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Faolan’s Journals

Faolan’s Journal Entries
Written by Jimmie McCann


Faolan’s Journal – Entry 37
Lately we’ve found ourselves traveling with this collection of humans and ulven that came
across us on their way into Whiteoak territory to raid some of the weaker outposts for supplies before winter hits full force. At first we were just glad for the company since we had been on the road by ourselves for so long, but had little interest in participating in their raids. We didn’t feel that the ulven clans that were against the colonists, needed any more reasons to want the colonists gone.
Discussions around the nightly fires allowed us to get updated on what had been happening between the clans, and what we learned was more disturbing than previous news we had heard. We were also offered a safe haven at the outpost this group had originated from, and at the home of part of this group that call themselves Rangers of Crow’s Landing. With the increasing tensions between the ulven and the colonists, and between the clans on opposite sides of the issue, we realized how valuable a single safe haven could be, let alone two.
The one who appears to be the leader of the Rangers also showed a great interest in the Arcane, but lacked some of the skill necessary to harness its power. He has a book with a wealth of information about the Arcane that I am eager to get a closer look at.

At last, the raiding party finally came to the edge of Whiteoak territory, and we had to make a decision on whether or not to join them. Now, on the eve of our first raid I can only hope that Sapphira and I made the correct choice and we will come out the other side of this better off.


Faolan’s Journal – Entry 41
WE MADE IT, just barely. With the help of a group of humans from the raiding party that call themselves the Brotherhood of the Long Winter we managed to escape Whiteoak territory with more than just our lives.
Once we were finally out, we decided to go our own way for a bit. We had some decisions to
make. Do we want to throw our lot in with the coalition? Would we really have a choice in the end? How much longer would we be able to survive on our own with so many ulven siding against the colonist? We knew that we would need a place to weather the coming storm to have any chance of surviving. I must also admit that curiosity influenced my decision. I want to know all of what Crow’s Landing, the Rangers, and Tobias have to offer. Then, there is the odd character that popped into existence just outside the raiding camp while we were in Whiteoak territory. According to his own story, he recalled from Faedrun, seventy years ago. If he is to be believed, if one could survive seventy years in the mana stream, he could have some of the answers I have been seeking. If he does not have
my answers, he has at least shown to have some abilities that I think would be useful to learn. He also seems almost too eager to obtain students to teach. Last I saw, he was on his way to Crow’s Landing with Tobias and the Rangers. Regardless of my curiosity, we needed a place to get off the road for a while and Crow’s Landing would get us a little bit further away from Whiteoak.
With that, we are setting out for Crow’s Landing


Faolan’s Journal – Entry 43
About a day out from Crow’s Landing we caught up with the Rangers and our odd friend from the past on their way to the village. The rumors of the road were that bandits were closing in, looking for easy scores. Tobias offered us a bit of coin to help secure the road to Crow’s Landing. We quickly found out the rumors of bandits were indeed true, but we were successful in sending them on their way. The wiser ones went to their next target, the rest were sent to whatever awaits in the great beyond. This also offered an opportunity to learn more about this odd mage, Vazra, and his intentions, and study his skills. If nothing else, fighting beside him showed me that I would not want to fight against him, but our conversations also revealed that he may be someone we can trust… tentatively.
I have heard Tobias and Vazra discussing, at length, building a mage’s college in Crow’s Landing. It would seem that the college would be part of a payment for teaching Tobias with the rest of the payment being ‘supplying” students for the college. Sapphira and I also took Vazra up on an offer for a place in this college as Archons. With Sapphira’s alchemy, we might have just found a place where our usefulness won’t run out anytime soon.
For now, we are alive, off the road, and in Crow’s Landing waiting to see what Tobias and the Rangers have in store for us, and what Vazra has planned with us. With Sapphira able to do some harvesting, and now having a chance to replenish her stocks I feel that we are on a good path so far.

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Salguod’s Journals

Journal of Salguod
Written by Mason Rower


Day 26 of October

A month ago I went to see my foster parents. My foster mother Arianna told me of a dream that she felt came from her deity, the moon goddess Lunara. She told me that she saw a wolf and an icicle, near a building with a shield on the ground by the door. The shield had an emblem of a moon and star. I may have an idea of where that may lead because that emblem is the emblem of pack Stargazer from clan Spiritclaw, as Selena has told me in the past. I need to find where this information leads, but I must hold off and figure out what is going on with this war for I have told Stanrick that I will join him in the raids against the Whiteoak. He knows that I am in search of my people. It’s as good of a place to start. Whiteoak, here I come.


Day 3 of January

It has been many months since I have written of my exploits. Today I have finally brought forth the fruition of plans I have been meaning to attend to. My plans for finally bringing my pack back together as one since those many years ago, the fall. I thought my pack was truly gone until the day I came across Heather Icewolf. I had just about given up hope that any of my people were alive. Now I know that they are alive. The time has come that my people be brought together. I have talked with Pack Chieftain Stanrick and his mate, former truth seeker Selena about my plight and they were accepting. They are both great friends to have. My only regret is that I will have to leave the Vandregon and go my own way. William has been a great friend to me these past years and I will be grateful for his friendship and guidance. He is one of the only humans I will ever truly trust.

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Saphira’s Journals

Personal Journal Entries for Saphira
Written by Melanie Houghton

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Whiteoak Territories – November
It was a treacherous trek that Faolan and I got ourselves into, but after all of my supplies had been looted; I needed some time to think. How was I going to rebuild the inventory that I received from my family before they were murdered? Other than their memory, that’s all I had left of them. Our new goal was to somehow replace all that was lost. We were invited to come along with a caravan of raiders who were headed to Whiteoak territory. These were the same Whiteoaks who had raided my supplies. I was all in. I wanted to know if this caravan of travelers had the audacity to raid the Whiteoak camps. After waiting by their winter’s warm fire, I was able to have peace of mind knowing that Faolan would be more than willing to fight in my honor. He was not able to retrieve any of my supplies but he did give them a piece of his mind. I sat and watched him when he returned from the first raid. He meditated a great while. The snow fell upon him as if he were a statue made of stone. Unscathed, Faolan was more interested in Vazra. A mage who apparently recalled through time itself and appeared in the woods just before we set up camp. He was mindless as he tried to tell the warriors of his travels. He was definitely out of it. I suspect his symptoms to be the after effects of his landing. This Vazra reminds me a little of my people from Nara Pentare. I am not certain how yet, but I am sure I’ll figure it out eventually. After a long long while, the second raiding party had returned. We began packing up to leave enemy territories when the WhiteOak sent an attack. Faolan and I had diverted the attack but were soon met at the borders of our allies by another group of them. Luckily we brought some of the caravan travelers with us. Sometimes not being a combative person has its worries, but I had the protection of others


Crowslanding – December
The winter is mild, but with a lacking of supplies, it has been less than easy bartering for other supplies we need. Luckily, Faolan and I decided to take refuge with the caravan and we are traveling back to their outpost with them. It has been hard trusting people after the murder of my family so the trip has not been so pleasant. I only just recently started trusting Vazra. I can’t pinpoint exactly yet, but he reminds me of home. I have also started trusting some of the Rangers. The Rangers are, or were part of the Whiteoak raids. We are traveling to Crow’s Landing. Crow’s Landing is where the Rangers call home. Traveling with strangers is not easy especially when you have no room in your heart for newcomers. I am in a constant state of feeling alone. The only one I have known is Faolan. With minimal supplies, I am fearful we will not survive winter. Luckily, I was able to pick up some harvesting tools. I have slowly started to replenish my stores. On our way to Crow’s Landing, Faolan and I started to get to know Vazra a little better. I still am having trouble figuring out why he reminds me of home. Maybe I have been away from my people for far too long. I am getting home sick. Hopefully I can hide it from Faolan. He has been so great! I feel like he would be mad if I spoke of back home especially after we have gotten this far. I will keep my secrets to myself. Hopefully I will have supplies enough to make potions. Potions, which could keep me from the remembrance of home. I know the only thing I would remember is how they all died. (crying) I can recall my father’s blood spraying my adrenaline kissed face. I grabbed my mother and ran for the forest but we were separated and she was caught. Headless, she lay in the town center. After all had settled and the enemy had left, I snuck back into town to gather my now stolen supplies and I fled for new land. Now I am with people I can’t fathom trusting. What am I to do? My bartering skills are less than fruitful without anything to offer. Bartering is how I got away from home. It is how I got this far. As we are getting closer to Crow’s Landing, my comfort levels are increasing. Everyone seems to know that I am not one for combat and so I need the others protection if we are faced with war. This helps my nerves. I am so grateful for their protection. However, it seems almost as if this people that we travel with ask for the wars. I have seen more combat with them than I have traveling on my own. It makes me wonder if Faolan and I were raided because the Whiteoak knew that their enemies were in the territory. We just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. I am also frustrated that after raiding their lands, my supplies were not found and returned. Maybe the Whiteoak had already rid themselves of them. I’m sure Faolan was looking for them when he went in to help the Raiders. But, I am strong. I know my way around deceit and I will do what’s necessary to survive. We are closer to Crow’s Landing. I can feel danger on the back of my neck. I hope there is enough help for what’s ahead.


Trusting:
“Faolan, what are we doing with these people? I am having a hard time trying to trust them. What if my supplies were found in the raid? I find it hard to believe they were not there. At least some of them had to be there.”
“You ask me so late whether or not we found anything? You know I’ve looked. I didn’t find anything. I do believe that these people have not taken things for themselves. I know your trust levels are scarce, but trying is all we can do. They have offered us refuge; do you think they would offer it to us if they weren’t?
“Just because they offered us safety does not mean they are friends with us. I am grateful for the refuge but I still am quite concerned that these people are foes. Where is your concern? We have traveled thus far without the support; can’t we just try to travel on our own and find ways to replenish my supplies?”
“No, the winter is going to be hard to handle on our own without your supply. Just wait this out with me and I promise we will come out on top.”

Though Faolan thinks we will come out on top, I still believe we have to watch out. We have arrived at Crow’s Landing and the Rangers are setting up camp trying to figure out what has been going on in their land. Apparently, bandits are attacking and have been trying to subdue the rangers in order to obtain some fear and supplies. Or at least that is what I understand. Faolan and I have joined Vazra to get the mages together. I am not a mage but Faolan is and he is my protection. It is hard to understand why but I still think Vazra has some characteristics of home. I am studying him to figure it out. As for now, I am looking for reagents in the surrounding areas. I need to rebuild what I have lost. There are guards at the trail entrances so I feel somewhat protected but I still feel danger lurking. It’s not deniable to feel war is upon us when we have chosen raiders to follow. There are some strange people who entered the area. They are perceived to be merchants, but people lie about who they are all the time.
After some time had gone by, the Rangers and their syndar company had been poisoned by food that the merchants passed out. Luckily I am still having hard times trusting and I convinced Faolan not to eat any. The rangers pretty much paid to be poisoned. I knew there was something untrustworthy of those folk when they hid in the trees after entering the camp. I was scared about what was to come next. I knew that not after too long there would be other bandits to take advantage of the poisoned folk. I hid behind the Brotherhood who had also been travel companions for the caravan to Crow’s Landing. After the fight was through things seemed to have calmed down. Not too long after, we started travel out of Crow’s Landing.
“Faolan, what’s next? Are you sure we are with safe travelers? ”


Giving Thanks:
I am still untrusting of some, but as we travel together, I am finding it less difficult. Have we found a place to call home? I am hoping that we will have somewhere to lay our heads while I replenish my supplies. Maybe make some silver.
“Faolan, are we going to honor the winter? I need to pray for the nature I have gathered and will gathered so that maybe we will have great luck in finding more when the cold finally retreats and life begins to bloom again.”
“We will, in good time.”
After setting up my ritual, I begin to honor the winter solstice. I am giving my thanks for all that was given. We had set up some way away from the others, but I could still hear them in the distance around their winter fire, drinking to stay warm. The cold has really started to take a strong hold on the lands. I sit and listen to the surroundings, meditate in the glory of nature. It’s calming to know that I can rely on it for survival. I feel as long as I praise and thank for what I take, it will continue to provide. Our journey onward will begin again at dawn. I will be ready to take on a new year.
“Faolan, I think that we have found a people to travel with. I know I had my doubts before, but I feel as though we have safety while we stay and for that, I am happy. Thank you for trusting, we will be okay here with these people.”
“I told you we would make it. All the wars we have seen and we continue to come out unscathed. That’s because they fight to protect what and who is with them.”

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Cousins and Sisters

In a dream, she sees the coast of Stormjarl, the surf rolling onto the beach. The day is sunny, the sky is almost as blue as the water. In the far distance you can’t tell where the sky and water meet. Fritha and Elise are playing in the sand, as close cousins are wont to do. Their mothers are sisters, Elise two full seasons older than Fritha. Neither of the young girls had another to call sister – they fulfilled that role for each other. Fritha’s brothers were being a bother to her and Elise. Teasing them with limp, slimy seaweed, threatening to put it in their hair or to throw sand at them. So the girls found a way to slip away from them unnoticed.

They found a small cave along the cliffs; more of a shelf a few feet off the ground. In the back of the cave, Elise found some pretty shells – they were smooth and speckled. The girls played there for hours, wishing that it would never end.

“Come home with me and be my sister forever.”

“I don’t think my mother would let me. But wouldn’t it be fun!?”

“I’ve always wanted a sister, why can’t you be my sister?”

“Then let’s swear to it, be my sister. We can swear on these shells.”

They placed the shells on the sand, drew a heart in the sand around them, clasped hands and swore to be sisters to each other. Even though they weren’t sisters in blood, they were sisters in heart.

Fritha awakens from her dream and thinks of the time after that: the blood, the fighting, the fire, and how Grimward attacked her home town. Fritha’s breathing quickens, her skin breaks out in a sweat. She thinks of the Longfangs giving their lives to protect Elise, Elsah, and all of the other members of her Stormjarl family. Running away, trying to get everyone out alive. Now Elise and Elsah are safe with her in the Longfangs outpost. But is the rest of her family safe? Where are the rest of her Stormjarl brethren? She doesn’t know . . . but someday, she intends to find out.

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On The Curious Ulven Game of War

The Curious Ulven ”Krigspel” or ”Game of Battle”
A Rules Folio by Fentiman Thatcher of New Hope
Commissioned by Duke Joakim Ventrini

Foreward
Honored Duke,
I was quite pleased when you requested that I record and codify the rules to this curious Ulven game. Your patronage, as always, is greatly appreciated in these troubling times, and I will see that your love of the Ulven and their culture is spread throughout the Colonies.

To the more casual reader,
While I still mourn the loss of our beloved homeland, this new world has much to offer. From hardship comes perseverance, and I hope that you might find strength in our neighbors, the Ulven people. While we have many differences, it is said that the love of games is something that unites all people, and so I would present to you – in the spirit of jolly co-operation – this document, containing the rules to a uniquely Ulven game, referred to as “Krigspel” by their people.

Much of my research came from my travels to Clan Goldenfield, who possess a keen love of this game in their leisure-time. I was assisted in learning the rules by an older, rather learned Ulven – in exchange for several texts and a promise of anonymity, he helped me to understand the rules of the game. I understand and respect his desire for privacy – while we have excellent relations with many of our new Ulven neighbors, the recent war amongst the Ulven seems to be concerned with our presence here, and his apparently higher social status may suffer should his work with me be discovered. I should hope that engaging in mutual sport will assist in the building of good relationships amongst our peoples – I know my helper has commented quite highly on Sir Nevan’s Brother, a recently-scribed play from our time here, and if the older Ulven are interested in our art, then perhaps it is time that more exchanges occur.

The History of the Game
My guide to Ulven culture explained the game as growing out of a need to train warriors at a younger age, as well as provide an outlet for friendly competition amongst the various hunters and warriors in the various Packs and Clans. Its rules, while simple, seem to foster tactical thinking and co-operation amongst the players.

According to my theories, the game may have sprung up from ritualized re-enactments of battles against their hated foes, the Mordok. The ball, which is oftentimes called “huvuðinn”, or ”the head”, may have once been a severed head, and the violence of the sport may have once been played out with actual sharpened blades.

My companion assured me quite harshly that there is no evidence of this, but I would assume that he has little knowledge of the scholarship and research conducted on Faedrun – after all, the Ulven, despite all of their wonderous culture, still seem to struggle with the written word and prefer oral storytelling, a lower art form than that of the play or novel. It is no wonder that my host expressed such interest in the books and plays of my countrymen.

On The Players
A team is composed of nine players – two of whom are designated as “The Healers” and who do not enter play, except to retrieve the blades of fallen players on their team. Teams typically mark themselves in a distinct way – I have seen many methods to do so, such as scraps of coloured fabrics or pigments added to the face and hair.

There are always five players per team on the field – any more, and the team is penalized, typically by losing a point, although harsher actions may lead to players being ejected. Typically, however, it is performed in the spirit of leisure, rather than of fierce competition – even if the distinction is difficult to detect amongst our savage cousins.

Additionally, a score-keeper is required – typically a pair are appointed, one for each target, although this is not required.

On The Field
A “field” or “pitch” is a marked-off area, three poles in width and one-and-one-half chains in length. Along the edge is a narrow corridor, typically an ell in width, which only the Healers are allowed to enter during a game, as well as sites on both corners of a team’s side for the players held in reserve to enter the field. These corridors – two ells in width – are the only places players may be.

The boundaries are often marked off with pitch, chalk, or other temporary materials on grass. It is recommended that the field be fairly open, so that the players do not trip or injure themselves too badly. It is forbidden for anyone other than the players to enter the field during a game, and rowdy spectators may find themselves unceremoniously tossed out by the players.

On The Equipment
The game requires three major pieces of equipment – the blades, the targets, and the ball.

Beginning with the simplest, the ball is typically made of rags, wrapped together to form a ball roughly the size of a human head, with a long, trailing tail to allow the players to carry it. It cannot be cast or struck during a game, but instead is carried loosely in the off-hand of a player.

The targets are typically large barrels – one is placed on either end of the field, to serve as a basket for the ball.

The blades are “training weapons” – constructed of the hard woods native to Mardrun and balanced similarly to the Ulven’s typical blades. According to their rules, the weapon may be no longer than an ell in length – this is checked by laying all of a team’s blades across the Healer’s Boundary, and discarding any that pass over the lines. No effort seems to have been made to pad them, and as has been demonstrated, they are still quite capable of injuring someone should the players grow too enthusiastic.

Each team must provide five blades for their team, and be able to provide a replacement should one break during the normal play of the game. Physical contact is somewhat frequent, and I have observed more than one blade cracking under the stress imposed upon it.

On Play
The game begins with five players on each side, each lining up on the same edge as their target, with each player bearing one of their wooden blades. The ball is placed in the center, and the scorekeeper signals the start of that play.

The players then rush to the center, attempting to grab the ball and place it in their opponent’s target barrel. To complicate things, players may use their swords to strike their opponent – a player who is struck must kneel down immediately, holding their blade aloft to signal that they have been “killed”. They remain in position until a healer enters the field to retrieve their blade – once the healer leaves the field with their blade, they may return to their team’s reserve, at which point another player from their team may enter the field once they have been handed a blade by one of their team’s Healers.

Healers may also be struck while they are on the field – rather than kneeling on the pitch, they immediately exit the field and kneel on the Healer’s Path. They may only perform their duties after being tagged by their team’s other Healer.

A point is scored when a player, with their feet firmly planted, places the ball in their opponent’s target area. The score is noted, the players reset their positions, and the game continues. Any kneeling healers return to their duties.

Gameplay lasts for twenty minutes, consisting of two halves of ten minutes, and a brief break at the halfway point to switch ends for the teams.

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Games of the Old and New World

On the Games and Pass-Times of the Old and New World
As Commissioned by Dominet Martingale of Westhaven

All cultures tend to invent games and methods for leisure. These activities are also seen as an avenue for gambling, which is a passtime alternately praised and decried by the various faiths of Faedrun. Nevertheless, the peoples of Faedrun have a great number of games, many of which traveled with them to Mardrun when fleeing the advances of the Undead. Contained within this manuscript are the rules and play-methods for a number of passtimes, recorded so that their knowledge might be dispersed to a certain standard amongst innkeepers, gamblers, and others seeking methods of passing time.

As with all manuscripts of this sort, payment has been secured for several dozen copies to be made, both for public dissemination and the personal libraries of any who might wish to hold as complete a history of the games and pass-times of our own cultures, as well as those of the Syndar and our new Ulven neighbors.

Games Utilizing the Vandregonian Deck
Before entering into the longer documentations of rules, a brief history of the cards is necessary, so that the information might be preserved for future generations. The standard Vandregonian deck is an innovation that began with the noble class to provide entertainment during the times when they were not managing their estates, and soon found their way filtering down to the lower classes. The original decks were richly illustrated, oftentimes depicting the current nobility in the so-called ”Face” cards of the deck, as well as providing allegorical drawings for the now-common number cards. When they were imported to the lower classes, only the Face cards retained their illustrations, and the number cards adopted a much simpler pattern. These decks found widespread acceptance among the lower-class, especially when their skills allowed them to succeed at gambling.

The cards were soon exported all across Faedrun, even finding acceptance amongst the Syndar and other rival nations to Vandregon. As with all exported games, a number of games and rule variants sprung up – I have attempted to collect the most common variants available and standardized the various rulesets for those interested in playing.

Where there is gambling, one must also be aware of the cheating methods known to so-called ”Sharps”. Typically, the most common occurs in the marking of certain cards, and the innovation is often attributed to an Aldorian gambler who sought more ways to win – this is, in part, due to the Vandregonian belief that Aldorians are more apt to cheat at card games, which has little basis in my own experience.

Noble’s Estate
Originating in Vandregon, this is a game where players seek to empty their hand as quickly as possible, requiring between 4 to 10 players. A game designed around gambling, most of the rules require payment upon the playing of certain cards, as well as when one player empties their hand.

The game begins with the dealer shuffling and dealing five cards to each player. The player to the right of the dealer plays a card. Should any player have the next card in the sequence, they may play it – for example, if the first player lays down the six of clubs, another player must lay down the seven of clubs. If no one can play the next card, then the last player to put down a card may begin a new run by laying down another card.

Two cards are special in this game. When the Queen of Diamonds, called ”The Mistress of the Estate” is played, all other players must pay three coins to whoever played it. When the Jack of Clubs, called ”The Beggar”, is played, all other must pay two coins to whoever played it. Play ends when one player has no cards in their hand – all other players pay them a single coin for every card they have left in their hands. So, if there are five players, with two of them having one card left in their hand, and two having two cards, then the winning player would win a total of 6 coins.

Variants are possible, as well – some players prefer to pay into a pot and begin each game with twenty ”marker stones”, with play ending when one player runs out of marker stones, and the pot being divided according to the proportion of stones left, or all to the player with the most stones, depending on the gambling house.

Commander, Captain, and Company
A trick-taking game, Commander, Captain, and Company found its origins in Richtcrag, where gambling is a popular passtime amongst the various mercenaries and they favor trick-taking games over other types of card games. One of the earliest trick-taking games (and a direct ancestor of Tarock), play is relatively simple, and requires between four and ten players.

Before the start of the game, all players agree to a common ante – one coin is the most common, as each player pays their ante into three piles – the ”Commander” pile, the ”Captain” pile, and the ”Company” pile. Players are then each dealt five cards. Once all players are dealt their cards, the top card is turned over and set aside – this card determines the suit of the trump. Kings are high, aces are low.

Play procedes counter-clockwise from the dealer, with the player laying down a card to start a trick. Players must ”follow suit” – that is, lay a card down from the same suit. If a player cannot do so, but has a card from the trump suit, they may lay that down instead, with it counting of a higher value than the suit of the current trick – an ace of the trump suit is of higher value than the king of the current suit. If a player has no cards of the current suit and no trumps, they must simply lay down one of their other cards. Once all players have laid down a card, the player who laid the highest-value card takes the trick and begins the next. Once all five cards are played, the dealer deals each player five new cards, and play procedes in this fashion until each player cannot be dealt a new hand of five cards.

At this point, scoring ensues. The player who won the most tricks wins the ”Commander” pile. The player who won the King of the trump suit wins the ”Captain” suit. The player who has the highest-value three-of-a-kind amongst the tricks they have taken wins the ”Company” pile. Should no player fulfill the conditions to win any of the piles, then the pile carries through to the next hand, oftentimes with an added ante for the next round of play.

Íoclaochra
Yet another gambling game of Richtcrag, this is named for the richly-dressed mercenaries which seem endemic to the region. This is a simple gambling game, requiring a deck of cards and enough wages to lose on it. One of the traditions of the region is allowing for credit so as to prolong the length of the game.

One player acts as the dealer, who is required to cover all bets made over the course of the game. They set up an ante for the game, which all players must match if they wish to take part in the game. The dealer begins by dealing two face-up cards off to the side, known as the ”Hand” cards. The dealer then deals themself one card face-up, along with a face-up card to each player, known as their Réjoussance. If any of these cards are equal in value to either the Hand cards or the Dealer’s card, then the dealer wins that round, taking all bets and starting a new round of play. If they are not equal, however, the players may then place their antes on their cards and play procedes.

The dealer draws additional cards, one by one, and lays them out on the table. If a card matches a Hand card, it is laid next to the hand card – when both Hand cards are matched, all bets are returned, the deck is reshuffled, and play begins again. If a card matches one of the Réjoussance cards, then the dealer collects the bet on it, removes it from play, and leaves the matching card in play. If the card matches no other cards, then it is left in play, and players may place additional antes on it. If the card drawn matches the dealer’s card, then the dealer loses and matches all current bets by players on the field. In the event of the dealer losing, then all cards are collected, reshuffled, and then dealt for a new hand.

Should the banker wish, they may attempt to ”sell” the bank – proceding clockwise around the table, each other player may ante how much they are willing to pay for the right to be the bank. The player with the highest stated value pays the current dealer and becomes the new dealer, playing according to the above rules.

Play ends when the players agree to end the game after a round ends.

As one might guess, this is a game where large sums of money can change hands quite quickly – hence its popularity with Richtcrag mercenaries.

Whist
A Vandregonian trick-taking game, popular as a passtime amongst those who wish for a friendly game of cards without betting. It is suspected that it evolved from various Richtcrag trick-taking games, but is unusual in the nature by which it is played – rather than individuals competing against one another, play is divided into partnerships; a pair of players whose scores are combined. Unique among partnership games, discussion of the cards or of anything other than light conversational matters are forbidden, and the game is rarely gambled upon – from my research, it is apparent that this variant was developed to distance gambling from play with cards.

Whist is played with four players.The choice of partners begins before the game. It is either agreed upon by all parties, or, in cases where chance is required, by dealing one card face-up to each player. The two players with the lowest-value cards are partners, and have choice in where to seat themselves. Once partners are chosen, the game may begin.

To begin the game, the dealer shuffles the deck, which is then cut by whomever sits to the dealer’s right. The dealer then deals thirteen face-down cards to each player, and then deals a single additional card face-up. This is the suit of the trumps for that round of play. Play procedes as in typical trick taking games, starting to the dealer’s right, with the player who takes a trick starting the next one.

Once all the tricks have been taken, each partnership totals up their points. A partnership earns one point for each trick taken over six – therefore, a partnership that takes eight tricks earns three points.The game ends when a partnership earns 5 points, although it is possible for play to continue if both parties tie at 5 points, or if everyone agrees to play to a higher total.

In gambling variations, partners are typically determined via chance, and an equal wager is placed by each person involved. There are also numerous rules for specific methods to force the ante to increase, such as setting a contract – that is, the number of tricks your team will take in the coming round, or by handicapping one side – declaring that a partnership will reach seven points before the other reaches five is a common bet. Typically, all bets much be matched in these cases, although it is seen as extremely untoward to coerce a member of the Vandregonian upper-class into wagering on Whist.

Games Utilizing the Richtcrag Tarock Deck
A variant that evolved from the Vandregonian deck out of the Richtcrag’s love of cards and gambling, the Richtcrag Tarock deck is an extremely fascinating subject for scholars of games such as myself. These decks, seen as status symbols amongst the mercenaries and ”nobility” who fill the land, are always richly decorated, larger in size than a typical Vandregonian deck, and primarily utilized in complicated trick-taking games. It is believed to have found its origin in the Valinate region of Richtcrag, although no definitive ”first deck” exists to prove this theory. Due to the fractured status of the nation – as well as our own distance from it – it is unlikely that we will ever know the exact origins beyond my speculations.

Aside from being a play tool, much mysticism has been ascribed to the Richtcrag Tarock deck. The origins of the mysticism ascribed to it seems to have started via a pair of factors – first was the exportation of a number of Tarock decks to Vandregon, where they were used in various solitare-style games. These games later evolved into a form of fortune-telling, aided by the events of the war against the undead, which gives the second factor of their mystic description and interpretation – according to various reports by the Vandregonian 5th regiment, a masked undead creature apparently communicated by utilizing a deck of Tarock cards, which led to the belief that these cards possessed some mystical powers. The creature’s erratic behavior, as well as the ambiguous nature of the messages it left, led to attempts to add symbolic meaning to these cards. No evidence prior to this exists, and so claims of ‘ancient Syndar knowledge’ distilled into the cards should be greeted with skepticism, at best. It is this researcher’s opinion that the monster – which, by all descriptions, wore noble clothing consistent with a member of the Richtcrag nobility – was merely instructed to terrorize the members of the Regiment via remnants of its former life and utilized what it had onhand.

Typically, the Tarock deck is used in either complicated trick-taking games or solitare-style games. The trick-taking games are more common in Richtcrag and Vandregon, while solitare games – as well as quite a bit of fortune-telling – became quite common in the May’kar Dominion, where a number of richly-decorated decks found their origin. Few decks survived the trip over, and the somewhat more intensive art that tradition indicates has led to a shortage, which has likly added to their fabricated mystical origins.

Each of the trumps is numbered from 0-21, expressing its relative value as compared to the other trumps. In most games, three trumps are seen as special – the I, often called ”The Magician” is the weakest trump and is typically worth additional points in games due to the skill it takes to win a trick with it (and displaying the typical Richtcrag skepticism towards mystical might over the power of steel), and the XXI, known as ”The World” is also worth additional points. The 0-trump, called ”The Fool”, is also known as an Excuse – in most games, it can never win a trick, but instead excuses the player from participating in that trick, and when it is played, it is exchanged for a card of lesser value from the player’s already-won tricks.

Tarocco
The ”original” Richtcrag trick-taking game, and the version that informs all of the variants known by players today, it requires three to five players. Each player is dealt twelve cards, and then the deck is set aside for that round of play. The player to the right of the dealer starts the first trick, and players must attempt to follow suit.

If a player cannot follow suit, and they have one of the twenty-two trumps, they must ”Trump” the play. If a player cannot trump or follow suit, then they may slough a card, and cannot win that particular trick. If a player has no cards of the original suit, but does have at least two trumps, if a trump has been played, they must play a trump that beats the previous trump, called ”overtrumping”. However, here, an element of the Richtcrag honor asserts itself – if a player is found to have sloughed or under-trumped when they could have played a valid card and another player catches them, they forefeit all points they would have won for that hand.

The 0-trump acts as an excuse in this game, and at the end of the hand, all points are totalled. Rather than counting points for the number of tricks taken, points are determined by the cards held by the player in the tricks they have collected, with the following values:

  • I, XXI, and 0-trumps: 5 points
  • King – 5 points
  • Queen – 4 points
  • Knight – 3 points
  • Knave – 2 points
  • Suited Cards – ½ point

The winner, is, of course, the player with the most points at the end of a hand.

The game is typically gambled upon, with each player staking an ante before any cards are dealt, and the winner of a hand collecting all antes.

Jeu de Tarock
A Syndar variant of the above game, it is decidedly more complicated and confusing for newer players to this deck. It is played with between three to five players, although four players is seen as the norm for the game, and will be discussed in the play.

Players first draw to determine who will deal first – the highest card wins, with trumps beating suited cards, and the Fool discarded for a new draw. The dealer then shuffles the deck, which is then cut by the player on their left, before dealing out eighteen cards to each player in packets of three. Additionally, the dealer deals, one at a time, six cards into a pile known as ”The Dog” – one stipulation of the dealing is that two cards may not be dealt into the Dog in a row, nor may it receive the first or last card in the deal. Misdealing results in a penalty for the dealer – the hand is discarded and the deck reshuffled.

Upon drawing their hands, players must then bid on them, declaring a contract (both points and bid type) that they feel they can meet with that hand, starting to the Dealer’s right. Each subsquent player may then pass or bid higher – a player who has passed cannot re-join the bidding. The highest bid – as in, the final player to have a bid after all other players have passed – is then on the attack, and the other players form the defense, attempting to prevent them from meeting their contract.

The possible contracts (and their method of play) are, from lowest to highest:

  • Prise: The attacker takes the Dog, adds it to their hand, and discards 6 cards, which form the start of their scoring pile.
  • Garde: The attacker takes the Dog, adds it to their hand, and discards 6 cards, which form the start of their scoring pile. Kings or Trumps may not be discarded, unless their hand consists solely of trumps, in which case the I, XXI, and 0 trumps are the only ones which may not be discarded. It doubles the point value of a hand and (typically) doubles the stake.
  • Garde sans le chien: The Dog goes directly into the attacker’s scoring pile, and it is not revealed until the end of the game. The point value of the hand is quadrupled, as is the ante.
  • Garde contre le chien: The Dog goes directly to the defender’s scoring pile. The final value of the hand – and, of course, the ante – is multiplied by six.

Play procedes as normal in trick-taking games. The final score is calculated by pairing cards, according to the following score rubric:

  • 1 King or 1 of the Scoring trumps + 1 ordinary card: 5 points
  • 1 Queen + 1 ordinary card: 4 points
  • 1 Knight + 1 ordinary card: 3 points
  • 1 Knave + 1 ordinary card: 2 points
  • 2 ordinary cards: 1 point.

When scoring, the winning side determines their score by the following: 25 plus any points above the contract (or below, in the case it was not met), plus an additional 10 points if the final trick is taken by the I of Trumps by the attacker, is the base score. In the case where the final trick is taken by the defense with the I of Trumps, 10 is instead subtracted from the base score. This is then multiplied by the attacker’s hand bid, and two additional bonuses may be added – first is the Poignée, where a player declares whether they have 10+, 13+, or 15+ trumps in their hand, each of which adds 20, 40, or 60 points to the final score, respectively. The second bonus is called the Chelem – when declared, the attacker is confident that they will take every trick in the round, and will add 400 points if that is met, but will lose 200 if they fail to meet it. Otherwise, should either side take every trick without announcing, they win 200 additional points.

Should the attacker win, then all players on the defense subtract the final hand score of the attacker from their points, and the attacker gains all the points subtracted. Should the defense win, then the attacker subtracts three times the final hand value from their score and the defense gains the hand value. All scores should sum to zero at the end of each round.

As one might expect, this is an incredibly challenging variant, as befits the Syndar love of complicated (unnecessarily, one might say) games. Gambling is rarely used for Jeu de Tarock – in part due to the complicated methods of scoring. Two variants are written of, however – in the first, players each wager an agreed-upon amount to form a pot, with the winner taking the entire pot after an agreed-upon number of hands; typically four, with deal passing to each player, although longer games are not unheard of. The second is for the truly dedicated gambler – players win or lose the total amount of coin equal to their final score. The debts possible for this are truly staggering – records indicate that the somewhat notorious gambler Sir Madrienne lost a total of three thousand silver on a single game, although the later arrest of his three ”partners” for robbing a caravan on the Aldorian border suggests that foul play may have been involved in this loss.

Games of Casting Dice
Dice have existed, in one form or another, since the dawn of civilization. In earlier days, dice were made from the knucklebones of sheep, and possessed only four ”faces” due to their peculiar shapes. As time went on, dice were refined into the modern form we are familiar with – six sides, each marked with painted or carved pips, and used in various games of chance all over the continent. If one were to divide games by region, the Aldorian love of dicing would be of special note, although the Nara Pentare are also known to have several gambling games built around the dice. Surprisingly enough, of the non-human races, the Ulven have taken the quickest to games of dice, utilizing the knucklebones of their livestock to gamble. In deference to their unfamiliarity with coinage and the civilized world’s sense of debts, the dice are often used to gamble for drink, with the loser taking drinks, and all parties typically ending up roaring drunk by the end.

Hazard
One of the most famous Aldorian gambling games, it is played in two variants – two-die Hazard and three-die Hazard. Likely originating from bored sailors waiting on the docks, Hazard takes similar forms no matter the variant.

To begin the game, one player acts as the bank, offering to cover all bets made against them. The bank is typically rotated throughout a game, especially if one player finds themselves ruined by fortune during a game. Any other number of players may take part, althogh only a single player rolls the dice at a time. I will discuss the two-die variant first, although the only change with the three-die variant is the odds of each roll.

To begin, a shooter is chosen. They place their stake, wagering that they will win by throwing a number between 5 and 9. All other players wager whether the shooter will win or lose. The shooter then throws – depending on their chosen number, the number showing on the dice has a different effect.

  • 5: Wins on a 5, loses on 2, 3, 11, 12.
  • 6: Wins on 6 or 12, loses on 2, 3, 11
  • 7: Wins on 7 or 11, loses on 2, 3, 12
  • 8: Wins on 8 or 12, loses on 2, 3, 11
  • 9: Wins on 9, loses on 2, 3, 11, 12.

If a number does not appear as either ”win” or ”lose”, it becomes the new target number – called the chance – and the original number that they chose, if rolled, is now their losing number. At this point, the shooter may choose to keep their original stake, or add to their stake if they are confident in their new number. Side bets may be altered as well.

Odds for each chance pay out differently depending on the originally-chosen number – typically related to their probabilites on the dice themselves. Rather than going through the entire listing, I entail players to find a skilled Hazard shooter to explain the odds. There exist some cloth Hazard mats, typically sewn by Aldorian sailors out of tattered sailcloth, with the odds embroidered in them – they also serve to make betting considerably easier, as players merely place their stake on the chosen numbers.

Glückhaus
Another Aldorian dicing game, this gained prominence due to the somewhat more relaxed nature compared to Hazard. A favorite amongst a number of the Ulven – especially when playing for drinks – the game is relatively simple, so long as one has the necessary board and a pair of dice.

The game is played with any number of players, as well as a board marked with spaces from 2-12, omitting four. At the start of the game, each player places a coin stake on the 7 square. For the following rounds, players roll the die, taking a coin if they roll a space with a coin already on it, and leaving a coin if they roll an empty space. There are also three ”special” spaces.

  • 7, called ”The Wedding” when rolled, requires the player who rolled it to place a coin on the 7 space. A toast to the other players is made, as a wedding is a time of celebration.
  • 2, called ”The Pig” when rolled, allows a player to take all the coins from the board, except from the Wedding, as even a pig wouldn’t steal from a wedding.
  • 12, called ”The King” when rolled, collects all coins from the board, as all must pay their taxes. Typically, a toast to the king is spoken – in the Colonies, a toast to the Prince is typically made.

After a player rolls, they pass the dice off to the next player – this can be either from the right or the left, depending on the group one is gambling with. A rollof four is always a pass – one loses nothing, but one gains nothing, either.

Depending on cultural or personal preference, the motifs and names of the spaces may change. The Richtcrag, for example, call the 2 space, ”The Mercenary” and the 12 space, ”The Commander”, although other names are also certainly possible depending on the preference. Still, this is primarily a social gambling game, intended to be played while all involved are imbibing some form of alcohol.

Ship, Captain, and Crew
One of the most popular Aldorian dicing games, this is commonly played aboard ships and port bars – unlike many dicing games, it requires both luck and judgment in equal measure to win. It is also played casually, without a stake – some find the rattling of the dice soothing, and it’s a common sight in Aldorian watering holes to find a few friends crowded around a table, downing drinks and rattling the bones.

To play, five dice are required, as well as a suitable pot for the ante and a method of keeping score – many taverns have slate boards in them for just this purpose. The players arrange themselves in a circle, and then play begins. The first player takes the five dice and rolls them. Each player is required to roll a 6 (the ship), 5 (the captain), and 4 (the crew) in three rolls. If a player wishes to keep any of his dice unrolled, they may only save in descending order – therefore, a player who rolls 5, 5, 4, 3, 1 may not keep any dice, while a player who rolls 6, 4, 3, 3, 3 may only keep the six – one requires a ship before they can hire a captain, and a captain before a crew can be hired. A player must re-roll all dice that are not already set aside.

The remaining two dice are the ship’s ”cargo” – add their value together if you manage to roll a 6, 5, and 4 during that round. A player may only choose to not re-roll the cargo dice if they already have the required numbers showing on their dice. If a player fails to roll a 6, 5, and 4 after three throws, they earn no points for that round and the dice are passed.

Play procedes around the table, with the highest-scoring player winning that round. In an anted game, all players pay into the pot before the round begins, and the winner is the one with the highest score during a round. Should two players tie for the highest score, the pot is split evenly between them – in the case of an odd number of players, a single coin remains in the pot for the beginning of the next round.

Certain regions have their own variants on the rules – one such variation, called ”Caravan”, involves the players racing to reach an agreed-upon point value. Typically, the chosen value is 77 – in part due to an older rule that players may not bank the same value twice. There are also several variants that give additional values and penalties to certain rolls:

  • Favorable Wind: Rolling a 6, 5, 4, 6, 6 on the first roll. The player automatically wins the pot in this case.
  • Shipwreck: Rolling 6, 1, 1, 1, 1 on the first roll. The unfortunate player must double their stake or withdraw from the game.
  • Drunks: Rolling a 6 on the first roll, but only showing 5s and 4s on the third roll. Adds 2 points to the cargo’s value.
  • Desperate Sailors: Not rolling a 6 until the final roll, but showing 5 and 4 on each throw previous. Add 3 to the cargo’s value.

A relatively simple game, this has rather enduring popularity in Aldoria.

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On The Mushrooms of the Old and New World

A Brief Treatise on the Mushrooms and Toad-Caps of Faedrun and Mardrun
by
Thomas ná Schweinitz

The role of mushrooms in the culture and cuisine of peoples across the lands cannot be understated. It seems to be a commonality amongst the Syndar, Ulven, and human populations that these small plants serve as a staple foodstuff and ritual ingredient, for reasons to be expounded on later. To this end, I have been commissioned to perform a complete survey of all surviving texts, folk knowledge, and ritual usage of these curious objects.

On the Mysteries of Mushroom Growth
At the moment, no known method exists for the organized cultivation of mushrooms, despite their similarities in edibility to plants. Different scholars have contributed their own knowledge to the problem, generally disagreeing on the exact nature of the species. De Haverland of Vandregon, in the scroll In Augmentum et Plantatio Fungos postulates that the flowering caps of mushrooms are formed on magically-active sites – places of natural mana. On the other hand, the seminal Μανιτάρια και τη γέννηση τους, by the Syndar scholar Laitenea Areasin, disagrees with this, pointing to mushrooms as an intermediate step between plants and animals, citing their tendency towards accelerated growth in decaying matter and the existence of a wispy, fragmented “root system”

A hybrid explanation is thus adapted from these – the following assumptions are made as to the nature of mushrooms.

  • Based on the growth methods and taste of the flesh of the flowering mushroom, it will be assumed that they are a hybrid of plant and animal, as follows Areasin’s text.
  • This hybridization requires a specific location – typically that of a magically-charged area replete with decaying matter for the carniverous plant-animal – to follow with De Haverland’s study.
  • The “root system” of mushrooms is considerably more complex than Areasin allows for in her study, explaining why cultivation on the scale of grain and vines has proven impossible, yet occasional experiments bear fruit.

These assumptions, therefore, allow for a new formulation of the mushroom’s existence – suitable spots must be located before cultivation is attempted, as there is no known reliable way to determine whether or not the background mana is of sufficient quantity and purity to allow this plant to exist.

As for the success of attempts to cultivate mushrooms on a larger scale, it can only be assumed that some fluke of background mana has allowed the success of that particular growth. Their behaviour and growth patterns, therefore, lend themselves much more to the passive gathering of these plants, rather than active cultivation.

On The Four Natures and Five Shapes of Mushrooms
As the mushroom is a hybrid plant, it therefore must bear a specific nature in order to prove useful to an intelligent species. As such, we may return to Blackwell’s Animantibus Natura, which divides the natural realm into the following categories: Carniverous, Herbacious, Omniferous, Passive, Active, and Reactive. These categories form the basis for all classifications of non-thinking living matter – as mushrooms are hybrids, then the following natures are apparent:

  • Carniverous-passive: the common “Waste-mushroom”, typically inedible
  • Carniverous-herbacious-passive: Edible mushrooms, typically found growing on other plants.
  • Carniverous-active: Mushrooms of a more active magical nature, found to be useful in the preparation of magical re-agents
  • Carniverous-Reactive: Poisonous mushrooms, whose main method of survival seems to be the killing of any species which attempts to consume it.

These four natures neatly encapsulate every variety of mushroom found across the face of Faedrun and Mardrun, and so seem to be the most useful classification method. The transformation of mushrooms from one category to another is possible, but requires knowledge of the specific methods of treatment required to shift the internal mana holding these plants together into a form more agreeable with that of the consumer.

In addition, mushrooms are identified by one of five shapes, each of which tends to fall into its own category.

  • The Capped Mushroom, or “Toad Stool” – term originating in Middle Richtcrag as a consequence of the military patois, these are typically mushrooms with an obvious cap and a tendency towards the Carniverous-Reactive type. “Toad” appears to be a Vandregonian Common reduction of the Richtcrag “Tod”, meaning “Death” – this has since be used to identify a New World mushroom, the Death Cap.
  • The Finned Mushroom – originating from investigations of edible mushrooms, those types displaying fins on the underside of the cap are typically Carniverous-Passive or Carniverous-Herbiverous-Passive.
  • The Balled Mushroom – Found growing underground or close to the ground, these mushrooms take an unusual spherical shape. Typically Carniverous-Herbivorous-Passive.
  • The Climbing Mushroom – Displaying a sort of fin and radiating bark, much like the trees they prey on, these are typically Carniverous-Herbivorous-Passive.
  • The Threaded Mushroom – typically displaying a small cap and an excessively long stalk, these are typically that of the Carniverous-Active variety.
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Again

Thrand squinted as he looked up at the clear blue sky. He was lying on his back and his head hurt. Fresh blood trickled down his lip where a shield edge had just busted it open. With slow, sore, and deliberate movements, Thrand picked himself up off the ground.

Bryech stood several yards away. His expressionless posture and lack of being tired misleading to the harsh beating he had just given Thrand. Bryech was younger but strong and spirited, he made a good Pack Longfang warrior. He would make a fine Ulfednar some day. Part of Thrand wished he wouldn’t make it look so easy when he pummeled him during weapons training but he knew to voice it or even believe in such things would dishonor him. Would a Grimward warrior or a Whiteoak berserker be any less savage in battle?

Thrand wiped the blood off of his chin and picked up his sword and shield. Preparing himself for another beating, he clanked the weapon to the shield edge audibly two times.

“Again.”


The blade whipped through the air, heading straight for Thrand. It’s path was deceptive enough to be hard to follow, but Thrand’s eyes were trained enough to understand where it was going. But the weight of the shield was too much for him to react quickly and he felt sluggish.

Try as he might, there was nothing he could do… he was just simply too slow, too clumsy to block it.

With a painful slap, the flat of Fritha’s blade swatted Thrand across his bottom. The sting and the smart of the pain enough to force Thrand to suck in air through gritted teeth. Flat or not, it was still a couple pounds of steel hitting him with sufficient force.

“How exactly did you become so much better at this than I?” asked Thrand grumpily as he rubbed the pain out of his left buttock.

“My father taught me and I paid attention to fighting with a sword and shield. I think some of the pups in the village can use a shield better than you.” replied Fritha in a matter-of-fact voice with a hint of playfulness. Although her duties as a Daughter of Gaia in the Onsallas village kept her busy, Fritha continued to train as a warrior. She excelled at sword and shield combat and could best Thrand most of the time.

“Yeah, well I can still outrun you any day and you shoot like a blind mordok.” snapped Thrand, his pride obviously hurt more than his rear.

“Are you finished pouting? Are you done or should I continue to beat you?” grinned Fritha.

Thrand was both amused and not at the same time and half-playfully glared at her.

“Again.”


Thrand was soaked in sweat, wearing a padded gambeson with bits of leather over it. Hours of fighting in the damp conditions of the swamp had left him tired. He was used to cloaks, hoods, and lighter wool tunics… not constricting and hot garments for close quarter battle. His limbs felt heavy. He was out of arrows and throwing knives.

The Whiteoak warrior standing before him had a shield. He stood poised and ready to strike, stoic and waiting for Thrand’s advance.

Although Thrand’s skill with a shield was improving, he did not have one to protect him during this fight. He did, however, hold a long two handed axe in both hands. And if there was something that Thrand was good at, it was handling an ax and splitting fire wood.

With a roar, Thrand leapt towards the Whiteoak warrior. Planting his feet and winding up the axe, it generated immense force as it spun around and shattered the warrior’s shield. Splinters exploded from the now useless shield and before the Whiteoak warrior had time to react, Thrand spun and followed up the heavy strike with two smaller ones aimed at the Whiteoak’s midsection. The axe bit deep in each side, but yet the warrior remained standing. With a second roar of exertion, Thrand arced the axe in a large sweep, winding up and with precision and strength landed the axe blade directly on top of the Whiteoak’s head. The blade bit deep, cutting the Whiteoak warrior in two.

“Thrand, you’ve been at this all day. You should take a rest.” said Stanrick from somewhere nearby. His words were both an approval that stopping would not be looked down on yet there was also a challenging edge to it.

Thrand snapped out of his mental battlefield. The two bloody halves of a Whiteoak warrior were in fact the two halves of a sturdy log that he had just split. The shield a simple piece of wood cobbled together to be used in training.

Breathing hard with exertion, Thrand’s mind raced. He still, to this day, felt shame for being so far away from the battles in Clan Stormjarl territory. To hear reports of how his new Pack was fighting to save his old Clan cut him deeply, making him feel helpless and useless out near the Dirge Swamp. He was not skirting his duties or avoiding the battle, he was just needed elsewhere.

Thrand looked up at Stanrick and met his gaze.

“Again.”


As the Stormjarl recruits braced for impact and the lines crashed into each other, some of them were jostled hard and fell to the ground. Hours of intense training had worn them out and made them clumsy.

Their mock shield wall broke and crumbled, the warriors too exhausted to continue on. Orrin, Azra, and Bryech all pushed easily through their line even though the recruits outnumbered them three to one. With wooden swords or padded sticks they thumped the recruits, painfully teaching them a lesson.

Thrand stood beside the line and watched. He was analyzing the fight and how the two sides met, how an archer could support them or how a long weapon like a large axe could be used to break the other lines shield wall. He had spent time learning from some of the human and syndar warriors, how they fought in combat and dealt with war.

With a few groans of pain and exhaustion, the Stormjarl recruits stood up and stumbled back into a line. A sudden aroma wafted across the training grounds right outside the palisade walls of the Onsallas Outpost.

Food.

Fresh, hot, delicious food… food that the recruits were starving for, food that Fritha and Reyna had been preparing that afternoon. Delicious spices, savory meat, fresh warm bread and butter mixed with bee honey. Some of the recruits looked longingly at Thrand, silently pleading to have him stop the training so that they may rest and eat. Almost comically on cue, one of the warriors stomachs growled audibly during the few seconds of respite. He too was hungry, deprived of food and training most of the day. His mind thought of how hungry the defenders of the Battle of Blackwolf Creek must have been as the Grimward line pressed on them for months and finally charged into a bloody melee.

Fresh and hot meals would be a luxury once the raids began and the Longfangs joined Clan Axhound in their attacks on Clan Whiteoak. With the raids on their mutual enemy approaching, the intensity of the training had picked up for the new recruits. Thrand’s face was expressionless as his eyes scanned from warrior to warrior.

“Again.”

– End

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Future of the Longfangs

Written as a collaborative effort by most of the players of Pack Longfang (Ryan Jopp, Mischelle Maas, Shelly Sonsallas, Cole Potter, Brandon Potter, Jake Nitzel, Kelly Peterson, Paul Peterson)

The Great Hall of Pack Longfang

The night air was cool and filled with the endless noise of the insects and animals of the nearby Dirge Swamp. Small lanterns and torches lit the common area of Onsallas Village and kept the darkness at bay. A few campfires illuminated some makeshift tents and dwellings, recently added to the village by the Clan Stormjarl refugees who had traveled to the edge of the world to scratch out a living. Walking past them and nodding a few greetings, Thrand and Fritha walked towards the massive wooden doors of the Great Hall. Standing ever vigilant in full mail, plated leather, and helms were some of the honor guards of Pack Longfang, hulking warriors who are hand selected from the warriors of the Pack. Pledged with the safety of the Pack’s Daughters and leadership, they took their job very seriously. They sized up both Thrand and Fritha even though they had both been seen a thousand times in the village.

“Greetings, Hakon.” said Fritha as she walked up the steps towards the wooden door. Thrand followed closely behind. Neither of them had any reason to be nervous or tense, but being close to the honor guard sometimes rattled people. They were very intense, had little in the way of humor, and were quick to anger.

“The rest are inside, they just arrived,” said Hakon through large fangs, his deep voice matching his massive physical stature.

The two guards stepped back from the door and remained at their post. Thrand walked past them with a nod and pushed open the massive wooden door.

In the center of the room stood a collection of Pack Longfang members and veterans. During other meetings some guests or friends of the Clan, like Selena Stargazer of Clan Spiritclaw, would have been permitted to join. Rill had insisted that this meeting be composed only of those members of the Pack.

Thrand spoke to the assembled members as he took up a position near a large table in the center of the Hall. Behind the table was the enclosed canopy where the Runeseer used to sit. It stood eerily vacant.

“Sorry we are late, Fritha and I checked on the wounded Stormjarls that traveled to us recently. It seems that they will be all right and are grateful for the aid we gave them. Everyone knows why we are here tonight. Let every member of this Pack’s voice be heard if you wish it to be. Who wants to begin?”

“I’ll start off with this,” Bryech said. “So far without any central leadership we’ve done well as a pack our new recruits are training and are learning what it means to be a Longfang, we’ve all worked together to make sure the village is maintained and our supplies at stable amounts. However that won’t last, we need central leadership.”

He leaned forward in his seat and clasped his hands in front of him.

“The obvious choice would be to name a chieftain as most other packs… then again we aren’t most packs.” Pausing, he looked around at his assembled pack. “The choice is not limited only to a chieftain though, there are many paths we could choose.”

Bryech leaned back in his chair and waited for a response, knowing he restated the obvious, though he didn’t care. He felt that this very delicate matter should be handled with the utmost importance and understanding possible.

Reyna’s face was serious as she listened to Bryech speak. When he was finished she rose to her feet and began. “We may not be most packs, but we are Longfang. Change is one of the businesses we have long dealt with. Already we have few, if any, of our representatives along-side the leaders of any clan. In that withdrawal our former place of honor has been forfeit.” She let the gravity of these words sink in.

“War ravages our land and we remain powerless in every moot, denigrated as a mere pack, and only through the respect earned by individuals is the Longfang voice heard anywhere. I say we cease hesitating and cleave to the heart of the matter: none among the Daughters hear the voices of the runes as Soulveig did. If we walk the path we are on any longer, it will be without the signs to guide us clearly.” She settled herself back into her place, smoothing her skirts as she sat.

Stanrick shifted in his seat. “Yes, these are all things we know, I’m sure by now we have all read the letter or had it read to us. We as Longfangs have choices to make, and till now we have not had to make any like this. Soulveig made choices for us and we did as we were told. Maybe we were spoiled. I will be honest I didn’t know what to do when she gave me a choice, but now we all need to make one. So what are we waiting for? We want to be respected by the Clans? Then we need a chieftain.” With that he began to stuff his pipe and looked around the room to see who would speak next.

Bryech smirked and chuckled.

“You think just having a chieftain earns a pack respect?” Bryech asked and shook his head still chuckling. “We are a pack known for our warriors and for that we are respected and have a great honor, at least most of us do.” Leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him he continued. “A chieftain is one option yes, but we, like I already said, aren’t most packs, so why should we do as they do?” Bryech looked around the room at all the people he has grown close to and been proud to call his friends. “We all have a very different view of the world, we should utilize this.” Finished with his response Bryech leaned back in his seat.

“No, just having a chieftain does not earn respect, but when an ulven asks ‘Who leads pack Longfang?’ if we say anything other then the name of our chieftain they won’t listen to what we have to say. That is the way packs work. Even the way we were, we had one person in charge. Every pack works this way, even packs that are not just any pack. Or are you suggesting we become like humans and make councils and sit and debate whose turn it is to go use the latrine?” Stanrick smirked. “We have been running this pack by committee since Soulveig passed, and what did that do? We spent almost an hour in debate while Whiteoak attacked a caravan with children. We all are guilty of this, we are very set in our ways, but now this changes. We need a chieftain to take charge, and a priestess to lead us on Gaia’s path. Whiteoak and Grimward know we are weak now. They know we no longer have the Runeseer to guide us. We were not ready for this so we scramble like rabbits running from a fox. Can a pack of wolves last without an alpha? No, they fight among themselves and get overtaken by stronger packs.” He paused and took a deep breath.

“What most do not see is that every Chieftain and Clanleader keeps a group of elders to advise them. We don’t have elders. I myself am now the oldest in this pack and this is my 39th summer. Yes, we do have a different view of the world, we see things other packs and clans do not. We are not bound by what our clan tells us. We see things in a light that others cannot. This comes from whom we were. We got to see how every clan handles politics. How many times has a Clanleader asked their Longfang honor guard for their input? It happens more then one might think. Our best option is to pick a chieftain, then advisers. I propose a warrior, a hunter, a daughter, and someone to advise on the village and outpost. One chieftain and four advisers, this will give whomever we pick better tools to do this task. As for whom? Well we’ve never had a chieftain so it’s not like we have been grooming a replacement. Bryech is a strong warrior, he understands war more so then most his age. He speaks well; I think he would be a good choice for the warrior to advise the chieftain. I myself have been traveling a lot lately, and I find myself speaking on behalf of the Pack. Last fall Soulveig gave me a choice, and I made it.” he stood up and looked Bryech in the eyes.

“I did not go with you and my brothers to Stormjarl, I took a different path you and I both know Gaia weeps at the death of her children by the hands of their brothers. I chose to go with the Truthseeker in hopes that she could find out why Grimward would attack ulven, march to war and kill their own kind while mordok run unchecked. I did not see my Brothers fall. I will live with this till I face the Great Wolf, but I made the choice because I knew that if we are to survive, we need to have allies. Not one of us is ready for change but change does not care if we are ready. Bryech you talked to me after we removed the last of the Whiteoak raiders from our lands. Will you support me as chieftain? Will you help me return your pack, my pack, our pack to a place of honor and respect that the name Longfang demands?”

“The problem with that, Stanrick, is exactly that.” Looking back at Stanrick, Bryech mustered all of his hatred and anger into his eyes and let his rage flow forth. “You ask me to support your claim as chieftain, but you show no attempt or even a willingness to put your duty first!” Bryech could feel his voice rising with anger as his words echoed off the wall of the Great Hall. “You have shamed yourself Stanrick Longfang!” Bryech shouted standing up and extending his right arm in front of himself to point at Stanrick. “You abandoned your duty so you could have your prize! You were not there when honor and duty called! You weren’t there to hold those dying men and women, and hear them utter their last words or the names of mates and pups as they faded to the hunting grounds, or choked on their own blood! We ate iron rations of food, if any at all, and froze nearly to death fulfilling our duty to Clan Stormjarl, while you kept yourself safe and warm with the thighs of your mate far away from battle. You left your brothers and sisters in honor to face the wrath of many and fight against the tyranny of Clan Grimward and their allies!” Bryech was roaring now, but did not let anyone stop him until he was finished. He could feel the fire burn inside of him, which turned him into an inferno, the red-hot glow burned through his eyes and showed his rage and savagery in it’s fullest.

“You claim to understand your actions, but you do not!” Bryech continued. “You ask me to support you as chieftain when you have proven yourself unworthy of the honor of leading this pack!” Bryech yelled, amazed at the fact that he had kept up this long and glad he wasn’t finished. “I told you I supported you, I didn’t mean as a chieftain.” Bryech said looking Stanrick in the eyes. “I support you as my brother in honor so that you can right your wrongs.” Bryech said never breaking eye contact with Stanrick. “This pack needs a leader or at least leaders who know that duty comes first.”

His voice calmed as he looked at his assembled pack mates. “We have a choice to make, we can bend to the will of outsiders and base our actions on gaining their favor or we can do what is best for our pack and let the opinions of other packs be only that, opinions.” Bryech said as he sat down still feeling his rage simmering inside of him.

Stanrick grinned now the truth had come out. “Honor and duty? Tell me Bryech, how does it feel to know you have gone back on your word? You said you would support me as chieftain. Your words, not mine. Yet now you change what you said? So did you lie to me before or are you lying now? I stand by my choice, there is no disrespect in my path whether you agree to it or not.” He got up. Then raised his voice. “But you have gone back on your word! As ulven we have two things we are accountable for, the actions we take and the words we speak. Now you toss your word to the wind? You lie and for what? Were you hoping that if you said you would support me I would do you a favor?” He calmed a bit, then continued.
“It was not just I who heard your words the Great Wolf knows the truth. So lie, but we all know that the Great Wolf does not look on those who lie to their brothers with kindness. My choice was still was an honorable one. My name will be heard. But I will not let a pup lie to my face. I see I was wrong about saying you were ready to lead. Such manipulation is the kind of dishonorable act I expect from a Whiteoak, not a Longfang warrior.”

Bryech jumped to his feet with rage in his eyes. To be called dishonorable by Stanrick after it was Bryech who called out his lacking presence during the combat were dangerous words indeed. Honor duels were started over less; warriors were broken over the violence that could be dealt in defense of one’s honor. The gathered Pack members quickly glanced at each other wondering if someone should try to stop this confrontation or let it unfold. Even Stanrick flinched as he realized how deep his words had probably cut Bryech and he wondered if it was wise to speak them or if he was prepared for the beating that Bryech could potentially give him. The warrior was young but full of energy and was already scarred more so than some of the veteran warriors; enraged like this he would be a very dangerous opponent. There was a brief hesitation by the group and it seemed like an eternity as everyone waited for the tension to boil over as both Byrech and Stanrick glowered at each other with rage in their eyes.

Ranmir leaned forward. “Please! Brothers! Sit down. I know that I have been away for a long time,” he said softly, “I know that many of you do not know me, I do not truly know myself anymore. I know that as such, my voice may not be taken with as much weight as those who have been here for recent events. I know that my area of knowledge, the swamp, and its inhabitants, are not much assistance in this conversation. I also know that some may see Stanrick as having shied from his duty as a warrior, but a warrior’s duty is not always fighting a fight head on. In fact those who lead warriors sometimes must instead try to find a way for the fighting to stop.

There is a saying among the Longfang pack that we all know well, ‘A Longfang who goes grey, is a Longfang who held back.’ I invite you to think on this for a moment.” Ranmir paused to scan the room. “This saying has often been taken to mean that it is a bad thing for a Longfang to go grey, that to die in battle is the greatest honor of all, and one should strive to do this before he or she grows old. For many years, I lived by the letter of this phrase, but I have lived it under a different understanding. The way I see it, the way I believe we all should see it, if we are to continue as a pack,” he paused yet again to look at Bryech, “No, truly as a family, we need to know our own limitations. It does not serve this pack, this family, to die a death that has no true meaning. The pack was honor bound to provide support and warriors, no individuals were specifically called by name, this has been told to me. We must all know our limits and only when absolutely necessary, push ourselves beyond them.

Many warriors went to Stormjarl to defend them, Stanrick went a different route to attempt to find a solution that would have saved more lives, rather than shed more blood, and you fault him for this. I feel this is a strength, not a weakness. There is a reason we have no elders, and I feel it is a poor one.” finished Ranmir.

“Stanrick did find a solution that will save lives.” Reyna leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “We have Vandregon here because of his negotiations. While we scramble to train up more warriors to defend our borders the allies Stanrick found patrol our borders and listen in silence to respect the fallen whose tracks they walk in. Is not the one who thinks to the future the proper choice to lead us forward?”

Azra stood there crossed armed and with a scowl on her face. It had become apparent that she had something she wanted to say after Bryech had said his piece and called Stanrick out. Others had spoken first and she tried to wait patiently, her impatience and scowl growing larger by the moment. Finally, she could wait no longer.

“Why would we vote you for chieftain, Stanrick? What have you actually done for our pack? Nothing! You’ve done nothing except sit and drink while your pack mates were out there fighting for their lives, honoring a debt to Stormjarl. You CHOSE to be Selena’s escort, but it had nothing to do with being honorable and protecting her. As Bryech already said, all it had to do with was that you wanted to lay with her. You accomplished your goal, but what you didn’t accomplish, was any good for the pack. You say you tried to make allies with the other clans at the dinner in the winter, but you obviously didn’t try very hard. Just because someone was busy at the time that you decided it was convenient for you to talk to them does not mean that there was no chance of them becoming our allies if you just tried to work with them more. I heard the stories about you sitting around and telling jokes and drinking with some of the Watchwolves. How is that proof that you were looking out for our Pack? If we need a chieftain, then it needs to be someone who has actually done something for the pack, which you have not. We have always lived under the guidance of a Priestess, a Runeseer, and I see no reason why we need to change now. And I swear to the Great Wolf Stanrick Longfang that if you try to wound my honor with twisted words, I will break your jaw and make you to choke on your own blood.” barked Azra in anger as she stepped in dangerously close and glared at him. Her words cut Stanrick and her demeanor and stance dared him to confront her about it.

After weathering Bryech’s attack on his honor, Stanrick was further angered by Azra’s response. Rage filled his features and he stood up to her and snarled, replying with anger in his voice. Azra refused to back down, snarling back at him and replying in kind. Bryech was also caught up in the tension, and the three warriors started trying to snarl and talk over each other. Mere inches separated Azra and Stanrick and the three warriors degraded into a chaotic mess of harsh words and verbal fighting. Stanrick was taking the brunt of months of repressed anger from the warriors who survived the Battle of Blackwolf Creek and it was a miracle that fists hadn’t been thrown or weapons unsheathed. Some of the other Longfang members tried to chime in and ease the tension and all it did was add to the chaos.

Thrand had listened in and now was trying to calm the warriors down to no avail. He glanced to his side and watched as Fritha sighed and walked forwards. She made no attempt to add to the discussion and instead walked straight towards the three warriors. Somehow she had managed to walk in between Azra and Stanrick, calmly placing herself in between them. In the confusion, the two of them stopped and were gently yet assertively forced backwards when Fritha raised her arms and parted between them. Caught off guard, they stopped their bickering and eased back for a moment. The rest of the room fell silent which gave her a chance to control what was happening.

“That is enough. Peace, brothers and sisters… we are here to discuss the future of our pack, not squabble among ourselves and fight like pups over who is leading a game.” Fritha said in a calm voice as she looked around her but there was an edge of authority that was impossible to ignore. “This is our future, our pack’s future. We need to make plans and build, not argue and get nowhere. After this last battle, look around this room… our numbers are small and without a leader to speak for us, we will surely become smaller. You are all correct in your own way. Bryech, we are known for being warriors and protecting the land; that will not change. Whatever the conversation was between you two, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. Yes, Stanrick chose a different path than his battle brothers and sisters, but he wasn’t the only one who stayed. We all wanted to go into battle and yet some stayed, all for different reasons. We all must bear that burden now, knowing that if we went, maybe we could have made a difference. Ranmir, you said that a warrior’s duty is not always fighting a battle head on. Just like the outpost, we need our warriors and guards; but we also need people who don’t fight so the outpost is taken care of. This is the same for a pack. Reyna you speak true when you say we need a leader. We do. We listened to Soulveig. Now that she is gone, the world could view us as a group of pups without a leader. Even Azra is correct, Stanrick has made choices in his life where the pack was not in the front of his mind.”

Those assembled respected Fritha’s words and the tension eased down. Fritha looked around at the small gathering of her pack. So few, she thought, we have fought so hard. Pride rested in her heart to be able to be among them, to be part of them. Even if it was by being honor bound. But they have been reduced in numbers so greatly. As she continued to look around the room, she was forced to face the fact that no one had her trust to be a leader. Stanrick was the closest, but he has a long way to go. She heard the stories of the dinner where he was sent to talk to allies. He held respect, but did not use it to his fullest. Bryech, so strong, but so full of anger. Thrand, smart as he is, he lacks the confidence. He feels he is not the fighter to represent Pack Longfang. Ranmir, newly brought back to the pack, she knew he was not ready. Orrin, very bright and has already seen so much fighting. He was too young. Azra, very much like Bryech, she is best suited for fighting. Rill, Reyna and Fritha were all willing to step up if the pack needed them, but prefer tending to the spiritual needs of the pack. She sighed, there really was only one choice if they wanted a leader.

“Our numbers are few, and they will stay this way until we get back onto our feet. If we were being honest, I would say that no one is exactly qualified to lead us. But one thing is clear; we do need a leader. Ulven are born with no knowledge, it comes from learning and I have watched Stanrick learn and change from the warrior I met years ago. He is learning.” She looked at Stanrick. “Stanrick Longfang, I will back you. I will back you because I know you do not take this on lightly and will do your best. I will offer my counsel to you at any time. But be warned, I am also here to protect the pack; and I will be keeping an eye on you. You will learn and you will be the leader I expect you to be or you will answer to me. Listen to Gaia and keep her in your heart, always.” She looked around the room, nodding her head to everyone. “Thank you.” She turned and took her seat next to Thrand.

Rill took the opportunity to speak as well, now that the hostility had eased down.

“I have been training beside the Runeseer for many years and I knew her probably better than all of you. Her passing was sudden and her words were cryptic, more so than before. I believe that her intention was to force us to truly think about the future and decide as a Pack how to move on. I have tried but the runes do not speak to me like they did to her. We cannot replace the Runeseer with another, as Azra stated, because there is nobody with that talent… at least not at this time. I agree that we need to choose a leader. We are strong as a Pack when we have a strong leader. I do not agree with Stanrick that the Chieftain should lead alone; we should also name a Priestess. I volunteer for this position as I have the most experience in the day-to-day affairs of the settlement and have worked closest with the Runeseer before her passing. I am also usually the one that handles the rituals and cleansing of whatever random things that the rest of you bring home from the outsiders or the swamp itself.”

Thrand had time to really think things through and analyze his thoughts on the current situation. He felt it was his time to speak.

“As all of you know, Fritha and I joined Pack Longfang by being honor bound from our home of Clan Stormjarl. We have the benefit of knowing how other Packs and Clans work and how they can interact with each other. If our Pack wishes to be viewed with the honor and respect of a full Pack, then we must choose new leaders… both a Chieftain and a Priestess. Most of the Clanleaders are steeped in tradition, and without those honored titles then we may never gain their respect. I have dealt with a number of Clans, groups, and factions… we see a lot of supplies come and go from the outpost. Stanrick has been able to negotiate a number of deals for our Pack, get us allies when we needed them, and acquire supplies or help find a way to transport goods. I feel that my perspective is different than most of yours because of this. I believe that Stanrick does look out for the best interest of the Pack and I support his bid to become our Chieftain,” said Thrand with a calm voice.

Before anyone could add in, Thrand continued.

“Bryech and Azra, I respect the both of you. Not only because you are warriors of this Pack but because you are veterans and know many things that I do not. While I respect both of you, I disagree with you both on your claims that Stanrick was dishonorable. I know that his decision to go with the Truthseeker in her journey was one that broke some sort of warrior code that is silently agreed upon by all the warriors in this Pack. It is understandable that he will have to face this decision in a way that satisfies that code, but I do not think that what it did for the Pack can be overlooked. No, he was not there when the fighting got bad. No, he was not there when his battle brothers sacrificed their lives to save Clan Stormjarl. If Stanrick is to be judged harshly for this… then I am to be judged as well. My duty to this Pack is to train, gather supplies, manage the outpost, and make sure our warriors have what they need. That is the way that I help support this Pack, but in doing so I had to sit idly by and hear reports of how Clan Grimward was ravaging my blood family’s homeland and that the warriors of my new home, my new pack and family, are there defending them. Maybe I could have made a difference or maybe I would have just gotten myself killed. The truth is that I was not there to fight alongside my Pack, the same as Stanrick, and if you wish to swear oaths of vengeance and call upon a duel of honor then you best include me as well.”

Thrand let the statement sink in for a moment; he hoped that changing the focus away from just the warriors would help. Sometimes the other Pack members forget that both Thrand and Fritha come from Clan Stormjarl and have blood ties to their previous families there. This civil war has been hard on both of them, so far removed from Stormjarl territory after having joined Pack Longfang.

“I will support you, Stanrick Longfang, in your journey to become Chieftain of our Pack. I see in you a progressive leader, one who understands the importance of every aspect of our Pack. From your time as a warrior, a hunter, a quartermaster, a representative, a leader, and a father… you have within you what this Pack needs. I understand some of the burden of what you are asking for, it is not a mantle that I wish to wear, but you have my support. I agree with Fritha that nobody is a perfect fit for this position and you have a long way to go but I do believe in you to help us regain our strength as a Pack. You have plans to build our Pack larger, to gain allies like the colonists and other Clans like Axhound and the Watchwolves, and to strike back against Clan Whiteoak and Grimward for their transgressions. I look forward to the day when Pack Longfang and its allies return and free Stormjarl from Grimward. May his ears ring with your name,” ended Thrand as he took a seat beside Fritha.

Bryech still felt his rage flooding over him and made no attempt to hide it in his features; a perpetual snarl had taken over his face. “Calling me out on my youth is one thing, calling me a liar is another.” he said to Stanrick through gritted teeth. “I told you, I would support you if you showed me you were worthy, and like I said you have failed to prove it to me.” Leaning back in his seat again Bryech continued. “I was never looking for a favor from you Stanrick; I was testing you and you have failed that test.”

He looked to Ranmir next and smiled. “Ranmir, you’re right, though our lack of elders is something we may come to regret, I see no reason why it should. As Stanrick himself said, I am young and yet I have an understanding of war most do not, this proves that just because one is older it does not mean they are the most likely to possess the right answer.”

Bryech then looked to Reyna. “Reyna you have, I feel, a bit too much confidence in your cousin. Azra is right we all know that Stanrick is once again going to be a father, and who is the mother but the Truthseeker, Selena. I admit I have never been a man without faults, I am just a man.”

Bryech sighed. “When we choose our leaders we need to make sure they are fit to lead, that’s all I’m saying.” Bryech sat back in his chair and waited for the discussion to continue but by the Great Wolf he was tired of all this talking.

As some began to voice their support, and others dissent, Ranmir decided to speak once again.

“Bryech, my brother stated that you understand war better than most your age. It seems your anger is filling your ears with what you wish to hear. I believe Thrand is right, my brother is likely not ready to take the mantle of leadership alone. However, if you can show me someone who is ready, I will hang my bow on the wall and give myself to the Mordok, but not as Ranmir, as Brûf, for I feel the Great Wolf does not know that name. Rill has volunteered to take the role of Priestess, and while I do not know much in the ways of that, my brother has already said that he would want advisers to assist him. He has many qualities that will help to guide this pack in the right direction, and I believe he can become the leader we need. For this reason among many, I will back Stanrick Longfang as chieftain, if it is what the pack wills.”

Stanrick nodded to his brother, then looked at Bryech but chose not to get drawn into another argument on the issue. He then looked to Rill. “You are right, I never intended to do this without a priestess. You have the most training on the subject, as we are, you are the best for the task.” He looked to Fritha, “I would expect nothing less from you then to keep a eye on me and trust you will give me your insight.”

Bryech looked at all of his assembled pack and felt his anger subside to pride at being a part of this family. A family he felt had faced challenges that none other had faced before. Bryech stood up to speak his final piece.

“It seems my words have made little difference, not surprising.” Bryech smiled and pulled his dagger from its sheathe on his belt. Thrand and Orrin began to quickly rise from their seats fearing Bryech doing something rash but stopped once Bryech raised his left hand and motioned for them to sit. Bryech slammed his dagger into the table the blade sinking into the wood with a resounding crunch.

“Stanrick, know all I have said is nothing but my feelings over your recent actions. I hold no grudge against you any longer, as for my support of your claim, I say here for all to hear and know.” Pausing so that the seriousness of his statement could sink in. “Stanrick Longfang you will receive my support in your pursuit of being the chieftain, know that I don’t do this lightly, and I still think you have much to atone for but then again, so do I. The Great Wolf will judge us both eventually.” Bryech began to walk toward the door but stopped when he reached Stanrick and extended his arm in good faith hoping his friend would make the right choice.

“I am a warrior not a chieftain my mind is that of a protector and fighter, not a politician, just know that if you do anything to endanger this pack you will have to answer to me.” Still waiting for Stanrick to decide how their friendship would continue.

Stanrick sized up Bryech then offered his arm in return. “I was not making up what I said you are a great and honorable warrior. And even though we may not always agree. We are family: you are a Longfang. I know I have much to learn but I think we all do. Let us move forward to make our pack great again.”

Bryech laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder and then walked out of the Great Hall. “I have to prepare for the coming actions our pack is taking with our Axhound allies so I must excuse myself.” Continuing his way toward the door and not turning around. “I’ll be back for the knife and may His ears ring with all our names!” Bryech said as he opened the door and walked out hoping he had made the right choice.

Azra audibly rolled her eyes from off to the side of the discussion, still fuming in anger but keeping it in check, and apparently a bit disappointed that the discussion didn’t come to blows. She seemed content with leaving the discussion unfinished between her and Stanrick, perhaps to make him always second guess his actions in the future. She made no attempt to speak and give Stanrick her support, making it obvious to everyone that she opposed.

Reyna’s hand had gone to her hilt when Bryech had drawn steel. She was struck hard by how dangerous Bryech had become. He seemed to have lost all but the ability to be on a battlefield and he claimed to know what was best for the pack. Instead of voicing her doubts, however, she released her sword’s hilt. She knew it was already clear where her support lay but tradition required her to voice it in irrefutable terms.

“Stanrick’s claim has my support.” Reyna spoke the words as Bryech made his melodramatic exit.

Orrin had quietly been watching the entire discussion from a seat at the table. Although a skilled warrior, he was not prone to outbursts like Bryech was. He pushed back his chair and stood up “Stanrick I feel the choice you made to accompany Selena was honorable, although I would have better liked seeing you fight alongside Harlok; to see him when he met his end and started his Journey. You had a hard decision to make and I understand that. With that being said I fully support you as Chieftain.” Orrin sat back down and looked around the room.

“Thank you Orrin, your words do me great honor.” replied Stanrick.

Stanrick went to the head of the table and took a moment to look at Soulveig’s empty chair. The plush seating and drapings around her place of honor were vacant and ominous. He then turned to face the rest of the pack; the room felt so empty, only a few warriors still remained. Pups had no voice till they had proven their place, and a number of hunters and daughters had fallen over the winter. He knew that the path Gaia put before them was going to be hard. He stood tall next to the empty chair.

“If this is what the pack wills. I, Stanrick Longfang, son of Dennagrath and Yoreden Longfang, accept the weight and responsibility of the title of chieftain. So that our pack may grow, and we as a people can warden The Great Wolf’s will as we walk down Gaia’s path together.”

He stood waiting for any one else to say their peace and was met with silence.

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An Answer to Faith

Bannica Yulrude sat near the candlelight and brought his quill to the parchment laid before him. Finally committing to written word the thoughts and feelings in him, about his faith and how his diety has revealed herself to him, was both enlightening and terrifying to him.

“Year 263, The Revelations of Shepard Bannica Yulrude.

All my life I have served the Mother, but never once did I consider I might become such a direct instrument of her Will. I certainly never believed I’d commune with her directly through a Mordok shrine, but I suppose the details of how this came to be are irrelevent. What matters is that I continue my work as I always have, and share my revelations as promised.

I realize now you cannot defeat or defy a God, only accept it for what it truly is. The Mordok shrines are seen as a place of corruption, but this is not true. In fact a delicate balance is at work. There is no corruption, only decay and rebirth. The Daughters of Gaea’s “Cleansing” Rituals merely represent an opposing force in it’s extreme. They are no more helping Mardrun then saving a burning man by drowning him.

Would you starve a forest of it’s natural order? Would you have the leaves never fall, so that when spring came no new life could sprout from the rot? Suffering is a necessity. One must consume to survive, and they must in turn offer their own life to decay so life may begin anew. This debt cannot be denied, and it can no longer be ignored.

The Red Eyed Syndar spoke of a great danger to the land, one the Mordok seek to overcome. Though I’ve seen it with my own eyes, it somehow escapes recollection. It remains the companion of the Mother, and the charge of her Mordok children. Together they lurk, ever present in the corner of my eye.

The answers I seek are presented as visions, whispering to me in a strange language. Waiting for me to understand, waiting for me to share. Though the road I resolve to walk appears dark, I must remain resolute to the vows I’ve made as a Shepard of her Will. The Heralds of Change have arrived, and I will do as asked: I will teach.”

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Among the wreckage of their caravan, Elder Luisa Barros of Deva’s Will barely clung life.

An open chest wound promised a slow and agonizing death. She was a healer, and though she had treated many wounds like this one, the Mordok had left her arms crippled and her talents useless. She had made her way near Onsallas to retrieve an injured subordinate when the merchants she thought herself lucky to travel with were hit. Now in the carnage, she couldn’t help but see the situation’s many ironies. Fading in and out of consciousness she began to recite one last prayer, accepting her fate.

Only it was not to be, an unexpected sight brought her attention back to the world of the living. The Mordok had vanished back into the swamp, and a human man, clad in black with a headdress of feathers skulked out of the woods behind them. The stranger danced among the bodies, speaking in a strange tongues to an unseen figure and stopping often at corpses, kneeling beside them and placing his hand above their head. It looked as though he was struggling with channeling magic of the divine, trying to speak with the dead, but he asked no questions. Instead, he stroked their brow and spoke as if to reassure them, marking them in blood before moving on. He sought no answers, this was a ceremony to him. The man in black worked his way closer, stopping often to perform these bizarre rites. Though he made no sign of noticing the survivor, he seemed quite deliberate when he suddenly turned and knelt beside Elder Barros.

Only then, through blurred vision did the dying servant of Deva’s Will realize: this was Shepard Yulrude, the wounded subordinate she had come to retrieve. She tried to force out words to exclaim her surprise, but her throat produced only blood. In response Yulrude placed a hand on the wound, and began to recite a healing incantation, only the words of faith had changed and the magic wavered. Leaning close he began to whisper “The Mother has shown me your face in visions. I do not know why you were chosen, but I believe I am here to save you.”

“No!” she managed to gurgle out, struggling beneath the very hand which preserved her life. The man of once impeccable honor now reeked with an aura of corruption. It was palpable, she would have no part in whatever darkness infected him. Yulrude contemplated her reaction, this woman would rather die than challenge her own beliefs. Truly the minds of Human and Ulven alike were warped and deceived. They had been blinded by faith and lies, and would only suffer as a result. Elder Barros spat blood and fought, but Yulrude persisted. He would not leave her to die. Finally, in desperation, she pulled a dagger from his belt, and tried to drive it into his side.

It was at that moment Yulrude’s spell took on a will of its own. The life-preserving magic became like poison and Elder Barros began to convulse violently, dropping the dagger. Her wound festered and corruption seeped in, rotting her body from the inside and bringing a gruesome end to her life. Yulrude pulled away in horror, but his remorse quickly vanished at sight of the dagger. Only then did he realize the Mother had never intended him to save her life.

“Apologies Elder, it appears I misunderstood her.”

Screams in the distance suggested the Mordok had found more victims near Onsallas Outpost. It was time to speak to Reyna Longfang in person, and now he made haste towards his destination, fearing she would need his help with the survivors.

As Yulrude walked off in haste to whatever purpose his mind had been set to, across the way a figure with blood red eyes had been silently watching.

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It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yulrude was so confused. The torment of his faith and the immense loss of blood were making it hard to think.

He could feel her, The Mother, the presence that he had built his spiritual fortress around. Her presence was pleading, resistant to what was happening. Recently it had been supressed but now it was strong, now it forced its way back to him frantically. It tugged on his faith and pulled at him, but Yulrude would not budge. Suddenly, with a jolt, she was gone.

Yulrude was alone. His faith was shattered.

He could see the ulven and the others, the ones that stopped the ritual. He saw Mad Morty, crawling beside him, as a sword was impaled into him and Morty stopped crawling away. Yulrude could feel his life blood flow from his body as Thrand was screaming at him. Thrand had stepped into the corruption site to stop him. He couldn’t hear what the ulven was saying. His eyesight was fading. His faith was a vessel, void and emptied, and he started to feel remorse for his actions. The presence crept back to him. It was pleased, grinning at him as his heart beat its last and final beat.

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With a gasp of sucking breath, Yulrude shot back to the realm of the living. Choking and hacking, his body regained life and stepped away from the cusp of death. The world was spinning and he was sick, vertigo tearing at him from every direction.

Suddenly, a familiar presence poured itself into the spiritual vessel that was the core of Yulrude’s being. What was once conflicted and then emptied, was not filled with affection and purpose. Yulrude wretched and vomited on the ground and though the world was spinning around him he noticed he was surrounded by figures.

Encircling Yulrude were half a dozen mordok and a tribal helmed Syndar.

“You have learned well.” said the Syndar as he gazed upon Yulrude with blood red eyes.

– End