face the attackers once more as they drew closer. Taking another look at the cowards who chose not to fight, curse them… If we had more willing to stand and fight no one would have had to die!

As the final clash happened and the remaining assembly fled, I found myself squaring off with the one who announced the coming of the stonetooth. If it was any other situation I would have thrown myself at her in an effort to cut her down but my primary goal was to hold and buy time so I just held and made sure to keep her spear at bay until finally it was my time to flee.

I left that battle angry… I am still angry as I carve my way to Clan Stormjarl now in hopes of offering aid.

Pack Ironhide

Clan: None (Formerly Ironmound)

Estimated Size: Small (200-300)

Insignia: Grey wolf head.

Pack Leader: Drakkon Ironhide

High Priestess: Stáli Ironhide

Pack Ironhide lies beyond what is now known as the Shield of Mardrun along the Seafang Cliffs. They’re a smaller clanless pack but it wasn’t always like this. Long ago they were part of Clan Ironnmound, this bond was forged on mutual respect of their craft but over time that bond would deteriorate due to differing beliefs. While Ironmound beliefs lean more heavily towards the Great Wolf, Ironhide views Iron and Stone as gifts from Gaia therefore leaning more heavily towards Gaia herself which led to the pack having more Daughters of Gaia.

This difference in beliefs led to a rift forming between the leaders and eventually causing pack Ironhide to go their own way. It took much convincing of the pack, but eventually they all would agree to risk the dangers and go beyond where most clanless dwell for a place they could call their own. The Leader at the time, Halldór Ironhide would lead them to the mountain range known as the Seafang Cliffs where they would begin to settle, but the journey was not without loss. Many of the pack did not make it to the mountains, frequent skirmishes with Mordok would dwindle their numbers down but within these losses there was a lesson to be learned.

With the loss of his kin weighing on his mind Halldór would adopt the custom of using metal armor from their old clan Ironnmound. At first the idea unsettled many due to the rift that formed between the pack and the clan but to justify this the phrase “We arm ourselves with the strength of Gaia, we protect ourselves with her gift” would be born. Now with the strength of metal protecting them they would begin to hold their own. With time the pack would establish a village fortified with iron and stone. As months turned into years, Pack Ironhide became more stable, confident even.

Eventually warriors wishing to prove themselves to achieve a higher status within the pack would head towards the outskirts of the Dirge Swamp; those who returned often brought trophies to prove their conquest. Wishing to keep their borders safe Halldór would implement the Trial of Iron pushing warriors old and young to go out, slay Mordok and bring back proof of their kills.

With the land secured the Ironhide would focus their efforts on producing a safe trade route along the western coast to the south packs/clans and reestablishing connections while remaining vigilant as the world around them is always changing.

Timeline Events and the Pack

• Year 160: Split from Clan Ironmound and made their way north to form a new village known as Járnúlfur.
• Year 165: Trade route to the south is finished
• Year 170: Halldór succeeded by his eldest son, Sigurður, as the new Pack Leader only to pass in his sleep a few years later.
• Year 220: News of what happened to Pack Blackwing spreads to the Ironhide. In response scouts are sent to bring in any survivors and to recover any bodies found so they may be put to the pyre properly.
• Year 245: Sigurður is succeeded by his only son Drakkon as the new Pack Leader.
• Year 250: News of the colonists first landing was slow to reach the pack but this did not stop them from sending warriors to defend their home from the humans and syndar. With this said the moment a truce was made pack Ironhide respected it and returned to their home.
• Year 261: News of the civil war caused unrest within the pack though they refused to participate in the killing of their own kind they made their disgust which such acts known.
• Year 264: Pack Ironhide would send supplies to the Shield of Mardrun in hopes to help rebuild and make their support known to the Longfang.
• Year 267: The Mordok would put the Ironhide on the defensive, their losses forcing them to focus more on defending their home.

Rumors revolving around the pack

• Their eyes reflect their craft, a steely gray.
• Their daughters are also skilled in blacksmithing, blessing the armor itself.
• Their daughters use the Mordok trophies the warriors bring back in the making of their metal gear giving it a darker finish.
• The more heavily armored an Ironhide is, the higher their kill count.
• Those who still carry trophies of Mordok claim they’re from an alpha or a shaman.
• The current High Priestess and mate of the Pack Leader is said to be a Bloodfang, one of the last few survivors of the civil war though she did not participate like the rest of the Ironhide pack.