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Vazra lifted his goggles from his eyes, trying to clear his vision. The rear outpost he had left earlier that day stood before him, though it was nearly unrecognizable. The once sturdy walls stood charred and blackened. Tables were overturned, and the dirt floor had been saturated with blood, forcing the mage to slog through the gruesome mud. The bodies of his comrades lay strewn around the outpost, butchered by blades or scorched by spells. He was overcome. Vazra dropped to his knees against his will, his eyes beginning to water.
Where he thought tears would come, however, there was only a sharp pain in his stomach. Wretching, Vazra added the contents of his stomach to the mess upon the ground. Between episodes, he tried to catch his breath, inspecting his handiwork. A pile of blue fish had stacked itself where he had been kneeling, writhing without water in which to swim. His stomach turned again, and a wave of nausea washed over him. He felt a wiggling in his throat, working towards his mouth. His lips parted and out poked yet another fish. It twisted and turned to face Vazra, opening its mouth to speak, “They have found you, Vazra. He has come.”
Without another word, the fish wriggled free and fell to the ground, flopping around with its last breaths. An unearthly scream escaped its mouth, tears of black flowing from its eyes. As the life leaves the fish, it settles to the ground, lying still for a moment before erupting into maggots, showering Vazra with the larvae. The maggots coalesced at his feet, piling high to take the vague shape of a man.
Watching the form take shape, Vazra’s eyes were drawn upwards. Ragged black leather boots were the first to form, torn trousers giving glimpses of rotted flesh beneath following next. Chain mail fell into place, rusted and mangled, quickly covered by a gleaming white and blue tabard, unsoiled by the death, dirt, and blood around it. Plate bracers formed upon the wrists, the bony, fleshless fingers extending from them grasping the hilt of a massive sword, the blade seemingly forged from a single spine. The blue and white crown sat on a skull adorned in a chainmail coif, the eyes burning with unholy fire. A skeletal hand raised slowly, a single finger extended, grazing against Vazra’s chest. The fire in the skull’s eyes extinguished itself as the eye sockets locked with the mage’s own. The hand on his chest shot up, clenching around Vazra’s throat. With profane strength, the mage’s body was lifted off the ground, gasping for air.
“…My…” An unearthly voice echoed forth from beyond the skull and beyond the grave. “…opponent…”

As Stanrick, Selena, and One of Agnosco walked through the camp, they saw all of the makeshift tents of the collected warriors of Nightriver. They seemed to be in good spirits despite a number of them being bruised, bloodied, and bandaged.
A larger tent was chosen for the meeting location a ways away from the main camp. Although they appreciated the distance so that they might discuss with Kragen openly, they couldn’t help but feel a tinge of caution. It was fleeting, but definitely present, as the three of them approached the tent. Several Nightriver guards stepped aside and allowed them inside. One guard in particular was a grizzled veteran, his beard and hair flecked with gray, a leather eye patch covering his left eye, and what appeared to be a horribly jagged scar.
Once inside, they saw Kragen Bloodmoon. Clad in his black leather breastplate and large white fur over his back, he stood ready to meet with them, but as they judged by the look on his face and the scowl he wore, he was none too happy about it.
Pleasantries were absent as he spoke.
“Chieftain Stanrick Longfang and the human from Agnosco… you have been persistent on meeting with me. Speak, let me know your intentions, and then I must return to my duties. We are still at war.”
“I am well aware of this, for this war has affected us all”, Stanrick said. “My pack has been involved in this since the Watchwolves and humans were murdered in the Grimward great hall. I need not be reminded of this fact. However an issue has been weighing on my mind, and at first I thought maybe I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but now I need to know. My people swore that they would uphold the finding of the honor duel, and enforce the Watchwolf treaty. The only issue is it seems we can find no one that knows what happened. You and I have fought as brothers together when the outsiders first came to your shore. We burned our dead together, and we let you into our homes as if you were one of ours. But now I ask for the truth with the Great Wolf as our witness. What happened that day?”
Kragen Bloodmoon shifted his weight and visibly looked taken aback. The three could tell that he is not amused that the meeting he finally agreed to attend was about this.
“Do you really think that this is important right now?” he said. “Look around you, Stanrick Longfang. There are more pressing matters than the honor duel that stopped the fighting between our people and the colonists years ago. That duel ended the fighting, and that is all that mattered. My war pack was there to witness it, end of story. Now is there anything else?”
“Of course that is important, considering Grimward uses the battle cry that the honor duel is a lie.” Stanrick replied. “I was in your war pack; I did not see this. The fact that you don’t see this connection is troubling”. Stanrick stood firm, his eyes narrow. He strained to his full height. “I lost my family in that war just as Khulgar had. I made peace because of this duel. Who fought in it and who won?”
Selena watched the body language of those present, trying to read the room.” Having talked to Grimward and Khulgar myself”, she said, “I can confirm firsthand that Grimward believes that something was not right with that honor duel. So it’s time for the truth to come to light. All of it.”
One had remained silent thus far, watching and trying to think of everything that led up to this point. The biggest worry he had on his mind was before him. Kragen was irked. He’d have to tread carefully.
One recalled the conversation he had with Stanrick and Selena right before meeting with Kragen. He recalled stating that he had stressed to his most diplomatic spies, who were the most familiar with Branthur Nightriver, to make it clear that they would be willing to venture out and meet with Kragen if they could be allowed access to the front lines. Agnosco had good relationships with several of the militia factions. However, realizing the Ulven might have frowned upon that, they would agree to meet wherever they could get access. Things happened so fast, he felt he had gotten the summons before Branthur Nightriver replied to his spies. He was curious if that was the reply. Time would tell.
One cleared his throat and made a partial introduction.
“Kragen Bloodmoon, I apologize for having to speak with you with the war still going on, I’ve heard stories of your exploits and realize the harm of having you off the front lines. I hope we can make this quick. However, I do agree with Stanrick and Selena. If Grimward claims the honor duel for the cause of battle …would it not be best to start dismantling their very foundation for supporting the war in the first place? A shirt is a shirt, but pull a few correct strands and the whole thing comes unraveled.”
“It’s entirely possible these questions may not do much to affect the war”, he continued. “However, if we can even get a temporary truce to look into the matter. That should allow time for your people to heal, mend armor, gather supplies, and spend time with their loved ones…”
Basically, what it boils down to is…I’m not a fighter. Mardrun is currently at war and I can’t sit by, watching everyone else risk their lives. If I can do something to help, I will. If someone comes to us and says, ‘something is curious about the original honor duel’, then I’m going to use my resources and investigate every available option I have, as it might make a difference.”
One paused, took a glance around, and realizing the point was made, let the others continue.
Subtle differences in Kragen’s stance and posture gave away that he was contending with some sort of inner turmoil mixed with an obviously heightened amount of anger. Short of stature, Kragen made up for this with a dominating presence that rarely failed to impose on others regardless of their size.
“Why, after so long, is this of such importance? The duel is done. It was a draw, the Nightriver champion fought a human champion and they could not best each other. Some say the Ulven champion actually won, rumors say the human champion did. My war pack was there to witness it; the draw between the combatants formed the truce that stopped the bloodshed. Besides, do you think the Grimward war packs give two shits about the honor duel anymore? They are here, they want war, and they will stop at nothing to kill all of the colonists. This matter is finished; you would be wise to let this go.”
Kragen finished and visibly softened for a moment, his edge gone.
“I ask that you let this go; we have more pressing matters”, he said.
One looked around once more and wondered if he should speak up first or wait for Stanrick and Selena…he thought it interesting that Kragen seemed like he had wanted to say more. Not wanting to lose momentum, he spoke before they did.
“Kragen, I understand those were trying times and you seem to want to get back to the front to help your war packs. I can’t help but to ask, why do you continue to state the same story we heard from various sources? If you and your war packs were there to witness the duel, would you not be able to say who the champions were?”
“From what I’ve uncovered from two independent sources”, he said, “my people had a female Vandregonian Soldier, but I’m still working on getting a name. After that, I will try to ask her personally about what happened. I’d like a balanced side of the story so no one will say the humans skewed our side of the history here on Mardrun.”
One paused here, hoping Selena or Stanrick could jump in for their views.
Stanrick showed no sign of giving in. He took a moment to size up everyone then glanced to Selena, who gave a small nod. He looked to the nicer war chief. “When we hold such things in our highest regard, it upsets me that no names are given to the champions. And maybe I didn’t make it clear when I asked who, but I wanted a name, because the warrior who fought against another to end so much bloodshed should have each of us singing their name. A human that had the courage to stand against an Ulven champion should have our respect so their name be known. You keep saying your war pack was there but have not said that you witnessed it yourself, this would be fine if you had fought the duel. However, you speak of the Ulven champion in the third person.” He paused. “Now we are at the point that time is being wasted. I have warriors on the front line and am here asking a question that should not be this hard to get the truth about.” He looked Kragen in the eye, clearly upset that someone who had been a friend for so long was dodging his questions. “Each time you give me an excuse that this is not important and a waste of time,” He paused, briefly, “that is where my time has been wasted.” Stanrick was not at the point of shouting, but his voice was raised. He took a deep breath before he continued. “Honestly, I didn’t really care much about it for a long time. One day I was on the battlefield killing humans, the next I was heading home to raise a child and my kid brother. Thought nothing until the day four years ago, when you came to the outpost with humans in tow. But no one asked me about a duel so I never thought about it. It wasn’t till the human here started asking me if I knew about this duel that I even began to wonder. Yet for such an important event almost nothing was known. So I will ask a third time, who fought in the duel?”
Selena touched Stanrick’s shoulder.
“If you boys are done posturing now”, Selena sighed. “Kragen, I am tired. My soul is tired. I started looking into the war over a year ago, when I was still a member of Spiritclaw. I left my position as Truthseeker feeling unsatisfied because I never found the truth; I thought I had failed for a long time. It took me a while to realize that I hadn’t failed, but the focus of my hunt for the truth had changed. That Gaia needed my skills as a Truthseeker in the world as one of her Daughters. I am here because I still hold the skills of a Truthseeker, but those skills have expanded. I see what Gaia is trying to tell everyone, but they are choosing to ignore it.” She paused for a moment. “I opened the door for others to follow in hopes their skills could find something mine could not. I asked the humans to look into the war from their side to try and find something I could not. Every story has multiple sides and the truth is often somewhere in the middle.” She nodded to One. “His group is the closest to the Truthseekers that I have found. I may not agree with everything they have done, but they do hold the value of knowledge and truth above all else, and most importantly they are using their information to help the betterment of their race as a whole. That is more than I can say for our own. In the past two years I have seen Ulven cast off traditions and turn into whining, self-centered asses, more concerned about their own images than doing what is right. They are turning to bullying and threats before even attempting to be civil and just ask for help, or say what’s on their mind, or Gods forbid come out with the truth when confronted. The Lorespeakers have lied to the race a whole for Gods only know how long. Their lies are only now slowly coming to the surface. Yes, Grimward may not give two shits about why they are fighting anymore. They just know that this is what we used to do…according to the stories, but they also fail to read deeper into those stories to see what else we used to do.”
“I also know that not everyone on Grimward’s side is devoted to this war,” she said. “There was dissent and there were questions when I was there looking. Some questioned but did so quietly for fear of being killed. I can only guess that those questions still remain since they haven’t been answered. There is more to life than just the fight.” Selena stopped herself. “But, that is neither here nor there. You don’t really care either. You are conflicted about something and are hiding behind the posturing of the notion that if you look intimidating maybe it will just go away.” Selena leaned her elbow on the chair and rested her cheek in her hand “I am not a child. Yelling at me to go away will not necessarily mean I will run away. I am not scared. I am too tired to be scared. If you don’t want to do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do that is fine. How about you do it for your soul? I may not be a Truthseeker anymore, so I don’t know if I have the Great Wolf’s ear anymore, but I hold Gaia’s favor. Lie to the Great Wolf, and you get eaten, but lie to the Mother on top of it, and there is no telling how her displeasure will manifest. The Truth will cleanse your soul, Kragen. Let go of the burden and when your time comes, stand before the Great Wolf and the Mother and you can proudly say: ‘Yes, I dishonored myself, but I accepted my fate and I made amends the best I could.’”
Selena’s words rang true and seemed to cut through some of the tension in the room. Kragen’s features had softened a touch before she spoke and he seemed visibly pained by listening to them, but he made no attempt to interrupt her. When she was finished speaking he closed his eyes and paced a bit, eventually facing the wall of the large tent and averting his gaze from the three of them.
“I will make amends the best I can, I will do what I must.” Kragen trailed off a bit, talking more to himself than to anyone else.
Kragen took a deep breath, holding it for what seemed like an eternity, and finally exhaled. His posture had returned to that of a more confident or assertive stance, but he did not turn to face his petitioners.
“Her name was Vanessa Grimm, and she was a Sergeant of the Vandregonian army”, he said, finally. “She was the human champion that dueled the Nightriver champion in honorable combat. She defeated her opponent and pushed for a truce after her opponent underestimated her and promised her and her race ruin on the Ulven lands. Her opponent… was me.” Kragen said, pausing afterwards to let the details sink in.
After a brief moment, Kragen walked back to the table set up in the tent. He looked down at it like he was studying the papers or items on it.
“In our culture, a Warleader is chosen to uphold the honor and martial prowess of the Clan. They help the Clanleader and the High Priestess. To be Warleader has been the greatest honor of my life; second to that is being a father.”
Kragen turned to face the three, his expression returning to an edge but nowhere near the posturing it was before. Paying attention to his demeanor, Kragen seemed almost relieved to finally let the truth out but remained the imposing presence he wished to present to them.
“When my war pack had run down a unit of Vandregon’s soldiers long ago during the Ulven and colonist conflict, our enemies would not roll over nor would they have any chance of winning. They impressed us to a degree, but their ideals of combat and personal honor were much different than ours. We killed them, one by one, some of us mocking them, until a lone warrior called out a challenge in combat. Bruised, bloodied and haggard, this female warrior called out to face her. One of my warriors was going to accept the challenge and kill her in a duel, but I stepped forward instead. I wanted to prove to our warriors and theirs that a challenge like this was foolish, and that they would not be able to take on the Warleader of Clan Nightriver, the greatest Clan of Ulven people. I accepted her challenge.” Kragen said with an almost exhausted tone, placing great weight on the final sentence of his speech.
“I mocked her. I threatened her and her warriors. I disrespected her. I promised her death and ruin once we overran her people. Why should I show her the respect I would an Ulven warrior? She was frail, she was weak, she was not of my kind, and at that time we were so sure we would crush them and finish off these outsiders for good. I did not show her the respect I should have and I did not take the duel as seriously as I should have. It was a great fight and she was skilled. She had the upper hand before I knew it, and before me was a great warrior that I underestimated. I could not come back from it in time, and as our blades nicked and cut each other we both wore down. I broke her arm and she broke my jaw, and as I lunged a final time she stopped my blade and had hers by my throat. I was defeated utterly, and she could have killed me then and there.”
The words spoken by the Warleader seemed to weigh heavily on him. His voice became a bit softer and his eyes seemed to drift to distant memories.
“She stayed her blade. She said she knew who I was, that I had the power to speak reason to my Clanleader. She won in honored combat and would spare my life if there was a truce between our people, in order to allow reason to win where swords had failed. I agreed and said it would be done. The fight was over and I was defeated. I swore on my honor to uphold my end of the deal, but I could not live with the thought of an outsider defeating me in combat, and of being made a mockery in front of all the Ulven people. The shame, the dishonor, to myself and my Clan to be the first and only Warleader in our people’s history to be bested by an outsider!” Kragen said loudly.
There was an awkward silence in the room until Kragen calmly said, “Bovna was my friend. She trained many warriors and stood by me in combat. That night, when the Vandregonian soldiers slept in the camp next to us, she and other warriors crept into their camp and killed them in their sleep. Vanessa Grimm, human champion and the warrior who defeated me in honored combat, had her throat slit in the middle of the night. Bovna thought that killing them would erase this problem. She did not respect the humans at all or see them as equals. Her actions made things much worse, but my actions did not make things better.”
“My personal war pack was sworn to secrecy, that we would work to stop the fighting but that what happened that day would follow us until the Great Wolf’s judgement. The truce was successful and we stopped the fighting. For years, what happened that day remained a secret. I would atone for my actions in time and gain my honor back; nobody cared and nobody looked… until now.” Kragen said, and nodded, his gaze fixed behind the three people in front of him.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Each person there realized that they had made a mistake: the lack of details, the evasive answers, the postponing of meetings and difficulty in finding out clues. The meeting in a tent. Alone, far removed from the others camped nearby.
Expertly executed at once, Stanrick, Selena, and One saw a flash of a leather strap move in front of their faces. They had been taken off guard and were unable to stop it in time. Three Nightriver guards had crept closer during the meeting and placed leather belts over their heads on Kragen’s command. Quickly, they tightened the leather belts around the necks of each of their targets, beginning to constrict them and cut off their air supply. All three of them realized that they were being choked as their captors behind them pressed them down onto their knees and tightened the belts still more.
“I told you to leave well enough alone”, the Warleader said.
Stanrick smiled, even in the midst of such a dire situation. He was fighting the instinct to break into a fully rage-filled attack. “You won’t even face me as a warrior? Lying is one thing, but to murder us will get you eaten”, he said, directing these words in an attack on Kragen.
A flash a fear crossed Selena’s face as she realized the extent of the attack, before it was replaced by rage. She glared at the Warleader, with the glare unique to every mother, which tells a person that they are in deep trouble. She looked to Stanrick, then to One, and then at the ground. She chanted in old Ulven with the gasp of breath she took, but it was hard to tell if she attempted a healing spell or something of a different variety because she held it in, containing the magic within herself.
One, for his part, was engrossed with the story Kragen had laid before them, which filled in the missing pieces. Agnosco had been half right. Many nights were spent postulating what had actually happened after the original honor duel unfolded.
It had bugged him and Double for quite a while after Cahal Spiritclaw informed them of one interesting point. He stated the Nightriver Clan had often frowned at his attempts to look into their past. As far as Agnosco understood, the Truthseekers were highly respected and had nearly unlimited access. For them to be pressured to back off, there would have to be something embarrassing they wanted to remain hidden. Seeing how Kragen Bloodmoon was the Warchief, perhaps a pup had gone against his direct order? However, they would have taken corrective punishment to right the matter…except that wouldn’t have been that great or scandalous of a secret. Double and he could never quite answer it, but it kept coming to the conclusion that an underling had done something wrong…except that didn’t say much. Now he realized the truth.
“If only the Baroness would have gotten the details for the Vandregonian troops that she was investigating sooner”, he thought. That small detail could have saved them from the current situation.
One gasped for another breath, trying to judge the position of everyone in the room. He realized that even though things were dire, he had something that would prove useful. Growing up, his father was someone important, so he was often drilled in certain steps in case of a kidnapping or attack. Such an attack would be carried out in hopes that the assailants would try and influence his father through him. He was given a special brooch to wear at all times.
He had walked into the tent without any weapons. It was doubtful he’d have been able to take them in, anyway. No one realized the brooch pin holding his cloak shut was actually a modified piece of jewelry. It was, in fact, a very small knife.
Because he had the leather belt around his neck, the Ulven holding him captive would naturally see his hands raised trying to pull it free. He only needed seconds to bring his hand down, to draw out the knife brooch from the cloak and continue down and around to stab the guard. Seeing how he was kneeling, the most exposed area was the Ulven’s groin, though another target would serve, should he have time to draw the knife and pierce the relatively undefended area. If he was lucky, the follow-up would be his captor bending over in pain in such a way that he could grasp on and roll him over his shoulder. He needed perhaps three or four seconds for the stabbing. As such, he also required a distraction where the eyes of everyone present would be off of him to complete the motion.
As he stood before the three struggling captives, Kragen knelt down and faced Stanrick, who was struggling to keep the leather belt from closing too tightly around his neck.
“I admire your warrior spirit, Longfang”, he said. “I long to answer your challenge in honorable combat and indeed face you as a warrior, but it cannot be this way. You and I know each other from a long time ago. It pains me to do this, it really does, but I have no choice. I made a mistake and I will be judged for it. Those that followed me made a mistake and will also be judged, but this has gone beyond the scope of personal honor. The Clan is at stake now, and this alliance we have built is fragile at best. I believe Gustav’s intentions to be fickle and I don’t trust Clan Ironmound to be allies forever. I must see this through. I must help Branthur win this conflict, and then I will face my judgement. The future of my Clan and the Ulven people as a whole is more important than my own failings of honor” He paused, quietly surveying his three incapacitated captives.
“And unfortunately, it is more important than the lives of the three of you”, the Warleader said honestly and with a definite tinge of remorse.
Stanrick glared and thrashed a bit, driving his guard, who was having a hard time keeping him under control. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Selena attempting to manifest her magic, her guard watching Kragen more than he was watching her. In a bold move, Stanrick planted his foot on solid ground and pushed forward with all his might, bringing his guard with him and knocking him off balance.
It was just enough to cover the distance.
Stanrick’s forehead landed with a sickening crunch on the bridge of Kragen’s nose. Standing and reeling back from the sudden pain, Kragen let out a throaty growl and covered his nose with his hand as blood flowed uncontrollably down his face. The guard controlling Stanrick regained his balance and pulled hard, cutting off the air flow to Stanrick entirely. He slammed Stanrick’s face into the dirt not once, but twice. Now face down in the dirt with the weight of the Ulven guard on top of him, Stanrick was stuck firm and quickly running out of breath.
Selena took advantage of this to try to complete her spell, and the only thing that she could think of that would help was to summon energy to blind or stun her guard after realizing healing magic would do little in her current situation. Her guard struggled for a moment, and when Selena twisted to aim her primed hand at him, she felt a sudden flash of pain pierce her ribs. She had been stabbed, and she felt the metal blade sink deep into her flesh. She cried out in pain and finished her motion, opening her palm right on the face of her guard, which caused a bright flare of light to blast him in the face. Crying out in alarm, the Nightriver guard dropped his hold on the leather belt and stepped back. Selena fell forward several feet, clutching at the small knife stuck in her back.
One was also waiting and took advantage of the distraction. He quickly reached for the brooch knife, unsheathed it, and quickly stabbed over his shoulder several knives. First he felt it bite into leather, then again it skidded off of something metal. The third time it cut into and sliced across exposed flesh, and his guard cried out in pain. His leather noose went slack for a second and One lunged forward, breaking the guard’s hold on him.
As Selena crawled forward clutching her side, One turned and backpedaled away from the guards, moving swiftly toward her. He helped Selena up on her feet. Now at the back of the thick canvas tent, One and Selena were free and coughing to regain their breath. This moment of respite only lasted a few seconds, as the blinded guard had shaken off the effects of the spell and had drawn a sword, and the other guard held his bleeding hand to the side and unhooked an axe from his belt. There was nowhere to go; it would take too much time to get under the tent walls and escape, and Stanrick was only several dozen seconds away from being choked to death. Selena cringed through gritted teeth and pulled, removing the knife from her side. She clutched the wound tightly, holding it partially closed as blood soaked her clothing. One looked almost ridiculous, brandishing his tiny knife out in front of him as two armored and angry Ulven began to move in cautiously.
“I am impressed with the three of you.” Kragen said as he flicked blood from his hand onto the ground. His nose was broken, and blood was still running down his face, yet Kragen had recovered completely and ignored the pain. As Stanrick struggled for every gasp of air, Kragen looked down at him and drew his sword.
“You have earned an honorable death, warrior, and you two as well”, he said. “When we light the pyres for some of the fallen warriors tonight, I will personally speak of you so that the Great Wolf may hear of your deeds. Your deaths will not be in vain; this will not be a straw death for you. Meet the Great Wolf with pride and honor, my friend.” said Kragen somberly as he lifted his sword over Stanrick.
“Warleader… are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to be judged as a murderer and coward?” said a clear voice amongst the chaos.
Kragen hesitated a moment and looked up, attempting to find where the voice had come from. Stanrick’s captor also seemed to be taken off guard, and gave just enough slack to allow a lifesaving breath of air to reach his lungs. The two guards closing in on Selena and One stopped just a moment and turned a bit to see who was speaking.
At the entrance inside the tent was the older Ulven guard, the graybeard with the eye patch and scar. He stood tall and confident and looked solely at Kragen when he spoke.
“Jovin, you know it must be this way. We cannot afford to let this secret out. There is too much at stake now. You know this! You were there, you went with Bovna, and you killed the humans in their sleep. Why the change now?” said Kragen quizzically and almost painfully.
“I did because I followed Bovna’s commands. I stood by and let it happen, and my hands were stained because of it. My honor is stained because of it. You knew it was wrong then; you severed Bovna and sent her into the Dirge for her actions. She went alone, willingly, crushed because she had lost your favor. Then you asked us to keep this secret. Now, you are willing to do more and kill more for your pride and your own twisted sense of honor. You speak of the “greater good” with honey on your tongue while you dishonor yourself and your Clan. Great Wolf damn you, Kragen Bloodmoon, for you are an honorless cur and unworthy of the title granted you or the loyalty of those in your Clan. I will not follow you in this. I will ask you one more time, Kragen, are you sure you want to do this?” said Jovin with a mixture of emotions showing through in his words.
Kragen’s face was twisted in an expression of both shock and anger. Jovin’s words cut deep; they went deeper than any weapon could cut his physical flesh. After a moment, anger gained hold of Kragen and he leveled a fierce gaze at Jovin.
“I will kill you for those words, Jovin Nightriver. You will share the fate of these three now. Guards, kill them all.” said Kragen as he turned his attention back to Stanrick who had struggled for just enough air to keep from passing out.
A fourth guard in the back and the wounded guard with an axe stepped quickly towards Jovin. The veteran made no move. He waited until the two guards were moving to a close distance with him to finally make his move. He did not move into a defensive stance nor reach for a sword to defend himself.
Jovin instead grasped the canvas flap door to the tent and pulled it fully aside and open.
“KRAGEN!” roared a figure. With the door opened, it revealed the large frame of Branthur Nightriver himself.
Time seemed to slow as Kragen and his men froze. A look of shock was equally shared amongst them. Branthur walked inside the tent, one slow step at a time, almost as if he needed many seconds to truly comprehend what was happening. Kragen’s guards lowered their weapons and Stanrick’s captor released his hold on the leather belt. Stanrick gasped as precious air filled his lungs. Selena and One kept their distance in the corner but were no longer being confronted by the opposing guard.
Branthur ignored everyone in the room and was looking straight at Kragen. The Warleader suddenly appeared very small. Branthur looked timid and confused for a moment, until finally a fierce look of rage filled his face. He immediately bristled and looked ten times larger than he actually was. Although he only wore a tunic and no armor, he looked like the most dangerous warrior that ever lived. He suddenly moved forward with a determination powered by his great anger.
He walked past Kragen’s guards, who did not move to stop him. He stormed up to Kragen with a throaty growl.
“What…have…you…DONE!?” roared Branthur as he leveled a powerful punch square on Kragen’s face. Kragen could have dodged it, but never flinched as the blow racked his head sideways with a crunch and sent him flying through the table set up in the room. Maps, tankards, and small things left on the table went flying and crashing to the ground.
Branthur stepped over the fallen Warleader and grabbed him by the throat. His meaty hand easily grasped around it, and he picked up the Warleader by his neck to place him back on his knees.
“You… you will pay for this. You have dishonored me! You have dishonored our Clan! You have dishonored yourself! I trusted you, you were my friend, my brother, and you betray me? Your actions are unspeakable. You dare to lie and now this? You would murder those that called you friend? You would murder a Daughter of Gaia to protect your honorless hide? I will deal with you, Kragen Bloodmoon. You will NOT be judged; that honor is for Ulven who are worthy!” roared Branthur again as he slammed Kragen into the ground, further destroying the table and sending chairs flying.
Not a single person moved for a moment except for half a dozen of Branthur’s bodyguards and several of the Vandregonian officers that constantly accompany them. They slowly proceeded into the tent, cautiously approaching Kragen’s men with weapons drawn.
“Detain them. Each and every warrior under the command of Kragen. Bring me my branding knife.” said Branthur, who was oddly calm after such a display of rage and anger.
None of Kragen’s guards put up a fight, for they knew that this was over. The Vandregonian soldiers and Branthur’s guards rounded them up, tied their arms, and took them out of the tent. Kragen remained bloodied and beaten on the ground, breathing heavily and making no attempt to escape, as two Vandregonian soldiers moved forward and grabbed his arms to detain him fully. He did not put up a fight and instead hung his head in shame and silence.
After a few moments, Branthur turned to Stanrick, Selena and One. He looked tired and pained, likely from the shock at the betrayal of his friend.
“I owe each of you a boon; Stanrick Longfang, Selena Stargazer, and One. Name your price.” he said calmly.
One was still rubbing his throat with one hand and his other hand with the blade, still shaken a bit. It had been a while since he had done something like that with the brooch dagger.
“Branthur, I thank you for your timely arrival…” he said, trailing off.
Taking a deep breath to try and calm down more, he looked towards Stanrick and Selena.
“I wouldn’t mind a moment of discussion”, he said in a steadier voice. “I’m not exactly sure what can be done at this point. I originally began looking into the matter because I wanted to open an alliance of sorts with Cahal Spiritclaw and his Truthseekers. However, the gist of the matter was that his people assumed it could help with the current civil war. After seeing so many of our people dying around us, as I was off the battlefield since I’m not a soldier, I had to do something. I never realized it would go this far.”
“Now I’m wondering what part of this information is the basis of the Grimward’s willingness to attack”, he said, continuing his previous point. “Could we perhaps get a discussion going with certain people? By that, I mean that the Grimward’s daughter seemed open enough while at the Serai Outpost working with the adventurers. Perhaps she, or others like her, could be contacted through a Grand Moot, which I believe Selena mentioned? The discussion on a boon can come later”, he finished.
Then One paused, so Selena and Stanrick could put in their own words
Now that Stanrick was finally free, he rushed to Selena while pulling out a piece of cloth from his bag to tend to her wound. He was breathing now and still letting this all sink in. “Thank you, Clanleader” he said with a quiet rasp. “The Great Wolf will know what you did this day.” He had nothing to ask for, at least not now. He glared over to the guard who had stabbed Selena, but heeled back on the burning rage that demanded that he smash his face with a boot. “I have nothing to ask at this time…” he said as he started to cough.
One saw what Stanrick did, and realized he could say something.
“I just want to add one more thing”, he said.
He looked towards Stanrick before Selena could speak.
“Sorry I couldn’t help you in there”, he said. “I realized with how they were positioned. I could have broken out and either hit the door and taken a chance outside or tried to help your mate. The idea with greater numbers seemed safer and I would have you owed you, at least that much. For not trying to save Selena, that is.”
One looked toward Branthur, his emotions becoming increasingly normal.
“I’m still a bit surprised you did show. The audience you allowed us didn’t make a mention of you making an appearance. However, I’ve yet to talk with my people who visited you earlier requesting this meeting, so I may be a bit ill advised.”
“Anyway, is there something you wish for us to keep quiet about with regard to this? At least until you can make arrangements…for a new Warchief?” he said, still struggling slightly with his breathing.
Selena sat there quietly, tending to her wound after Stanrick tied it off. Once she was sure the bleeding had stopped enough that she was not going to bleed out, she slowly stood up. She looked to Branthur “I can only speak for myself”, she said. “You owe me no boon, Clanleader. If you had not come in when you did, my mate and I would be dead and our children would be parentless. I should owe you a life boon.”
She sighed and looked with a great coldness at Kragen before looking back at Branthur. “I do not understand what our people have come to and why suddenly pride and anger have become more important than love and family. I am sad not for Kragen…he knew what he was doing was wrong, yet decided to do it anyway. Branding is too good a punishment for him. But this is your land and it follows your laws, so in the end it is up to you. However, something needs to be done to put into the people’s minds that this current path of selfishness and pride is wrong, and that it hurts the Pack and the Mother”. Selena frowned. “I am sad for his children, for they now must live knowing the sins he committed. I pray that they do not suffer for the sins of their father, or repeat them. I am okay with keeping this quiet till you find a new Warleader, but I will not do so for long. The truth needs to be heard”. She concluded her address with sorrow in her voice, matching her words.
“On second thought, I do have a request”, said Stanrick to the Clanleader. “Regarding Jovin and anyone who had the courage to bring this to your attention, please consider sending them to Onsallas to train with the Longfangs to regain their honor. I also wish to be there when you pass your own judgement on Kragen.”
Branthur considered each of their words and weighed them carefully.
“Stanrick, your request will be granted. Jovin and those like him will go to Onsallas and will train as part of Pack Longfang. They are yours. One, you bring up wise words for someone that is far removed from our politics as Ulven. There have been talk about attempting a moot between the Clanleaders or representatives. On my honor, I will present this to others and see if we can get Grimward to agree. I don’t think they will do it without a fight, but perhaps this will help. Selena, I think pushing for a meeting amongst our leaders would appease some of my debt to you as well, will it not?” said Branthur as he motioned for the guards to take Kragen away. “I do, however, have a request of you, Selena Stargazer. I will need a handful of Daughters to conduct a ritual. I do not ask this lightly and you may refuse, but you will be given access to the rites… to bury a criminal.”
The implication was unmistakable; when Branthur said that Kragen would not be judged, he meant that he would not go to meet the Great Wolf. He would be punished and buried as a criminal to the Ulven people, denied his journey to the afterlife. Such a thing was rare, almost entirely unheard of, and the true scope of dishonor that Kragen had brought to his Clan was fully realized.
“And no more lies. You are correct, Selena, the truth must be heard. I was deceived by this. I should have looked deeper into it, but the truce ended the fighting and to me that was what mattered at the time. I feel a fool, but I will not have my Clan be made a fool any longer for this. All Clans will be given the opportunity to witness Kragen’s punishment and know that Clan Nightriver will not stand for attacks such as these carried out against our people. I do not know how Clan Grimward will take this, but I will not allow it to seed further dishonor amongst my people.”
Branthur was lost in thought as he stared at the wrecked tables and chairs before him.
“Now go, tend to your wounds and return to your people. And should you accept, Selena Stargazer, I will send for you when the rite is conducted.”
Selena did not take long to think on the unusual offer. “Yes, I will help. I will await word for when it is time. As to the Moot, I do think it is long overdue. I am sure the Clanleader of Spiritclaw will aid you in pushing for one.”
One had been listening quietly after stating his opinion on communicating with the other clans. Stanrick, Selena and Branthur spoke as he was partially lost in thought. He was trying to decide if there was anything he should ask as a boon for Agnosco. If he was honest with himself, he felt similar to what Selena spoke of. If Branthur hadn’t come then, it could have ended in an ugly way. He might have been able to last a few minutes with Selena, but most likely that would have been a generous estimate, for the guards were elite warriors. Getting to Stanrick might have let them last longer, but with the Nightriver Warchief looming over Stanrick at the time, it wouldn’t have ended well for him.
As One thought about it, if Jovin hadn’t spoken up at that point or had Branthur not followed him…they’d be dead. One thought what Stanrick did for him was honorable.
Which got him thinking…
Before One finished the thought, he realized Branthur had said something interesting
One had caught the last half of the statement…buried? Alive? That sounded harsh. Then he realized that Branthur had never said alive. One remembered then that even though it was normal for Faedrun to do so, Mardrun had different burial rights. Burnings were normal here, and that was what the colonists were abiding by. One wasn’t sure he had even heard of an Ulven being buried before. That concept had to have been a strict punishment. He, or probably Double, would have to ask them later after they got back. One heard a dismissal from Branthur and cleared his throat in a manner to indicate he wanted to say a few more words.
“I apologize, but I wish to say a little more before we depart. I appreciate everything you have done thus far. I realize it may have been awkward to allow a person such as I access to your Warchief, being an outsider. However, as I stated before, I hope you could see my organization’s actions were only aimed at bringing the truth out into the light to perhaps facilitate a quick end to the civil war, as Grimward stated this as an issue for starting the war in the first place. They were not done because I wanted to blame someone. Time will only tell if it’ll help start the talks. If Agnosco can help again, just let us know”.
He continued. “Even though you mentioned you wanted to give us a boon for uncovering the truth, I feel a bit hesitant, as if it wasn’t for your timely intervention I probably would be dead. I’m happy enough that I’m still breathing. However, after hearing Stanrick’s honorable request to give Jovin a new start, it got me thinking that everyone has had a role to play in this war so far. I’m sure you’ve heard of the contributions the Phoenix faction has made so far to the war efforts. They have given Silver, Supplies, Pineed Sap, and so on. Recently, they ran into a bit of trouble during a convoy run to support the war efforts. One of their members was overwhelmed and captured by some bandits in the area and is still missing in action. If it’s not too much trouble, could you perhaps put a small war pack together to rescue the Phoenix member, Marcus Clearwater? I know how much Phoenix members treat another as close friends…almost as family. I can supply what little I know if it’ll help”.
Finishing his request, he said “I do business with the Phoenix from time to time, and since many others do too, I thought it might be fair to offer them assistance. If this request is too much, I’m sure I can find something else that is suitable.”
One finished his words and began to turn to Stanrick and Selena. The Clanleader replied, “I am willing to assemble a war pack to bring back Marcus Clearbrook. He is an honorable warrior, from what you have said, and likely has a great welcome waiting for him on the Fire Isle. It is not so great a trial to go and bring him back.”
One was slightly shocked at the ease with which Branthur accepted his request, but he said “Thank you”, most gratefully. Then Branthur addressed the three of them once more. “In truth this time, it is time for you to go. I bid you safe travels”, and he turned away, looking up at the top of the tent.
As Branthur had dismissed them, the three still gathered in the tent turned and left. On their way out, a Nightriver hunter moved past them and entered the tent.
“Clanleader, I have an urgent report. The Grimward forces have been spotted. Their withdrawal of troops was not a retreat…” was the last thing they could hear as distance muffled the rest of the words spoken to the Clanleader.

My name is Marcus Clearbrook and I fucked up. Well, I am still living that fuck up, so I guess you can say that I’m still consistently fucking up. My hands and feet are bound around a limb of iron wood, to which was being carried by two Ulven to Gods knows where. I must have looked like a dead deer being carried home to be skinned and quartered. The binds cut into my hands and feet to the point where I could not feel them anymore. And my head pounded like the drums of the nine hells. What I wouldn’t give for a drink!

“Great Wolf! This human weighs as much as a spring heifer. He better be worth all this trouble” Growled the forward litter bearer.

“I agree! I feel that we should just slit his throat and be done with it. One less human to worry about” Piped in the Ulven next to my feet.

“Hush up you witless pups! This human is in league with the Phoenix, who are very wealthy. We sell him to the headman at Davon’s Reach, and get supplies. Which is good for us, because we are down to our final rations.” Chastised a woman who brought up the rear.

As much as I don’t want to agree with her, she was right. I went over the events of the past couple days in my head. After my group got ambushed by the bandits, while attempting to fix the cart, I got separated from the group. Myself and a young, but fierce, Ulven female. After we wondered the wilderness for what seemed like an eternity, we were found by my captors. I hailed them and they lowered their weapons, claiming that they are friends. Not knowing what the brands on their faces meant, I sheathed my weapon and went out to meet them. At the time they seemed good enough. We then joined them and went in search of my party. We searched for an hour or so, and then we stopped for a meal on top of a hill. I noticed people moving down the vale that looked like my comrades. When I told my Ulven companion that I see our friends and turned around to see the branded Ulven with swords drawn. My hand went to my sword, then I got hit in the back of the head and everything went dark.

I now know that branded Ulven are not good people. As I said, I’m still living my fuck up. I don’t know how long I have been out. The only silver lining is that these guys get to haul my fat ass around the wilderness to Gods know where. I should play unconscious for a couple more hours till they stop for a break. At the moment, I notice that I am parched and starving.

My two bearers dropped me expectantly, my head hitting a rock as the result. Causing my head to pound harder than before. I slowly stirred trying to get into a sitting position, my body protesting very minute. “Thanks for warning boys!” I said through cracked lips. The Ulven in the front of me, turned around and kicked me in ribs. With my hands and feet bound, all I could do was flex my muscles, which didn’t do much. Fire erupted in my side and I swear he broke a rib.

“Thanks buddy. When you go before the Great Wolf and ask to be reborn, you might want to ask him for some balls. Cause you kick like a bitch!” I grinned through pain. In retrospect, I should have kept my mouth shut, but I kind of want this shame to end. My kicker drew a wicked knife and kneeled next to me. “I would rather starve, than deal with your insolent tongue any further.” He reached forward to cut my throat. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, but the bite of the knife never came. Instead I heard a couple of thuds. I looked up to see the branded Ulven woman stand over me, and my attacker on his ass, holding his jaw. “Damnation Bartax, we need this human pig alive!” She roared at him. “We have less than a day till we get to Davon’s Reach! Keep your knife in the pants, or else I will gut you myself!” She looked to the other litter bear. “Huskar give the pig some water. I don’t want him to die. Yet.”

The Ulven named Huskar cut my feet loose and propped me up so the water didn’t dribble down my chin. The lukewarm water from the water skin tasted musty and unpleasant, but it was ambrosia to my lips and body. Bringing new life to my limbs, and lowering my headache slightly. “Any chance to get something to chew on?” I asked him. He looked up at the woman and she nodded. Huskar asked the woman to untie me, as he went behind me and held a knife to my throat. I felt a sense of Deja-vu as the woman untied my hands from the stick and retied them. The knife rested against the right side of my neck and it felt cold. I could feel my blood pumping against the blade, almost trying to push the knife away.

After I was retied, Huskar produced a piece of dried meat and offered it to me. I took it with a thanks and started gnawing on it. The woman stood up and gestured for us to move again. I slowly got up on my wobbly feet, and gingerly took some steps. The other two Ulven started walking ahead, “Move, pig!” Bartax said harshly. I took a few steps forward and he shoved me in the shoulder. I lost my feet and grabbed a maple sapling staying upright, dropping my dried meat. I looked at Bartax and gave him the best stink eye that I could. I reluctantly followed behind the other two Ulven, with pins and needles in my legs.

We marched for the rest of the day and by the time the sun had disappeared behind the western horizon I could smell wood smoke. My captors probably smelt the same, because they increased their speed and seemed more watchful. We moved out of the forest line into an open meadow, which sloped up to a hill and near the apex of the hill was a walled settlement. The Ulven woman looked back at me and said sourly, “Welcome to Davon’s Reach pig. Hopefully all this effort to keep you alive will be worth it. If not, I will take great pleasure in flaying you.” As she said the last part she grinned maliciously, her white fangs shining menacingly in the twilight. I saw this and it scared me so thoroughly that I paused for a second. My stupor was broken as Bartax hit me in the back of the head. “No time to waste pig, your fate is about to be revealed.” He chuckled

We walked into the thick grass of the meadow toward the settlement. No more than 100 yards from the tree line, a man in brown and black leathers stood up from the tall grass 10 paces ahead of our group. “Hold, state your business?” The Ulven woman took a few steps to get past Huskar. “I am Voska, branded Sister of Gaia. My branded brothers seek shelter at Davon’s Reach. We bring a gift as payment.” She gestures toward me and says, “The fat human in red and brown rags is an important member of the Phoenix.”

The man in the grass showed no emotion. “I will send a runner to the headman. In the meantime, my men and I will escort your group to the gates.” As soon as he was finished talking, six men in black and brown leathers, with bows drawn, stood up from the tall grass. The speaker walked to the closest archer and whispered in his ear. After a few moments, the archer lowered his bow and took off at a surefooted run toward the settlement.

Looking back at us he beckoned with his left hand. “Come.” I was then immediately shoved by my captors, my ruined armor clanking with the motion. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I don’t suppose it’s too much to ask if I can walk back the way I came? I thought sourly as a moved tiredly on.

We trudged toward the east side of the settlement, my captor’s captors always watching, with one knocked in their bows. I can tell that Voska and Bartax were getting agitated, not quite sure of the situation that they put themselves in. Me? I couldn’t care less, I was fucked either way. By the time we reached the gate the shadows were long and torches were being lit along the palisade. The eastern gate supported two solid oak doors that were about 3 paces long by a man and half tall. On each side of the doors a covered tower rose higher into the air, armed with two crossbow men.

The left door cracked open just enough to let one man through at a time. Three men filed out. The runner, a burly man with a huge ax strapped to his back, and finally a man about average height in black leathers. The man in black leathers regarded us with interest. “Ho friends, I am Percival Von Borscht, headman of this establishment. What can I do for you?” He said politely, putting his hands on his hips, hands not far away from a pair of curved short swords. Voska stepped forward about two paces from the headman. The guards eyed her warily, hands on weapons, bows raised at her approach. She straightened her back, hands clenched into fists at her side. “I am Voska, branded daughter of Gaia.” Gesturing to her comrades. “We wish to join your clan. If that is not possible, we would like to barter for supplies. What say you?”

“What do you have to barter, from what I can tell, you don’t have much in terms of possessions?” Percival stated dryly, clearly getting bored.

Voska’s gaze never left Percival’s. “We have this human pig to present you. He is a member of the Phoenix, and from what I remember of my time at Clan Stormjarl, they are very wealthy. We wish to give him to you, to do as you wish. I tire of his wagging tongue and foul smell.”

She was right, I did smell like shit. “You haven’t even begun to experience this wagging tongue!” I said loudly at her back. I was rewarded with a couple chuckles from the towers, and a hit in the back of the head from Huskar. “Quiet pig or I will remove said tongue. You don’t need it to live” He said as he grabbed me and put his knife to my cheek.

“Hold your knife Branded!” Percival commanded. “While this is true, he doesn’t need his tongue to live. He is worth more undamaged. I also would like verification from him that he is a Phoenix member. Bring him forward to the light” Huskar growled, but removed his knife and escorted me the few paces to the brightness of the torch light. We stopped in front of Percival and got a good look at the headman of Davon’s Reach. As I said, he stood at about average height, light build, long brown hair tied back, and an expertly trimmed beard. He didn’t look all that imposing to me. But I learned the hard way, never underestimate the little guy.

“How do I know that you didn’t kill a Phoenix member and take his clothes?” Percival asked as he took a step toward me and looked at my tatters. I smiled and shrugged. “You don’t.” I said simply. “But I am pretty sure I am better company than these branded scum. Minus the smell of course.” A toothy smile split the headman’s face. “No doubt, but I must beg your forgiveness for what I am about to do.”

I cocked my head at him in confusion. One moment Percival’s smiles vanished, the next moment he drew a throwing dagger. At the third moment it was sailing in the air toward me. I brought my bound hands to block the dagger flying toward my neck. I wasn’t fast enough, but the dagger didn’t bury itself in my throat. It brushed my unkempt hair to lodge itself in the right eye of Huskar. The blade didn’t kill him outright, but he screamed bloody murder as I dropped to my knees. Percival wasn’t done though. When I was falling he drew a short sword and sliced the screaming Huskar’s throat. His screams died fast as he fell to the cold ground, his warm blood fountaining from his body.

“Betrayal! Bar….” Voska yelled as she tried to draw her blade. The big guy with the huge ax, stepped forward and punched her out with a leather gauntlet to the temple of her head. She fell silently and laid still. I looked back to where Bartax was. He was on his knees, with six arrows shafts protruded from his chest and back.

I felt my heart beating like a humming bird’s wings. My previous captors were dead or unconscious in less time than it takes me to piss. My bound hands were next to my left ear, exactly where I felt the dagger wiz past my head. My breath coming out in ragged breaths, and my eyes wild with fear, looking for an escape. Percival walked over to Huskar’s corpse and wiped his bloodied blade clean on the dead man’s trousers. Sheathing his blade, he smiled down at me, then offered me his hand. I looked at his hand, back up to him, and grabbed his hand. My legs were unsteady.

He looked at me with his cold, calculating, blue eyes. “Now, before we go in. I want you to be honest with me. Are you in league with The Phoenix?” His voice very neutral without a hint of malice. I returned his gaze trying not to show fear. “I am in league with The Phoenix, but I am not a member of their group. I am a paid warrior that is employed by The Phoenix. A Gallant Feather.” I reached up and showed him my tattoo over my heart, a red feather.

As far as I knew I was the only one to get a feather tattoo over my left breast. I got the tattoo to signify my new home and that I was proud of being a Gallant Feather. I’m pretty sure I was the only one in the organization that had this tattoo, but Percival didn’t know that. I kept my face stern, like I had shown something to Von Borscht that few people ever see. Well other than the occasional tavern wench, it was true….ish.

He looked at me in the eyes for a moment. His deep brown eyes betraying nothing. Then he smiled and said as he lead my through the gates, his arm around my shoulder. “Welcome to Davon’s Reach! I’m sure we will work well together.” His sudden change in behavior really made me wary of his temperament and I decided that I should really try to stay in his good graces.

On the other side of the wooden doors, the first thing I noticed was the smell of cooked meat and stews. My mouth started to fill with saliva as my stomach started to audibly protest to the lack of sustenance. Percival must have heard the sounds coming from my stomach as he patted me on the back. “Marcus, please join me for dinner. We have much to discuss. While I go make the preparations, I would like it if you freshened up at the creek.” He said as he turned to big and ugly with a huge fucking ax and said. “Corin, please take some men and our guest to get freshened up at the river. Also supply him with different attire for the evening.”

Corin put a hand on me and I stopped immediately. Von Borscht didn’t even notice the transaction as he strode confidently through the dilapidated settlement. I turned around toward Corin and gave him the best smile I could. “So you’re the sorry shit that gets to watch me wash my ass.”

Corin gave me a huge smile full of crooked, broken teeth. “That’s only if you don’t try to run off. I would hate to explain to the boss how you drowned and then was hacked into pieces.” He then gave me a scowl and turned me back toward the gates. As I walked out the gates again, I noticed that the bodies of Bartax and Huskar were disposed of. All that was left was a flat patch of broken, red grass. Yup. If I plan to make it out of this place alive, I will have to play the next few hours very cautiously. Heh, never a dull moment, right? I asked myself as I trudged through the night.

“Reyna.” Bryech called his packmate over to him as Wargah and her companions prepared to leave the May’Kar outpost. He was going with her and wanted to get something off his chest before he did. Reyna approached him with a smile and commented.

“I literally just found you and now you’re going off on your own again.” Bryech smiled and clasped her forearm in the standard Ulven greeting, and in this case, farewell. Bryech wasn’t planning on a witty dialogue with Reyna. He wanted to get to the point.

“Reyna, I’m leaving Pack Longfang. I don’t want any conflict with any of you. I just need to move on.” Bryech says, causing Reyna a moment of shock. Without waiting for a response, Bryech placed his left hand on the outside of her forearm.

“I know this is sudden, however my honor debt to Pack Longfang is more than paid.” Bryech knew it was curt, but he knew that the words would mean something to the people who would hear them. He left, catching up with Wargah at the head of her party, or what was left of it after the expedition. The Alpha fight was brutal and many warriors fell on both sides, but in the end the expedition triumphed. A fact that was still shocking to Bryech as he recounted the harrowing fight while he walked.

The Grimward party broke camp a few hours after leaving the outpost. The sun had just reached its highest point when Wargah gave the word. Though they’d only been on the road a few hours, they all knew why they were really stopping. Behind them, a small sled carrying three corpses of fallen Grimward warriors, this expedition had not been easy. The Grimward set about to making their camp defensible for the night. Bryech set to work beside them. He didn’t care what side of the war they were on. He wanted to make sure the fallen received proper respects. The work was brutal in the sun, but it was something Bryech was familiar to. After setting up the defenses, the group was given the nights rations and set about eating them. Bryech sat away from his kinsmen. His life had trained him to be solitary, alone. There was no place for fickle talks and friendships in a warrior’s life. Bryech contemplated everything he’d done in his life, the brothers and sisters in honor he’d lost. The war had taken so much from this life. Bryech’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rise in the voice of one of the Grimward.

“Someone remind me why we have this outsider-loving coward in our party?” Bryech looked to the source of the voice, a large warrior with many scars on his face. Bryech sized him up from where he sat. The warrior saw this and stood, attempting to intimidate Bryech with his stature. He was strong, one could tell by looking at him. Bryech was unimpressed, and not at all afraid. He’d seen far too much war to be afraid of bluster. Bryech stood to confront his kinsman and didn’t hesitate to answer his challenge.

“Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish friend.”

“You think yourself a more capable warrior than I?!” The warrior looked to the growing circle of his fellow Grimward and then back to Bryech.

“I am Tolfdir Stormhowl, the eldest son of Gunjar Stormhowl!” Tolfdir hollered.

“And what have you done to make you so great Tolfdir?” Bryech replied with the beginnings of a snarl.

“I was a conqueror in the battles against the Watchwolf traitors!” Tolfdir replied, increasing the amount of effort in attempting to scare Bryech into submission. An ill-advised move for Bryech had lost his sense of fear long ago. The other warriors had now become invested in the challenge that was being called.

“A pawn used to commit the will of a man drunk on making his own legend!” Bryech roared back, shocking Tolfdir slightly as well as few of the watching warriors.

“I’ve killed men like you! And held better men dying in my arms!” Bryech continued, beginning to circle his foe, his rage building, the fire in his heart burning brighter.

“Do you know why there is even a war in the first place?! Because men like Haygreth and Branthur want to be immortalized in glory! They care not for you or me or the colonists! They would let all of us die just to say they were on the winning side!” Bryech was now seething.

“You speak as if your opinion matters boy!” Tolfdir growled in response, slowly drawing his sword from his belt as well as his knife.

“My feats are many, Tolfdir Stormhowl. I’ve killed countless Mordok all over this land. I’ve trained the Ulfendnar of Pack Longfang. And I, Bryech Savagefang, son of Davrik Savagefang, am one of the few, if not the last, Survivor of the Battle of Black Wolf Creek!” Bryech roared, grabbing a hatchet that was buried in a nearby log. The warriors murmured amongst themselves after Bryech named his last deed.

“Nobody survived Black Wolf Creek!” Tolfdir screamed and charged at Bryech with a bellowing cry. Bryech answered with his own roar and charged as well.

Tolfdir swung down in an attempt to bury his sword into Bryech’s shoulder, but his attack was blocked easily by the crook of the hatchet Bryech wielded. Bryech then kicked out and struck Tolfdir in his lower gut, causing the great warrior to take a few steps back and his dagger to miss Bryech’s throat by inches. Bryech advanced and swung the axe two handed, causing Tolfdir to drop his dagger after a weak attempt at a parry. Tolfdir retaliated quickly, punching Bryech in the jaw with the sword handle reinforcing his fist. The blow rattled Bryech and caused him to stagger and spit blood. Tolfdir stood waiting for Bryech to regain himself, and was not left waiting long.

Bryech spit out more blood as he stood. The pain was almost non-existent but still there. Bryech rushed forward again, this time attacking first with an overhead swing. Tolfdir turned his blade and placed the flat into his other hand to anvil block the attack. The sword caught in the crook of the axe and Tolfdir had done exactly what he had intended to do. Tolfdir flipped the axe back and over Bryech’s head, bringing it back and crushing it against Bryech. Bryech howled in pain as his foe began to crush him with his sheer force. Bryech struggled for what seemed like an eternity until he realized Tolfdir couldn’t defend his face. Bryech slammed his forehead into Tolfdir’s nose, causing a resonating crunch and gush of blood that covered Bryech’s shoulder as the two warriors separated. Bryech regained his footing quickly to witness his foe holding his broken nose as blood spilled between his fingers. Bryech picked Tolfdir’s sword off the ground, stood tall, and said:

“A monster did.” Bryech rushed forward and thrust the sword into Tolfdir’s gut, placing his left hand on Tolfdir’s shoulder to gain leverage. Bryech then leaned in and said:

“Tell the Great Wolf that Bryech Savagefang sent you to him on this day.” Without waiting for any sort of response, Bryech pushed the sword down to the hilt and kicked Tolfdir Stormhowl’s corpse onto the ground, letting the sword fall with him.

“It seems you already have the answers to your questions, kinsman.” Wargah said as she stepped into the circle that had formed. Bryech looked at her and growled. He knew she was right, his fears had been realized.

“Give me a map. I know you have a few with you.” Bryech replied, not wanting to discuss the hell that was their heritage. Wargah sent one of her warriors away, hopefully to return with a map.

“Why do you fight for the wrong side?” Wargah asked when her runner returned. She held the map out to Bryech as if wanting him to make a choice.

“I fight because my heart tells me I must, and my heart doesn’t wish to fight for another man’s glory.” Bryech replied, taking the map and unrolling it. After scanning it quickly, he began to walk south, but was stopped when Wargah called his attention.

“Bryech, take this,” tossing him a bag full of trail rations. “Gifts from the dead.” Bryech turned around once again and began walking south towards Ironmound territory without replying. Bryech knew his fight was far from over and the fire in his heart burned brighter than ever.

Read more: http://lasthopelarp.proboards.com/thread/1141/story-cole-becky#ixzz3oqy5lszC

“Hello at the gate! I swear to you we are not Mordok or bandits. We just want a room, it’s fucking cold and wet out here!” Marcus bellowed at the northern gates of Newhope.

“Very subtle. You know it’s really late in the night, they may not have a guard out.” I said as I held my cape over my other hand to shield my magefire from the wind and rain.“We should have camped out again. Found a dryer bunch of pines to sleep under.”

Marcus turned away from the large gates, his features mostly shrouded in darkness as my magefire continuously flickered in the chilly spring wind. Dropping his large pack to the cobblestone street, he exclaimed “To hell with that! You’re barely keeping your flame alight, and I will be damned if I wake up with a pine cone up my ass again. Which wouldn’t be the case if your aim was better!”

I exhaled a moment and remembered how the tent got destroyed. After the ruckus that was caused at the Ironmound feast, we went with the escort taking the Nightriver representative back to their territory, which wasn’t without conflict. They were constantly hounded by Grimward and wild animals. We had managed to either outmaneuver or avoid most of Grimward’s advances, but there had been a few minor skirmishes. One such instance happened when we were a day’s walk from Nightriver territory. We had just had our rations and were looking to turn in for the night. Since our supplies had been limited and not everyone had a tent, many of us had to double up in tents. This was not very ideal, since Marcus snores very loudly. Anyway we were about to turn in, when a guard screamed briefly before being silenced. Both Marcus and I emerged from the tent with our weapons, minus our boots, and yelled that an attack was happening. Losing the element of surprise, a handful of Grimward attacked, war cries filling the night. Our group was able to dispatch of them fairly quickly. Marcus was in the process of fighting one of the last ones, when this larger than usual Ulven stomped on his exposed right foot. Marcus howled in pain and fell to the ground. I primed a stun bolt and threw it, before the looming Ulven could finish off my friend. Solara take me, I don’t know how I missed that throw. The bolt flew over his left shoulder and landed in dying campfire, which caused it to explode showering the camp in sparks and embers. Everyone was shocked for a couple seconds except for the Nightriver representative, who snuck up behind the Grimward warrior standing over Marcus and slit his throat. She started helping Marcus to his feet, favoring his wounded foot, when the tents started on fire. It had been very dry as of late and many of the tents were made of canvas. I tried to put out the fire on our tent, but by the time I did, half of it was gone. A cleric healed Marcus’s broken foot and we delivered the representative safely to a Nightriver patrol. They couldn’t spare any supplies, so our best bet was to make it to Newhope. Marcus said there was a detachment of Gallant Feathers that he wanted to speak with about getting a unit to protect Ironmound, so we struck towards Newhope, tentless, and low on supplies.

“Gods above and below, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?!” I yelled as the rain increased tempo.

“I will let it go when I’m not starving and drenched to the bone!” Marcus yelled back, turned and rapped on the door spouting obscenities.

At the end of his rant, a small window in the large door opened, showering them in a yellow light from a torch. Holding a torch was a bleary eyed, unshaven middle-aged man with bad teeth. “What the hell do you want? What is your business here at this ungodly hour?” he said, clearly annoyed that we woke him up.

“It’s about fucking time!” Marcus said pointedly. “We are a couple travelers from Nightriver, we seek lodging from the rain. Can you let us in?”

The guard looked between Marcus and I. “Why don’t you use your tent and come back in the morning?”

Marcus looked back at me briefly. “We lost it due to extenuating circumstances, and we don’t wish to die of exposure to the weather and litter your nice road. So can you please let us in?”

The guard thought about our answer for a few breaths. “Well, I don’t know. I will have to ask my sergeant, but he won’t like being awoken.”

I interjected before Marcus could snap out an insult. “We would really appreciate if you could wake him up. The Phoenix would appreciate it.”

The guard rubbed his eyes and yawned, clearly not impressed. “All right, I will go ask him. It will take a while though. You never know, I might forget on my way.” He closed the window before we could say anything.

“Listen here you little shit, if you forget us and we die, I swear to the gods I will haunt your scrawny ass for the rest of your miserable, pitiful life!” Marcus yelled at the door before turning around and leaning against the cold heavy wood. “This is bullshit!”

I walked over to the door and put my back against the door next to my friend and exhaled. My breath steamed out in a cloud of vapor, which dissipated in the cold rain. There was a slight eve next to the door that kept most of the rain off, except for when the wind blew. I was really exhausted and was not thinking clearly. My magefire was slowly flickering in this miserable weather. I was cold and sleeping here seemed like a good idea.

Marcus then tapped me on the shoulder, briefly clearing my thoughts. “Hey, keep that fire going for a little bit. I have to get something out of my bag. If we are to die tonight, I might as well die happy.” He bent down and started rummaging in his pack. He straightened a minute later with a large leather clad flask. He pulled the cork and smelled the contents, his eyes widening as he did. “That innkeeper wasn’t lying, his wife does make a mean raspberry wine.” He took a drink and passed it to me.

I looked confused at him for a second before taking it. “Where did you get this?” I asked as I raised the flask to my lips and took a small drink. The liquid was sweet, but very powerful and it took my breath away. I started coughing, as my chest and throat felt like they were on fire.

“Ha! I got that from the innkeeper’s wife when we almost died in that snowstorm last winter. I thought since we might die tonight, it only seemed fair that we die drunk.” Marcus spoke as he took another drink, and handed it back to me. “Also if I can’t sleep, neither can you. Misery loves company!”

Taking the flask, while nodding I responded “Yes, yes she does.” I took another drink. This time I didn’t cough, but the fire in my throat and chest persisted. I handed it back to him as I started feeling warm and giddy. The alcohol was sitting heavy on my stomach, after not having very much food in the last few days. “Thanks Marcus. Thanks for having my back and being there when I needed it.”

He took another drink, smiled and said “No problem buddy. I’m sure a lot of people would have done the same. Also thanks for watching out for me as well and keeping me in check from time to time.”

I looked down at the ground and thought of how many people had my back. The list was very small. “Not as many as you think. Growing up was pretty hard and lonely. After my parents died, I didn’t have very many people that would help me out.” I said, still staring at the ground.

“I thought all you Syndar keep an eye out for each other?” he said inquisitively. I looked at him for a second, and remembered he didn’t have a lot of exposure to Syndar culture. “The ignorant bastard”, I thought.

“I’m half Syndar, Marcus. I’m considered impure, broken, a bastard compared to full Syndar. Some of them wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire. It’s pretty bad.” Marcus took another drink, looking down at the ground.

“That sucks shit Brodin. I didn’t know. But don’t you have any family or friends left in the world?” he asked as he handed me the flask.

I took a good long drink. “It’s probably better if I started from the beginning.”

“I was born in 218 on Faedrun in the May’Kar desert to the Syndar Phoenix Enclave. My mother was a Syndar silversmith named Carmella. My father was a human candle maker named Brosk. My mother was originally from the Enclave and she showed talent in the working of silver. By the time she was in her 80’s, her craft had made her pretty well known and liked. My father was a traveling candle maker, always traveling and “illuminating the world” as he once told me.” I smiled remembering those times, so long ago.

“He stopped at the Enclave to resupply his stock and hopefully to make a little profit. He told me that he had no intentions of settling down, but then he met my mother. She was not one to give up on things that she wanted. She knew what kind of scandal it would cause, but they didn’t care. Both my mother and father provided a service that people needed, so as long as they didn’t advertise it too much, no one openly denounced them.

I came along three years later. At the time my name was Brodin Wic. They agreed that my first name should be Syndar and that I should be given a second name of a sign of respect for my father. My second name changed when I was showing signs of magic. When I was 8, certain things happened. I was helping my father make a batch of candles. I became focused on something and suddenly a lot of the candles just exploded or melted everywhere. After that incident, my mother suggested that my second name needed to be altered to represent who I would become.Therefore, my second name was changed to FizzleWic. My childhood was excellent, memorable and fun. The enclave treated me as one its own, and I enjoyed playing with the few other syndar children. I was very curious, a bit naive, and very gullible. As I grew older, I tended to listen more, speak when it was necessary, and tell people the truth, even if they didn’t want to hear it. That goes for insulting them too, if they were acting like it. Mother said that it was a very human trait. After the candle incident my mother took me under her wing to learn silver metal crafting. Along with silver crafting, I was sent to the magus to receive training as a mage. Becoming a silversmith and training to be a mage was busy, but it kept me out of trouble.

Life was good in the Phoenix enclave. It changed when the magus Yara went on her journey of enlightenment. When she returned it was not with good news. Magus Yara told of her journey into the desert and how Solar spoke to her. The Sun God spoke of the Undead and that they would envelop Faedrun and bring an era of evil and degradation to the continent. Solar told her that they could find a new home across the great sea. This news was not received very well, because it brought more questions than answers and a lot of arguments in the enclave. My mother knew the magus for a long time and she looked worried.

We left with Magus Yara immediately after she told of her vision of Solar. I was leaving the only real home that I had ever known with most of the enclave in year 232. I was 13 summers old at the time. My parents bought three dusty camels for the journey. One for each of us to ride on and to carry our few valuables. Everything else my parents sold to those who insisted on staying. I was excited to go on an adventure to see new lands and journey where very few of our enclave had been. Our caravan was a decent size when we left our home. At the first oasis we stopped at to replenish our water supply we ran into another caravan. They looked very road worn and didn’t have a much in terms of supplies. They spoke of horror stories to the magus and elders, communicating rumors of undead. We traveled for a week after that before we came upon a band of armed men. They had a very grimy look. Many of them were armored in various degrees of cloth, leather armor and patches of chainmail. This was my first encounter with bandits.

Many of our caravan were unarmed and didn’t know how to defend themselves. There were a few, however, including my father who knew their way around a blade, or could cast spells. It was in that battle that I used my first push spell to dismount an armored man into a group of camels. An irritable camel named Birtha started stepping on the bandit until he stopped moving. We fought off the bandits, but many of our men and women died in the fray. The main force of the thieves were pushed back until they broke and fled.

That night many of our people were exhausted beyond belief. I am not sure if the sentry fell asleep or was knocked unconscious, but a few stealthy bandits returned to take what they could with the cover of night. My father was awakened to a bandit rooting through my mother’s silver things. The other man got the upper hand and slit my father’s throat before he could call for help. My mother woke up from the struggle and screamed as my father was killed. The bandit turned and ran, but fell over a sack of things he intended to steal. My mother then took my father’s sword and buried it in the bandit’s skull. Three other bandits were found and instantly killed.

My father’s death hit the both of us really hard. My mother decided it was best to bury it with continuing my training as a silversmith. I asked Raina, a magus in training, to teach me battle spells to punish those bandits lurking in the shadows. She looked at me and gave me a sympathetic look, and told me “Vengeance is not what we seek, but to survive the coming storm that will swallow this land. Forgive me, little one, you are still too young to receive such training. I will however teach you how to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

It took many months to reach the sea. Dealing with bandits and bribing border guards became the norm. Our caravan used many of its valuables to procure mercenaries that would protect our people. Eventually the loss of my father just became a dull ache. I worked closely with my mother to keep her safe and to learn what I could. We both found the loss easier to deal with if we were busy. My rage had subsided to wonder again as we reached the sea in Aldoria. For most of us it was our first time seeing the seemingly endless blue expanse. I stood in awe at the sight of it. By this time many of the ship captains were not interested in leaving port to cross the vast sea, but before too long we found two ships big enough to take all of us in the direction that we wanted.

The enclave sold most, if not all of its belongings, including the camels. My mother was no exception, though she did keep her silversmith tools, many of which I still use today.

We left a week later and many of our caravan were trained to be passable sailors. I went to work as a cabin boy and kitchen aid. It was grueling work to maintain the captain’s ship. While working with the human sailors, I picked up many mannerisms and dialects. I also found out what it means to curse like a sailor. Some of the things that were said made my mother blush. It was nice to see her smile again for a bit. I lost her a month later.

It started with the storms that knocked us off course and then we slowly ran low on supplies. The ship was fairly cramped with people and provisions were scarce. Disease was starting to become common. My mother got sick when she was trying to cure many of the ill. Always trying to help others, rather than herself.

I was decimated. I had lost my parents and most of the people I knew to this journey. I spent the next couple of days below deck holding onto my mother’s tools, depressed and crying my eyes out. It was not fair that I was alone. Some of the enclave huddled around me when I didn’t realize it and spent the nights through my trauma, holding me close. I woke on the third day with no tears left to cry. Then I looked at all those that remained and saw that we all had lost someone dear to us. I didn’t have a family anymore, but I had my people. I may not be a full Syndar, but we all bled and cried on this journey. We were family! Then I knew that I had a home no matter where I went.

Weeks later, Raina spotted land. It was a deserted island which would become our new home. We spent the next few months establishing a settlement and working hard to repair the ships that brought us here. The journey from the desert in 232 to the island in 238 had been a six year journey.

25 years later, I had a home built in a strong oak tree and had a silversmith shop built at the base. I was now a silversmith and a magus in training, which kept my mind pretty busy. Yet, I still wanted something more. I wanted to help people, and hopefully make a difference.

I sold many of my wares to everyone on the island, so I had a decent reputation, and was well liked. I was visiting Lady Anariel to get the specifics on an earring commission when she got news that a couple of her mage friends had taken ill. She was scheduled to leave in the morning for the mainland to attend a political dinner as a delegate from the Fire Isle. She couldn’t summon anyone with the short time that she had, so she asked if I would accompany her to the dinner. I eagerly accepted and ran home to pack a few things. I was going on another adventure and I couldn’t wait to get moving.

Upon reaching the mainland, we gathered our little procession and moved out. Lady Anariel stopped me before we got too far out of port and asked me if I could gather some reagents from the surrounding landscape. She wished to know if they could be used to enhance the flavor and special effects of her pickles. Always the one to please and looking to explore as much as I could of this new place, I accepted. Finishing with my task, I hurried to catch up with my caravan. That is when I ran into bandits and you, Marcus. Thank you again for helping me out with them.”

Marcus looked at me with a smile on his face and a glimmer in his eye. He was drunk. “Any time Brodin, like I said, I like to think that anyone would have done the same. We both bled a lot these last couple months, and I am sure that we will bleed more. This world is messed up and we are trying to fix it, but I will tell you what. There isn’t anyone that I would have by my side but you, brother.” He said as he patted me on the back.

A single tear rolled from my eye, which was lost in the rain. “I have a brother!”, my mind screamed. My chest filled with joy that warmed my whole body, I recast my mage fire with renewed effort. I looked off to the east and saw the sky start to grey as a new day approached.

Marcus saw me turn and looked himself. “Hey shitheads! Open up this rotten gate!”

“Stand by! We are opening the gate!” called a voice from the up in the gatehouse.

“About fucking time!” I heard Marcus grumble. I also heard the large timber moving away from the lock as the door slid open. As the door opened, a man with a thick cape and sword walked through. “I am Sergeant Olsen, what business do you have here?” He said with authority.

“Gunny, is that you? Gunny Olsen put that pig sticker away and let me in. I’m so cold my balls are saying dirty things to my liver.” Marcus said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Marcus! What the hell are you doing outside? It’s good to see you!” the sergeant said, turning to the gate.

“Say, sergeant, are your men supposed to keep people outside all night in the rain?” I asked dryly.

“No, the corporal on duty, Derget, I think his name is, should have let you in. There are 5 archers and bolters on this wall alone. You would have been a pincushion if you tried anything funny.” he said as he let us inside the gate.

“And which one is Corporal Derget?” Marcus said neutrally.

Sergeant Olsen pointed to a bleary-eyed man that had just come out of the guard tower, and was making his way up the street. When he was about to pass us, not aware that we even existed, Marcus turned swiftly to grab the corporal’s tunic and punched him solidly with his left hand. Derget’s feet left the ground as he landed in the mud and didn’t move.

“That’s what you fucking get for leaving us out all fucking night! You son of a whore!” Marcus screamed at the unconscious man. The rest of the guards all drew steel and readied bows.

“Stand down!” Gunny commanded. “Richards!” He pointed to a youth up on the wall with a bow. “Is what Marcus said true? Did Corporal Derget leave them outside all night while he slept in the tower?” The youth looked left and right. “Yes Sergeant, he did. He said that they can all rot for waking him up. He also said that if we opened our mouths we would be on night duty for the next month.” Others nodded their heads, confirming what Richards stated. Obviously this Derget wasn’t much liked.

Gunny looked down at Derget and spat on him. “Jenkins and Gotter, take Corporal Derget to the brig. I will get to him this afternoon.” Turning to Marcus and me, he said “I would like to offer apologies for the Newhope City Guard’s negligence. I’m sure corporal Derget has learned his lesson and he is willing to pay for a room so that you may dry your clothes and get a warm meal.”

Marcus looked at me and winked. “That sounds good, Gunny. I will stop by after your duty is done for the day. Let’s go, Brodin. Some breakfast and hopefully a bed with a warm lady is in my future.” I followed him for a few muddy, sodden streets into a small square, where I saw a few cloaked merchants preparing their covered stalls. I recognized one of the merchants as Myra Silvertongue, a half Syndar like myself, who lived and worked in Newhope as a tailor. I currently wore the tunic she gave me the last time I saw her, road worn and sodden, but still in one piece. Turning to Marcus. “My friend, this one has business with a certain seamstress, and will see you later.”

He glanced over my shoulder to Myra, and his face split into a toothy grin. “I will see you later, buddy.” Patting me on the shoulder, he turned and walked deeper into the city.

I turned and walked up to Myra, suddenly warm. “Siala Kay Nu Myra. Do you remember this one?” She turned to me and gave me a little sly smile. “Siala Kay Nu Brodin. This one does remember you and is wondering what took you so long to return? This one has noticed your tunic has seen better days.” She looked up at the slate grey sky, as the rain continued its relentless assault on Newhope, with no signs of letting up. “This one also thinks that this is not a good day to sell much. This one would be happy to dry and repair your tunic, if you would regale me of your travels”

Again she shocked me with her forwardness, but I was very cold, wet, and very hungry. Marcus’ brew also wearing off. I gave her a slight bow, and deciding to Solar with formality. “I would like that very much.” She smiled more as she gathered her large duffel sack full of wares. “Follow me, my sodden hero.” My heart started racing as I felt warm again. I followed her for a few steps and asked if I could carry her heavy pack. She looked at me for a moment before accepting. I shouldered the heavy sack and took her hand in my free hand. Her warm hand felt delicate yet strong in my cold callused hands. She did not recoil from the coldness and grittiness of my hand. She instead gripped tighter, her warmth slowly spreading to me. It made me feel safer than I had felt in a long time.

Read more: http://lasthopelarp.proboards.com/thread/1227/brodins-backstory#ixzz48lnWrXpB

The first light of dawn is filtering through drawn curtains. The rays fall through air thick
with incense before landing on the foot of a bed. The light illuminates the room just enough to
make out dark shapes against the lightly painted brick walls. A bed takes up the center of the
room with its head against the wall and a large trunk at its foot. A desk cluttered with colorful
bottles of various shapes and sizes sits on one side of the bed, next to the window. On the
opposite side of the bed there sits an armor stand, dressed with mismatched leather pieces and
a small weapons rack holding a staff and a single-edged sword. On the bed, the pile of blankets
stirs and one of the lumps moves to the foot of the bed, seemingly searching for the morning.
The chamber’s door creaks open to the large trunk at the foot of the bed. A hooded and
cloaked figure moves quietly over the threshold, stepping lightly across the wood floor, and
makes its way towards the far side of the bed. A black and brown snout appears from under the
blankets at the foot of the bed, followed by the dark face of a dog with perked ears and brown
eyes, watching the figure moving through the room. A groggy female voice emerges from the
pile of blankets, “Wylder, go back to sleep”. When the figure holds up a finger to where its lips
should be, Wylder rests his head on the bed and allows one ear to flop down.
The figure reaches the head of the bed and leans over the bed, bringing its hooded head
just inches from a knot of blonde hair flowing out from under the blankets. The figure whispers
to the bed, “Come on Sapphira, wake up!”.
With a groan, Sapphira snaps back, “It’s too damn early, Faolan!”
In response, Faolan heads to the window and pulls back the curtains, allowing the full blinding
agony of the morning light into their bedroom. By this point the Sun has risen so that the direct
beams of light now land on the head of the bed. Without the curtains providing the first line of
defense against the morning light, Sapphira retreats further under the blankets, but with the
continued rising of the Sun comes the further strengthening of the rays. Within moments,
Sapphira concedes that the blankets are no longer enough to stop the morning from coming.
In somewhat of a tantrum, Sapphira throws the blankets off of herself, revealing her pure
white nightgown, and moves to get out of bed. As her feet touch the wooden floor, she looks up
and sees Faolan rummaging through the bottles on her desk.
“Faolan, what are you looking for?”
“The components for today’s ritual.”
“Today’s ritual? Wait, it’s today?!”
“Yeah, I watched The Twins rise last night from the observatory, and the Sun rose over
the Vernal Peaks this morning.”
With that, Sapphira jumps to her feet and moves to her desk, pushing Faolan out of the
way. Without a moment’s hesitation, she purposefully grabs one of the colored glass bottles,
hands it to Faolan, and tells him, “These are what we need from up here. I’ll have to get the rest
after I get dressed.” Faolan takes the bottle from Sapphira and turns to head for the door.
“Hey, take Wylder with you too.”
“Alright. Wylder, come here boy. Let’s go.” Wylder jumps off the bed, pauses to stretch,
then trots to the door ahead of Faolan.
“And make sure you find a field that hasn’t been planted yet.”
“Yeah, I know Sapphira.” Wylder then leads Faolan out the door. Sapphira can hear the
echo of their descent down the staircase for several moments while she gets dressed for this
day.
As Faolan and Wylder walk through the dusty streets towards the hot springs at the
center of town, they can hear the rest of the settlement coming to life for another day of activity.
At the hot springs, Faolan sits on one of the benches and looks through the steam coming off
the water. Later tonight these springs will be a bustle with people washing off the dirt from the
fields and soaking away the aches of the day. Now, Faolan and Wylder wait for the workers to
gather before heading out. After several moments, most of the workers have gathered in the
town. Faolan steps through the crowd, leaving Wylder sitting next to the bench, looking for three
individuals: the Ulven priestess Rosil Manaweaver, the human Gerald Manaweaver who seems
to be a natural leader and has taken a role on the town council, and the Syndar magis Zyga
Mae. He finds all three of them at the head of the road leading out of town, apart from the main
crowd, talking together over the plans for the day. Faolan hangs backs just on the edge of the
crowd, listening to their conversation, picking up small details of their plans, and waiting for a
break in their discussion before inserting himself. He sees the window he is looking for just as
they are about to finalize their plans, and so steps from the crowd into their group.
Rosil is the first to greet him, “Good day Faolan”. “Good day Rosil”
Faolan and Zyga exchange slight nods. Gerald offers his hand, “Are you coming out to
help again today?”
“In a way. Sapphira has a ritual that needs to be performed this noon. An offering for a
good growing season.” Interested, Rosil asks, “What do you need from us?”
“Not too much, really. It sounded like you won’t be to the upper fields until this afternoon.
I would just ask that you make sure one of those fields are left until Sapphira has finished. I
would expect her ritual to be complete by the early afternoon, so I hope this would not interfere
with today’s schedule too much.” Rosil replies, “For an offering to Gaia, it is no trouble at all.”
Gerald also chimes in “If nothing else, we can just have a longer break for lunch.”
Zyga also approved, “I do not foresee any problem with this.”
“Thank you, all.” Faolan offers his hand to Gerald and bows to Rosil and Zyga as he
steps back into the crowd. He calls for Wylder and then turns to head out towards the fields. As
he does, Gerald sets to work directing the crowd into their teams and explains what’s in store for
each. Faolan reaches the edge of the settlement just as Wylder catches up to him. Together,
they journey down the road to find a place that Sapphira would find perfect.
A little after midmorning, Faolan has finally found a field perfect for Sapphira’s ritual
today. It’s about an acre in size and almost square, with the East-West slightly longer than the
North-South. The air is crisp and smells a bit of rain. Song birds grace the world with their
chorus. The tree tops sway in a soft breeze. With Wylder chasing field mice up and down the
rows of dirt, Faolan is just finishing lashing together an altar made of the winter’s dead fall from
the surrounding tree line. Faolan carries the finished altar to the center of the field just as
Sapphira steps through the tree line, onto the field.
“You could have sent Wylder to show me where you were setting up at. Instead, I had to
ask a half dozen people where you were before I found someone who knew for sure.”
Sapphira walks towards the altar.
“It’s good that you are talking to more people. These are our people now, our clan.”
With a huff, Sapphira drops her knapsack next to their altar. Wylder runs over to her
excitedly and jumps on her to greet her, licking her hands and trying to lick her face. She sets
him back down onto all fours, and kneels down to his level to tell him hello. Wylder shoves his
nose into Sapphira’s bag looking, unsuccessfully, for any treats she might have brought for
him. Sapphira pulls his nose out of her bag so that she can retrieve the items she will need.
Faolan kneels down to hold Wylder back from Sapphira’s bag. From her bag, Sapphira pulls a
pale green cloth with blue and purple ribbon, and places it on their altar. Faolan calls Wylder to
sit. Then he begins to unfold the cloth and uncovers three eggs safely hidden within. He drapes
the cloth over their altar, then sets each egg on the cloth in a nest of colored ribbon so that they
create a triangle pointing South. Sapphira turns back to her bag and pulls out a bundle each of
forsythia, lilacs, lilies, and herbs. She arranges the herbs around each nest and the flowers in
between. Sapphira returns back to her bag one last time and retrieves a wooden chalice. She
turns to Faolan, “Where is that bottle I gave you this morning?” Faolan fetches the bottle from
his belt pouch and hands it to Sapphira. Sapphira pulls the cork stopper from the bottle with her
mouth and pours the contents into the chalice. A viscous golden liquid flows slowly from the
bottle, and the faint scent of honey floats on the air. Once the bottle is empty, she replaces the
cork back in the bottle and hands the bottle back to Faolan. Sapphira then fetches a bottle about
twice as big from her belt pouch, removes its stopper, and pours its contents into the chalice.
The liquid from this bottle is white in color and flows like water. Once that bottle is empty, she
replaces the cork and hands the bottle to Faolan to store in his belt pouch with the other bottle.
Next, Sapphira retrieves a wooden spoon from her belt pouch and begins stirring what are now
the contents of the chalice together. Once the contents are thoroughly mixed, she hands the
chalice to Faolan. He quietly mutters “makeaoshu” and the chalice begins to glow with a faint
blue hue. Faolan then hands the chalice back to Sapphira and she moves to the South side of
their altar as he sits on the North side to meditate. Wylder lays down just next to Faolan, and
peers under the altar to keep a watchful eye on Sapphira. Sapphira takes five steps away from
their altar and pours a portion of chalice contents on to the ground. After she is done pouring,
she recites her first prayer: “I make this offering to Gaia,
As thanks for the many blessings I have received, And those I shall someday receive.”
Sapphira then turns, and walks counterclockwise around their altar. She takes slow, deliberate
steps, making sure to stay five paces from their altar. A quarter of the way around her circle she
stops, pours a bit more from the chalice, and recites her second prayer: “The Wheel of the Year
turns once more, and Omeria arrives. Sol and Luna are equals,
and the soil begins to change. Gaia awakes from her slumber,
new life springs forth once more.”
Sapphira continues along her path, stopping after she has traversed another quarter of the
circle. A thought invades Faolan’s meditation ‘ Gaia is waking from her slumber, the world
around us is coming back from the death of winter, death is just another slumber, it is a natural
thing to wake from that slumber. ‘
Sapphira pours yet more from the chalice and recites her third prayer:
“Sol draws ever closer to us, greeting Gaia with his welcoming rays. Luna and Sol are equals,
and the sky fills with light and warmth. Sol warms the land beneath our feet,
Sapphira continues along her path again, stopping after she has traversed yet another quarter
of the circle. She pours a little more from the chalice and recites her fourth prayer:
“Spring has come! For this, we are thankful! The Divine is present all around,
in the cool fall of a rain storm, in the tiny buds of a flower, in the down of a newborn chick,
in the fertile fields waiting to be planted, in the sky above us, and in the earth below us.
We thank the universe for all it has to offer us, and are so blessed to be alive on this day.
Welcome, life! Welcome, light! Welcome, spring!”
Sapphira completes her path around their altar. She stops where she recited her first prayer.
She pours out the rest of the contents of the chalice while repeating her first prayer:
“I make this offering to Gaia, As thanks for the many blessings I have received,
And those I shall someday receive.”
With that, the energy that Faolan put into the chalice is gone and Sapphira then returns to their
altar and begins returning items to her pack.
Faolan disassembles the altar, gathers up the pieces, and walks to the north edge of the
field. He walks clockwise around the field, placing a piece of the altar evenly around the field
so the pieces encompass the perimeter of the field. He reaches the road where Sapphira and
Wylder are waiting for him. Together they walk back towards the Spire with Wylder leading the
way, watching him run back and forth from one side of the road to the other, sniffing and looking
for some unknown.

Read more: http://lasthopelarp.proboards.com/thread/1138/story-jimmy-becky-tyler#ixzz3qodYiSk2

Vazra took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the hot spring before continuing his lecture. He found the warm water and proximity to nature far preferable to the cold confines of a classroom. He reclined against a rock and savored the contrast against the cool air just above the surface. He took a deep breath and began.
“See, Mage Armor is an extremely volatile aura of arcane protection. Ordinarily, any attempt to add a second layer will result in the premature activation of the first, canceling both out. Essentially: Mage Armor, as we once knew it, would react to other Mage Armor. Ultimately, we found no amount of tampering with the frequency would bypass this issue, instead we found a solution when we created an entirely second spell mimicking the first in practice, but fundamentally different in theory.”
He took a moment to make sure his students were still with him. Some of the Ulven, particularly the males, split their time between remarkable dedication to their training and denouncing the practice of magic entirely.
“Right, so ‘Improved mage armor’, as it’s commonly known, is actually a contingent enchantment. It doesn’t do anything until an outside action triggers it. This way the spell doesn’t interfere with the protective aura of the traditional Mage Armor. Instead, it sleeps until exposed to a significant source of energy, physical or magical, at which time the spell freezes the caster in stasis for the imperceptibly short moment of impact.”
A young Syndar girl who had previously gone unnoticed raised her hand inquisitively. “So…. It stops time?”
“That would be a gross overstatement,” Vazra replied, confused to her sudden presence. “Relax, you’re overthinking things.”
Some of the other students gave him strange looks, while to his annoyance, the young Syndar girl raised her hand again. This time Vazra noticed a gruesome gash across her arm.
“Yes?” he replied, so startled by the sight of the wound that he failed to acknowledge it at all.
Her tone turned dark and she looked to him accusingly. “Why did you let us die?” she hissed.
Vazra froze, the feeling of guilt crawling through his gut. As he looked on in horror, blood began to trickle from the girls eyes like red tears. He tried to stutter out an apology but couldn’t find the words. The world began to spin as he watched horrific apparitions of the dead appear and sink vicious claws into her cheeks and gut. They mutilated the girl, tearing her apart piece by piece. In a panic, he scrambled out of the spring and shut his eyes, cowering before the horror.
“Arch-Mage?” a voice snapped him back to reality.
Looking back to the pool, he found that the girl, creatures, and gore were gone, leaving only the faces of confused students behind. They exchanged awkward expressions for a long time before at last the silence was broken.
“Let’s umm… move on to another subject.” Vazra cleared his throat, trying to escape the situation.
“While at the most basic and fundamental level there is no difference between Arcane and Divine magic, a distinction is drawn based on preconceptions and variations between practices.”
He continued, regaining his confidence as the students eased back into the lesson.
“I can guide you down your own path of discovery, but ultimately each and every one of you will need to discover your own individual practices of spell casting. These defer between cultures and people because mana tends to behave differently depending on your relationship to it. You must accommodate these variations and discover in what manner you are personally connected to the mana stream. Meditate carefully and observe with which methods mana proves most malleable and then synchronize yourself accordingly.”
“These fluctuations have drastic practical implications. For example, under ordinary circumstances, a Syndar cannot become a so called ‘witch-mage’. This is because their spirits are more inclined to attune themselves to a particular practice. This doesn’t mean they are less capable mages by any means, quite the contrary. It would be more accurate to say: it is within their nature to specialize. They personify these distinctions as the influences of their deities ‘Luna’ and ‘Sol’.”
“Speaking of which, many of you also personify the mana stream or its source in your own way. None of you are necessarily wrong, and I am in no way commenting on the legitimacy of those beliefs, but instead wish to impart an open-minded approach to magic and the realization that the practices of other cultures have much to offer your own studies. These lessons will apply across the board regardless of your tradition.”
“With that addressed, let us return to some of the practical implications. Apart from the Arcane/Divine distinction, some of you will be able to draw mana faster than others through meditation, and some of you will have massive reserves but will be slow to replenish them.”
“It is helpful to imagine mana as a body of water while considering this. Some of you will be like white water emptying into a shallow pond, others like great and old lakes fed by the narrow mouth of a slow river. The water metaphor can also be applied to the various states of mana and how different individuals excel at shaping it in different ways. Some of you will be best suited to sculpt ice, others to dig canals or to pack snow. Others still are snowless. Snow is a lot of fun and those without it tend to be rather depressed. We call those sticks in the mud ‘Hallowed’, and tend not to invite them to parties.”
Beginning to digress and growing tired of lecturing, Vazra then took his students through a long series of breathing exercises, letting them slowly drift into deep meditation. Once their attention was refocused, he slipped away unnoticed, or so he thought.
“Arch-Mage?” a curious human student by the name of Maxwell had pursued him from the pool. “You haven’t elaborated at all on your own methods.”
“Ha!” Vazra laughed, turning back. “So you want to take after the best?”
“At my core, I accept the truths I’ve shared. Every preconceived limitation is simply a mental construct born of ignorance. Mastery of magic comes from spiritual growth, physical training and relentless practice. Above all, however, it comes from the imagination.”
“The imagination?” Maxwell laughed,
“Yes, imagination.” Vazra scolded. “When you truly accept the possibilities as limitless, that is what they will become. Behold.”
Vazra knelt and chanted an incantation, circling his left hand over his right. Within his palm crackled yellow energy. “Piercing bolt.” the Archmage smiled,
“I’ve never seen that spell before.” Maxwell commented.
“and it did nothing to save us.” the Syndar girl added accusingly.
“Few have.” Vazra replied, trying his best to ignore the girl and shake off the hallucination.
“What good did your tricks do when the dead rose from their graves? When they killed us in front of you?” she spat.
The world began to spin and close in around Vazra, he felt as if he was suffocating. Like every breath was being stolen from him. Increasingly uncomfortable, he motioned for his student to join him as he fled the woman’s scorn. A long time they walked, and for a while nothing was said. Vazra just looked back and forth nervously, jumping at shadows and muttering nonsensical apologies.
Eventually however, the anxiety passed, and he gained the nerve to continue as if nothing had happened.
“What we call ‘Piercing bolt’ proves far too volatile to practically employ, but serves to demonstrate a point: that the spells you commonly encounter are the constructs of casters who gravitate towards a tried and true selection rather than the limitations of magic itself.”
“The energy called ‘mana’ can be manipulated innumerable ways once you understand its nature. I have also dabbled in a spell containing the personified essence of muffins. In fact, I once attempted to call lightning down from the heavens to strike my opponent dead. I mean, it didn’t work, but the point remains and I have some sexy scars to show off as a result. Woman love scars, that’s another important point.”
“Arch-Mage?” the student asked, confused by the sudden change of topic.
“Hush Maxwell. You’re a man now, you need to hear this. See, you have to be confident but not arrogant or narcissistic. Sensitive, caring, but also independent. Nobody likes a yes-man. You should always strive for self-improvement, but above all, you need to be yourself. Nobody likes a fraud or wants to be loved for somebody they’re not.”
“Arch-Mage, ermm, aren’t we getting off subject? What about the magic?”
“Love is magic. Youth today, you have no appreciation for the romantic. Once, back in Faedrun, I witnessed a conflicted Penitent cultist offer a Vandregonian woman a mushroom as a token of affection. As much as I loathe the Penitent I have to admit: it was a clever twist. See, he took a romantic cliché and made it personal and unique.”
At that moment Vazra abruptly lost interest in any further conversation. Without a word, he departed back to the Spire, once again leaving behind a student scratching his head in confusion.

The Winter Solstice
Written by Jimmy McCann

Winter 263
The darkest, longest night of the year: the winter solstice under a new moon. The great hunter begins his stalk across the clear night sky with Faolan and Sapphira making preparations for the ritual under the twilight canopy.

“That’s not where the candles go, Faolan!”

“But Sapphira, why not? I thought it was an interesting design I made around the circle.”

“We go over this every time we cast a circle; You know the candles are supposed to go on the other three cardinal points.”

Their circle measures ten paces wide with a teepee of wood prepared in the east and more wood stacked just outside the circle, enough for a fire to burn all night. In the center is a simple wooden altar draped in a cloth of silver and blue, and adorned with branches of evergreen and stems of mistletoe. On the altar is an offering of grain and vegetables gathered from some of the locals’ autumn harvest. The still air hangs thick with frankincense, cinnamon, and myrrh from the incense burning around the altar.

Sapphira: “Ok, I think everything is set. Let’s begin.”

Sapphira retires to a small tent just southwest of their circle to change into a flowing white robe, then Faolan to change into loose white pants and a white smock. Then they approach their circle from the west with Sapphira carrying a small stick alit at the tip. With Faolan standing behind her, Sapphira kneels down to light the western candle while reciting her first incantation:
Tonight is the night of the Solstice,
The longest night of the year.
As the Wheel turns once more, I know that
Tomorrow, Sol will begin his journey back to us.
With it, new life will begin,
A blessing from Gaia to her children.

Sapphira rises and proceeds towards the altar with Faolan trailing her. At the altar, Sapphira turned and headed north leaving Faolan to stand guard at the altar. With Faolan watching her every move, Sapphira kneels to light the northern candle while reciting her second incantation:
It is the season of the winter goddess.
Tonight I celebrate the festival of the winter solstice,
The rebirth of Sol, and the return of light to Gaia.
As the Wheel of the Year turns once more,
I honor the eternal cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth.

Sapphria then rises and heads to the southern edge of their circle, passing behind Faolan standing on the west side of the altar. Upon reaching the southern candle she kneels to light it while reciting her last incantation:
Today I honor the god of the forest,
The King of nature, who rules the season.
I give my thanks to the beautiful goddess,
Whose blessings bring new life to Gaia.
These gifts I offer you tonight,
Sending my prayers to you upon the air.

After pausing for a moment, Sapphira returns to Faolan at the altar. Together, they step around the north side of the altar and head towards the eastern edge of their circle. At the wood teepee Faolan kneels down and pulls out his hunting knife and a piece of flint. He strikes the back edge of his knife against the flint sending a spark into a bed of dry grass at the heart of the teepee. He quickly leans in to breathe life into the flames, and once the kindling has caught he begins chanting.
As he chants, he tips back to take a seat to the northwest of the fire with Sapphira sitting down to the southwest of the fire. Faolan’s chanting continues.
With Faolan’s chant carrying into the night, they sit in meditation upon the fire and the coming of brighter days, but a singular, inescapable thought creeps into Faolan’s mind:
Eventually, the fire burns down
Eventually, the candles grow dim
Eventually,
The Darkness wins…

Account of Volrok “Battle-Born” Hinrich
– First week of March, 264 –

-Day of Departure-

It was a bitter wind that blew through Crow’s Landing that early morning. It passed through the cracks and crevices of any building it crossed. Volrok’s small and humble home was no exception. The wind went right on through the floor boards, and up to his mound of furs and blankets. He shivered as the bitter wind rushed between the bundles of dead animal pelts and fabric.
“Another day in paradise… How grand…” Volrok grumbled as he slowly stirred from his slumber. The night before he was busy looking at drawings and reading letters, and he didn’t go to sleep till late in the night. Being awoken by such a cold and bitter air didn’t make the start of this day seem too grand.
After he got dressed, he went through his usual ritual, oiling and polishing armor, sharpening and oiling weapons, and finally having breakfast. It almost always consisted of stew or soup from the night before with stale bread. It was a meager meal for a Ioclaochra, but being the last of his company (at least for the moment) funds were tight and anything else that wasn’t needed for survival would be considered a luxury. He quickly finished the stale bread and three day old rabbit stew, hoping to be done with it. For the taste was like eating a well-worn leather boot, but with less taste.
Once done with the food he moved on to the front door and put his own boots on, and left the small dreary estate. The sun was just beginning to crown the horizon, the deathly cold wind only confirmed that the days of spring should be approaching soon. Soon he was at the lumber mill, a place where he has been frequently as of late. Since making the Sponsorship contract with The Rangers, Volrok has been hastily preparing for rebuilding the Broken Blade; spending most of his time writing to old friends and allies to find if any of them would honor old promises and give favors towards the rebuilding of the company. Sadly, most of the contacts could not promise to help rebuild anytime soon, except say a few people offering aid if he ever stopped by. But today would be different, for today was going to change Volrok’s world. A single letter from an old friend in a merchant caravan is going to turn Volrok’s world completely upside down.

To my dear friend, Volrok Hinrich

It has been over five years since you last wrote to me, even then it was all business, which only reminds me of how much you take after your grandfather.
However, since it is still somewhat winter, and my funds are beginning to run low, I will not be able to help you financially or with supplies to rebuild. Come this summer though, if you are ever near Daven’s Reach, I will gladly hire you on as a guard for our caravans once again. I will even do better than that, if I get this deal to go through, I will come into a surplus of iron ore. Once I get it refined I will personally purchase you a wagon full of armaments for the company to use.
There is other news… Dreary news or good news for you… On a recent trip down to the colony of Newhope, I came upon the place where the ‘ambush’ occurred all those years ago. At this time though, the air was warm and the sun melted away snow and ice. I found something from all those years ago, small trail littered with armor shards. Now I did not venture too far into the woods out of fear of being attacked, but I marked the location on the trail with the symbol of Ulfkell.
I suggest you move fast good friend, who knows when the next snow will hide the trail.

Ignite the fires far old friend,
Grench Londt

Volrok trembled as he read the letter, his hands shook violently in both joy and anger. Like a bolt of lightning he flew from the lumber mill to his house. He didn’t hesitate, he could not hesitate, for what was hinted in that letter was that there may be remains of his fallen brothers and sisters, maybe even his father’s.
By noon Volrok had left without leaving a note on his door. The small abode dark and quiet, not even mice or birds landed there. If anybody was to peer inside all they would see is a humble home locked up tight and waiting for the return of the only remaining member of the family it once housed.

-Day 15-

Volrok was lucky that he was able to join a small caravan heading north west towards Daven’s Reach when he was leaving. Thankfully they will be resupplying inside the gates for sometime, giving Volrok time to travel alone towards his destination.
When he arrived near the edges of the old site, the Battle-Father only saw it natural to make the event that much more difficult, by adding a snow storm. Thankfully it was still daylight and he could make out the symbol and the outline of the travel that was marked. He kneeled before the symbol and whispered.
“Is today the day that I finally can rest my brothers and sisters in your flames? Is it finally time for them to be at rest?”
It didn’t take Volrok long to maneuver through the small trail. His raid on the White Oak’s, his constant patrol’s with the Rangers honed his legs and feet to maneuver such terrain. He walked and walked, the snow only came down harder making it all that much more difficult to see. The wind howled like wolves after a stag, the snow and sleet stung his face. ‘This will not stop me… Not now, or never.’ he said to himself trying to calm a slowly rising rage at the nearly impossible task before him now. The snow was now knee deep, but he felt it. He was close. Close to what he sought for so many long years.
It was dark now, the only source of light he had was a lantern that was barely staying lit. Finally he spotted something that didn’t belong. Well, it did, but was not expected. It was a bluff with a small cave. He looked around, making sure that no mordok were following him, and quickly dove into the cave. It was blocked, blocked by a massive metal shield. Volrok grunted and groaned as his frozen fingers dug the snow out of the way so that he could open the entrance. He wrapped his fingers around the edge and gave a great tug. Dust took to the wind and fresh air seeped into the once sealed cave. Quickly Volrok drug his gear and himself inside the hole and sealed it up once more.
“Ack!” he barked as he turned around and came face to face with a skull. He had instinctively drew his dagger and was ready to fight, but the mass of bones didn’t move, apparently it was truly dead. He sighed as he sheathed his father’s blade and relaxed, leaning against the wall of the cave. After letting his heart calm, he looked around more carefully with the lantern. He found them, he found three of the members from his company, at least what was left of them.

-The Next Day-

Volrok awoke slowly, cold, but not numb like he was the night before. Quietly he moved towards the shield that sealed his temporary home, and peered out of the cave. Not a soul, cursed or otherwise. He sighed in relief as he felt the now warm sun baring down on air, melting the snow. He had to move quickly for he didn’t have much time. He began to look over the skeletons and tried to identify them by what they had on them.
The first one he identified, the one that he nearly tried to kill last night, was Delgal “The Wall” Brocha. The man was, as he sounded, massive in stature and was able to hold his ground against five foes at once for some time. Volrok thought back… Thought back to the days that Delgal would train him in the ways of using a shield. He was like an older brother, laughing with him when he made a mistake and often covered for him when his father, Torcoll, would get angry for the lack of training. Before Volrok was the very shield that Delgal used in every battle, in every duel, in every aspect of his life. Setting the shield aside he began to bundle the bones together into a nice pile for carrying.
The next skeleton was thin, but had a distinctive scar on the skull, meaning it could only be one person. Siv “Blood Dancer” Simmershade. Siv may have been a syndar, but she was by far the closest thing he had to a mother figure. She was stern, reserved, and usually very serious, and showed little to no interest in anything. However, when alone with Volrok as boy, she had a different face. Siv was quiet in voice and very kind when she taught him how to read and write. When he received his hat, she pulled him aside after the celebration and gave him a warm hug and a gift, her personal hunting knife she received from her own father when she was a child. Volrok felt something beginning to move in him, he has not felt it for some time. He shook his head and moved on, piling her bones into the carrying bundle.
The last one was not his father, the hat wasn’t fancy enough nor did it really have a hat. But in it’s hand was a finely made bow fractured in multiple places, made of an old ‘Iron King’ tree back from Richtcrag. This was Cal’mire “Deadshot” Bal’one, one of the finest bowmen that Volrok had ever known who supposedly hailed from Olon Zylj. Slowly the fog of time brought him back to one of the few memories he had of this mysterious man. For most of his life Volrok’s interactions with Cal’mire had been somewhat limited, for the man would usually only associate with his brother. However this wasn’t the case one day in Valinate. For you see Volrok was only about ten years old, and was usually following Siv or Delgal around, learning the way’s of being an Íoclaochra. But that day was different, Volrok felt compelled to follow the mysterious Cal’mire that day. Quietly Volrok followed in the shadows, watching him maneuver through the alleys and streets as if they were his backyard. At one point Cal’mire came to a rather dark and foreboding alley, however he pressed on. Out of the shadows of the building came five men armed with maces, clubs, and swords and surrounded him.
“Give us your weapons and money…” one of the thugs demanded. Cal’mire only sighed and gave them a glare as cold as any death knight could give off.
“Leave… And you might survive…” Cal’mire warned them. The thing with thugs however is that they generally are not too bright, this bunch was a fine example of the stereotype. One brute attacked from behind, and in a flash his life came to a halt, since a dagger in the skull tends to do that. Cal’mire twirled around the now dead man, grabbed the sword from his hand and began to defend himself. Slicing a hamstring here, piercing a lung there, Cal’mire was fighting far better than what Volrok was lead to believe. The reason for that is due to Cal’mire never fighting on the front lines, always using his bow and commanding the archers in the rear.
In a flash the skirmish was over and in the center stood Cal’mire, his face just as serious as it was before the event occurred.
“It’s not nice to follow others Volrok…” he stated calming, looking towards the corner of the alley where Volrok was peeking around from.
“You’re not from Olon Zylj are you?” Volrok boldly asked, knowing the answer. Cal’mire only turned and walked away from Volrok.
“You’re from here, aren’t you? It shows in how you fight, why do-.” before Volrok could finish Cal’mire shot him a glare to be quiet.
“Don’t say anything to the others… They don’t need to know…” he whispered to Volrok. Shyly he backed off and followed behind Cal’mire.
“It’s because you like being with us right?” Volrok inquired one last time. All he got for a reply was a smile.

Volrok came back from memories and felt the wind blow into the cave from the cracked shield. He quietly stacked the bones of Cal’mire into the bundle, being careful to take the bow, the swords, and the single massive shield into his gear with the bundle. Slowly he got up and left the cave, double checking to see if there was anything left in their packs, finding only a single journal. He quickly put it in his pack and began his trek back to Daven’s Reach. Bandits had taken over the Reach but if you had coin, purpose, or looked like enough trouble they generally left you alone. If they didn’t leave him alone, Volrok was certain he could become enough trouble. He didn’t plan on staying anyway, now that he had found what he came searching for his intent was to return home to Crow’s Landing quickly.

-Day 30-

He finally reached the entrance of Crow’s landing and as he reached the gate he leaned against it. A few spare coin and a good song during some drink let him pass through Daven’s Reach without too much trouble, but Volrok was exhausted from this venture, emotionally and physically. He knocked on the gate as hard as he could in hopes that someone would open the gates.
“Who goes there?” came a voice from the watchtower.
“Volrok “Battle-Born” Hinrich, currently under the employ of the Rangers of Crow’s Landing. I wish to return to my own bed.” he stated loudly, showing his shoulder drape. In a few minutes the gates opened and he made his way to his home towards the far end of the city. Once there he opened the door and sat down on the single chair in the house. He carefully began to unpack the bundle of bones from the rest of the pack, making sure not to drop any of the bones. After doing this Volrok instantly headed to the blacksmith, carrying the bundle.
Once there, he knocked on the door to the forge, hoping that the local blacksmith was still awake.
“What do you want? I’m closed…” said a gruff Richtcraig voice from behind the door. Volrok steadied himself and replied.
“I need to use the forge, it’s for religious purposes.”
The door cracked open and a single eye peered out at him, it looked up and down and then down at the bundle. The door then closed, quickly followed by rattling of chains.
“Come in brother.” said the weathered blacksmith.
Volrok didn’t hesitate, he moved into the forge and placed the bundle of bones on the anvil and began to pray. It was a long and quiet prayer, which is rare for those that follow Ulfkell. While Volrok prayed, the blacksmith placed a vented cast iron pan above the coals and another pan underneath it to catch the ashes. As soon as Volrok was done praying, the bundle of bones was placed on the vented pan and the flames began their job. Slowly the bones began to catch flame and turn into ashes, all the while Volrok watched silently. The blacksmith turned to look at Volrok and was going to comment but didn’t. He instead he left the room leaving the Íoclaochra to mourn.

Volrok stood there, watching the flames turn the remains to ash. The only sound that may have been heard other than the fire would have been the nearly silent sobs, of a warrior that had lost practically everything.

The Storm
The story of Marcus Clearbrook
Written by Michael Tukiendorf

Fritha Stormjarl looked outside at the bellowing wind and snow making visibility almost impossible past 15 yards. She glanced out the window to barely see inside the stable where a stable hand brushed down their foul-tempered pack pony. She and a couple of warriors have been tasked with commissioning supplies from the New Hope granary, while Stanrick Longfang was at the political dinner in New Hope. She should be there, but her people must get fed, and their health is her priority. Food has been hard to come by as of late with the hard winter, and New Hope couldn’t spare much from their stores. So she and her pack went to New Aldoria to see if they could barter for some. She was able to obtain the supplies they needed, but at an exorbitant price. This winter will be harsh for everyone, and this blizzard will not help matters. They would have liked to make it back to New Hope by this evening, but the blizzard forced them to take cover in this lonely inn.

Tucked behind a small hill about 250 yards from the main road was the Hidden Gem Inn. While not large, compared to the inns at New Ardoria and New Hope. It did boast four modestly furnished rooms, and a tap room able to house one score patrons. The large size fireplace was blazing, giving the room a very warm and comfortable feeling. The hard hickory logs being burned gave the room a pleasant nutty aroma. Looking around the inn Fritha imagined on any given day, the inn would normally be busy with local farmers. Tonight the inn is empty, except for the innkeeper, his wife and two sons, and her band. Most likely the locals have declined the treacherous trek through the blizzard to enjoy watered down mead and thin soup. But beggars can’t be choosers, and this blizzard makes us all beggars.

Her warriors are all stowing their gear in the two rooms. Soon they will be down for an evening meal, then to bed. For the amount of snow and wind, they will be digging the inn out before they leave in the morning. The door opens behind the bar revealing the portly innkeeper, carrying a large stack of firewood, oak this time.

“Need a hand Innkeeper?” Fritha asked.

“Nay, I have it. Blast this weather! Has my back all in knots, but I am glad to you and your group for offering to help us dig out in the morning. Otherwise I would be bed ridden for a month, and my wife, bless her heart, is not able to run the inn without me!” He said as he put the oak logs into the now full wood box. “Dinner will be ready shortly, since your lot is helping us out, I asked my wife to whip up a large venison roast from a deer my son arrowed two days previous.” The innkeeper said with a smile.

“Well you have our thanks for taking us in on such short notice.” Fritha said with a slight bow of her head.

“It is no trouble, I assure you! It would be devilish of us to deny honored Ulven folk shelter from the elements. Especially since you open your arms to help us out in our time of need! Now I need to make sure that my son, Jennson, has the all the rooms ready for you and your men.”
Fritha watched as he retreated to the back of the inn, she resumed her gaze out one of the four windows looking at the torrent of snow, swirling and dancing in the wind. The stables have been locked down and the innkeepers other son was making his way to the back of the inn, the Kitchen she assumes and their living quarters. Looking to the road that brought them to this inn, it was mostly covered and drifted over with at least five hands of snow in spots. Tomorrow is going to be a chore, she thought absently. Getting bored of looking outside and anticipating the hard work in the morning, Fritha started turning away. When glimmer faint caught her peripheral vision. Looking back out, down the disappearing road she didn’t see anything. Holding her breath, she counted in her head. There it was again! Faint, but definitely there. Exhaling and inhaling slowly, she searched for the mysterious light. A swirl of snow and blinking of light showed two men struggling to break through snow drifts and make their way to the inn. Another swirl of snow and they were gone in fury of the Blizzard.

“Erik! Bjorn! To me!” She yelled she made her way to the front door. She heard stomping from the floor above, confirming that her cohorts where on their way. She waited five breaths before she tore open the door, and was greeted with piercing winds and chilled temperatures a stole her breath. Ignoring her discomfort she waded through the snow and fought the bludgeoning wind toward where she saw the distraught travelers. Or so she thought.

The wind ripped at her exposed hands and face, threatening to tear off her skin to steal her still warm insides. The cold froze her lungs, making it very hard to breath, the dying light making it very hard to see anything. Hearing the struggling grunts from behind her, confirmed that her companions where close behind her. Seeing nothing, but snow and wind, Fritha stopped, held her breath and counted again. Her eyes scanning everything for any sign. She was about to give up at nine, when she saw a brief flicker three yards away, under a thin layer of snow. “There!” She yelled, pointing at a mound of snow that looking indistinguishable from any other mound.

Bounding over the snow drifts, Fritha reached the spot where she last saw the light. Nothing but snow, except for a small patch of color near the top of a drift. Grabbing at the color; revealed a cloak and beneath it a man. To the right, was another man mostly covered with snow. “Help me!” Fritha yelled as she grabbed under one man’s arms to lift him up. Her companions sheathed their weapons and complied. Carrying both men back, looking to faint light of the inn seemed like it was an eternity away.

Biting wind and chilling temperatures made everything numb. Her hands refused to work, her eyes where blinded by tears, her nose ran freely, her breath came out in great smoke gusts. But she held on and with every step brought them closer to the safety of the inn. Holding her breath she counted again as she approached the stone stairs that lead down to the front door of the inn. Mostly covered in snow, it was chore to not slip and drop her heavy cargo.

The door opened blinding her eyes in a yellow light, and showering her with a gust of inviting warm air. How she want to be inside and away from the form discomfort of the elements. Moving to a chair closest to the hearth she deposited her frozen, unconscious package in the chair and got on her knee to inspect her newest patient. Looking at the innkeeper and his large framed wife, “I need blankets and dry clothes for these men, quickly.” Fritha stated sternly. Nodding causing his long beard to fold into his chest, the innkeeper turned and rush to complete the task. Looking at the innkeeper’s wife, “I need a bucket of hot water for bathing, some warm water for drinking, and another empty bucket.” Fritha instructed. The innkeeper’s wife bowed her head, and went to fetch the water.

Looking at her patient in front of her revealed a human of broad stature, thick eyebrows, strong nose, and patchy beard. His thin lips were chapped to bleeding; his cheeks rosy and wind burnt, and his ears beat red and showed early stages of frostbite. His sweaty, frozen gear is green and brown garb that steamed as the snow slowly melted from his shoulders and back. At his back a medium wooden shield was attached, at his belt a long sword and hatchet were frosted with ice. Removing his weapons and giving them to Erik for safe keeping, incase these men were not of the pleasant kind. Fritha removed his deerskin gloves revealing long, strong hands that had started showing traces of frostbite.

“Erik would you please take these weapons to the room and retrieve my healing bag?” Fritha asked. Erik took the other mans, staff, bag of spell components, and small dagger and left toward the stairs. She looked at the other unconscious man, which showed her that he was a Syndar. With finer features, but not the finest that she has seen. He had lighter skin, pinked and roughed by the elements, raven color brows and hair, and clean shaven. He was of a lighter build, but a wiry build. His vest is of black leather with a bright red tunic, which was soaked through with sweat and melted snow.

Heavy footsteps announced the return of the girthed innkeeper. “Here are the blankets and clothes that you requested, ma’am! I got clothes from both of my boys, I hope they fit.” He stuttered as he put the bundles on the nearest table. “I will bring you and your crew a draft of mead, free of charge! You and your pack have done a very noble thing finding these poor souls before the blizzard claimed them.” He bowed before retiring to the back to get the drinks and food.

“Bjorn, help me remove their soaked clothes.” Fritha said gently as she removed the green garbed human’s cloak.

“Are they severely injured?” Bjorn inquired.

“Not from what I see. Frostbite has started setting in, but nothing that would require my healing magic, or amputation” She said with a shudder. “They look very dehydrated and exhausted. The Syndar looks the worst though, he must have used all his energy to keep them warm and cast the light.”

“Thank Gaia he did! Otherwise, he and his companion would have frozen within the hour.” Stated Bjorn as he removed the crimson tunic revealing a torso wiry and devoid of hair that Fritha anticipated. Removing the human’s forest green tunic revealed a barrel torso with large muscles and a mat of black chest hair, glistening with sweat. Upon seeing the humans bare torso brought back fond memories of Thrand, her mate. Pushing those memories to the back of her mind she shed the rest of his clothing and donned him with the barrowed clothes and wrapped him in blankets. Bjorn did the same, upon finishing he went to the wood box and gathered a couple dried oak logs and tossed them into the insatiable hearth. The fire crackled in response as small flames licked at the dried wood.

More footsteps showed Erik approaching with her healers bag. Following him was the innkeeper’s burly wife with the buckets of water. Looking at Erik, she told him to gather the men and have food and drink, but stay close if I need you. Nodding in response, Erik and Bjorn went to the far end of room where innkeeper had brought out a steamy roast and tankards of mead. Turning back to her task she and the innkeeper’s wife, Sasha she learned, split the steamy water into two buckets and put their patient’s chilled feet into the steamy water. She learned that doing this would relieve the traces of frostbite on their feet and also raise their core temperature. Fritha retrieved healing salve from her pack and started applying it to the wind burnt skin on her patient’s faces.

She finished applying healing ointment to the Syndar, when started applying it to the chap lips of human, when he took a deep breath and started to stir. He opened his eyelids revealing rich brown eyes that darted to and fro, “Where are we?” He stated weakly.

“You are at the Hidden Gem inn; I barely spotted your companion’s magefire in the blizzard. We found you in a drift, and brought you here. Who are you and what are you doing traveling in this terrible weather?” Fritha said as she sat down in a chair.

“Thank the Gods you found us!” He said as he struggled to get into a better sitting position. “I will tell you everything that you wish to know, but I ask that you take my friend and lay him in a bed. He is likely not going to wake till the morning; he was using his magic to ward off the wind and the cold. Lucky you found us though, his magic started fail two hours ago.”

Fritha studied the man for a moment and then tasked her companions to stop their meal and take the Syndar to a vacant room. Grumbling at the disruption of their meal, Erik and Bjorn complied, lifting the Syndar as if he weighed nothing. Fritha then gathered two tankards and a bottle of mead and returned to the human staring at the fire, lost in his thoughts. Filling a tankard with mead for herself, she filled the other of warmed water for the human. She handed the tankard to the human, which he nodded his thanks. “Ok, talk.” She said. And he did…

The water in the tankard was warm, and felt great on his scratchy throat. Looking at the mug showed it was speckled with blood. From his lips no doubt he thought, lifting his fingers to his lips confirmed weeping, furious splits. The Ulven maiden in front of him, his savior, asked for him to talk. Not normally the one to disclose a lot about himself, but this cleric from the look of her bag and attire, saved him and Brodin’s ass. Marcus and his best friend, hell, his only friend, almost died, again! He was so tired, so so tired. She might be able to help us. Not us, me! He thought. “Hope you’re comfortable, this might take a while.” He said.

“I’ve got time, who are you and your companion?” She insisted.

“My name is Marcus Clearbrook, and my friend, the Syndar, is Brodin Fizzlewick. I don’t know a whole bunch about Brodin, other than he is a half Syndar and an apprentice mage. And a decent guy, most of the time. Me, on the other hand, will tell ya whatever you want.” Marcus said as he downed the rest of the water and motioned for the Ulven maiden to fill his tankard up. Fritha motioned for the water. “None of that water, I would like some mead to warm my blood!” He insisted, feeling ragged and exhausted. Upon filling his tankard with golden mead, he started back to the beginning.

“I was born in 240, in the northern forests of Aldoria, near a farming community call Arkos. Nice farms they had there, some of the best in all of Aldoria the mayor would say. They had all different types too! Pigs, cattle, sheep, and a few ranches strictly for Aldorian horses. My father was an apprentice tanner in Arkos, when he met my mother, the Mayors daughter.” Explained Marcus as he gave his savior a knowing wink. She tilted her head to the side and looked like she didn’t get the meaning. “They fell in love, and wished to marry. Upon asking for the mayors blessing, the mayor laughed in my father’s face and exclaimed that his daughters hand is meant for one the rich horse barons that will increase is horses stock and get himself a seat at the capitol. And no lowly, reeking tanner is going to botch his plans for being part of the court!”

Taking a taste of mead, the thick, sweet wine made from honey, prompted Marcus to go on. “My mother was a strong willed woman, and she wasn’t going to be married off to a pansy nobleman… as my father used to tell me.” Memories came flooding back, almost bringing tears to his eyes. The blood from his lips on the mug didn’t help keeping these thoughts and memories at bay.

“They ran away! Never found out how they got away or how they evaded the pursuit of the mayor. But they did. Found a wandering druid to marry them. Settled down, built a house on the furthest edge of the forest. My father became a woodsman, supplying lumber to the local sawmill. I was born shortly thereafter. Along with keeping an eye on me, she would keep a large garden and keep a few animals for milk, eggs, and meat. My mother being the mayor’s daughter had all the best education, to which she imparted on me. And she would always told me that I should look for the best in people.” Taking another drink from the mead in hopes that it would prevent the memories from coming back, it failed. Tears burned Marcus’s eyes worse than the whipping blizzard winds outside. Fighting them back he continued.

“My father always taught me to be strong, independent, self-sufficient, reliable, strong, and a good man. My father taught me to hunt, fish, harvest wood, and always help those who are less fortunate than you. I was about 10 or 11, I can’t remember, but that is when the undead came.” Catching his breath as the memories threatened to render him a crying babe. Marcus saw images of his mother’s throat getting ripped out a shambling undead that had broke into the house. She couldn’t scream as blood fountained from her throat. Father roared in despair and defiance as he picked up his ax and chopped at his wife’s killer. He was quickly overrun by three other undead monsters, ripping holes his garb and his flesh. He screamed out to me to run! I used the crawl space at the base of my bed, and I ran.

Blinking back tears, Marcus came back to the Hidden Gem inn, and his savior waiting patiently for him to continue.
“I escaped the shambling horde to the nearest farm, where I warned the farmer and his wife about what happened. The farmer sent me down the road with his wife, as he went to warn his nearby neighbors. The farmer’s wife and I made our way to Arkos. As we approached, hours later, and the dawn was starting to grey the sky. We could smell the smoke of burning buildings and flesh. Before we saw that the town of Arkos was destroyed utterly. We made our way to the as fast as we could down the main road to the nearest port city Korren.” “Delirious and exhausted from days of quick travel with little food, we made our way to the Korren.” He said as he took another drink of his mead, hands shaking the whole time. “We joined the other masses of refugees heading toward the Korren for shelter. We caught sight of the city walls, and felt a surge of hope. The farmer’s wife started weeping openly and fell to her knees. I didn’t know what she was weeping for, could have been the realization that her husband was most likely dead, or that she might find sanctuary by the gray walls. I just felt numb, dead, my parents were gone, and I had nothing. Then I saw a figure in dirty rags come behind the kneeling, weeping farmer’s wife, quietly slip a dagger in her back and take the bag with our meager rations, spare clothes, and what coin she had. It all happened so fast that I just stared as her body crumpled to the ground and was still. People just moved around us, not caring, their own fears and care their only thoughts. I just stood there, not sure how to feel. Fear, anger, sorrow, I knew not.” Marcus explained as he looked down at his cold, shaking hands. No matter how warm it got or how close to the fire, he always felt cold. Alone.
“I started moving again. For how far and how long I don’t remember. The next thing that I remember is that people where running past me screaming. I looked behind me and saw that people were getting slaughtered by the shambling undead monsters along with the Penitent. One by one the zombies took down the weak and tired refugees. I started running toward the walls. I ran till my legs gave way and I was on the ground, crawling. So close to the walls, not more than 100 hundred yards. I looked behind me and saw a horde of undead zombies shambling toward the naïve Korren walls. What demented entity that drove this putrid army to devour all in its path, I couldn’t fathom. The first one passed me, then the second, and then the third… many more passed me. Fresh and old corpses moved past, groaning for some insatiable need that will be satisfied by reaching the wall and devouring what lies beyond.”

“Then one looked at me, she was maybe my age at one time when her heart still beat. Her golden hair was matted to hear head, and her skin grey. One side of face showed that she was pretty, but the left side of her was face was missing much of its flesh. Most of her cheek was missing, only shreds of putrid flesh covered her baby teeth. The most of the right side of her neck was ripped out, which made her head tilt toward the side where there simply wasn’t any support. She lifted one hand out to me, almost pleading that I could help her. My heart beat frantically; my breath came out in wild breaths. Was this the end? Would I meet my family again or would I be trapped as a shambling monstrosity always hungry for something that I would never find. I put my arm over my eyes as I screamed!”

Finishing the tankard in one long chug, Marcus looked at his hands to see that they no longer shook. He has been staring at the fire for so long that he didn’t notice that all the attendants of the inn was listening to his story of his life. The innkeeper was standing with his arm around his wife, their two boys sitting at their feet. His savior was still sitting, but had her hands clasped with a prayer intertwined between her fingers. Her staunch companions standing on either side of her, their faces grim. “Can I get another mug, please?” Markus stated meekly, suddenly nervous. His saviors left companion complied, his facial expression never changing.

“What happened next?” Marcus heard as he turned his head to the youngest of the innkeeper’s boys. Perhaps no more than twelve years old, his eyes wide with fear and anticipated in what would happen next. Marcus smiled.

“I thought was I finished. The wretched stench of this girl monster stole my breath away, as she positioned herself about to take a bite out of my middle. Then I heard a thunk, I looked from behind my arm and I saw the monster’s head lying on my stomach, protruding from the back of her head was an axe handle. The beard of the axe was buried deep into her head, but she still moved. Very slowly, but still very much active. Then a gloved hand grabbed under my arm and pulled me up from under the stunned, decaying monster. I was thrown over a strong, mailed shoulder and held into place with his right arm. His left arm held a medium size kite shield, which he used to bash his way through the undead in his way. I could only see what was behind him, undead people with their mouths open in a silent scream and arms outstretched pleading to the living to help them. I looked up and saw the massive wooden doors of the Korren loom up above me as we squeezed through a small crack. The doors closed behind us. The iron bindings around the inside of the massive oak beams severed putrid hands that unfortunately got in the way. Soldiers in all sorts of tabards lowered a massive plank that locked the doors into place. Other soldiers pounded wooden spikes into the earth to brace more planks to support the door.”
Marcus took a drink from his full mug of could hear the audible sighs from the innkeeper’s family. All visibly relaxed that he narrowly survived the undead onslaught, taking a deep breath, Marcus continued.

“The knight, at least I thought he was a knight, lowered me to the ground. Looked at my eyes and asked if I was bitten? Am I hurt? I looked at his piercing blue eyes and shook my head no. He looked at my arms and legs and under my burlap smock to see that I was telling the truth. Where was my parents? He asked. I pointed out beyond the walls and said gone. He lowered his head and looked at the wall then down a road to our right. What is your name boy? The Knight asked me. I said Marcus Clearbrook. He nodded and picked me up, and ran down the street, yelling for the refugees to make way.”

Shaking his head, to this day Marcus had no idea why he was spared, why the Knight cared if he lived or died. What prompted him to save him instead of someone more deserving, he wasn’t anyone special, just Marcus. A single tear rolled down his cheek as took a drink. Saying a silent prayer of thanks to his previous savior, who is probably no longer among the living.

“I closed my eye to try escape seeing the panicked faces of the refuges cluttered in the streets. But I could still hear them. The moans, the cries, the screams, the air was thick with fear. After what seemed like an eternity, I smelled fish offal and salt brine. I opened my eyes to see that we arrived at a near empty pier. A few frantic sailors were getting in small fishing boats and sailing boats and taking them into open waters. Braving the open seas seems like a better option than dealing with the undead horde.“

“At the end of the pier there was a single long boat that was still loading supplies and a few people. I heard the knight grunt as he doubled his efforts and ran down the wooden pier toward the long boat. As we got closer to the boat, the knight called out, Crass! The knights footsteps slowed, and he put me down. I looked up and a giant of a man in flowing clothing filled my vision. The knight and I assume Crass, got into a heated discussion about what to do with me. I didn’t hear much of the conversation, because I was looking out in the bay to see a large ship. I had never seen such a large ship, except in the books that my mother would show me. She also told me stories of how brave men went on such ships and went on amazing adventures. I remember tears falling down my cheeks as I thought of my mother.”

A long yawn from one of the listeners stopped Marcus and he realized that he had been talking for a couple hours now and the night must be getting late. The innkeeper whispered to his wife and she nodded sleepily. “Thank you for your help, present and future. But we old folk grow weary and must retire for the evening. To bed with you, boys and wife. Good night.” The innkeeper stated with a half bow. After herding his lethargic group toward the back of the inn which Marcus assumed was their living quarters. Marcus turned back to the sitting Ulven and her two standing companions. Unmoving, almost as if they were cast out of stone. “Yes, the hour goes late. And there is a lot of work to do when the sun comes up. Finish your tale Marcus, but please, keep it short.” The Ulven woman said as she stood up and stretched her legs.

“Right, ummm. I found out later that the giant looking man was in fact Captain Crass, and owed a debt to the knight. To which I found out later was Lieutenant Albert of the city guard. And the good Lieutenant risked his life to save the Captain’s brother from a tavern fire two seasons before. Captain Crass stated that the ship was already over capacity and he couldn’t afford to feed another mouth. I suspected that Crass knew that the lieutenant would stay behind to fight the undead legion. I suppose he wanted to clear the debt, or else the knight’s ghost might haunt him till the debt was paid. Crass reluctantly agreed to take me.”

“As the crew started rowing away from the pier, I looked back at the knight. He was a tall built man with a ripped and faded tabard over rust splotched chain. The shield on this left arm was dented and much of paint chipped away, but it shown clearly in the cloudy sunlight. He raised an arm toward me in a tired wave, turned and lightly jogged down the pier, toward the besieged city. I turned to Captain Crass. He had a long scraggly brown beard with flecks of grey starting to mix in. He had a scar on one cheek that started at his nose and extended down to his jaw line. I remember him telling me that everyone works on his ship, and if I didn’t work I would be thrown overboard. He asked what I could do, what I knew. I told him I could read and write, tend a garden, and catch small game. He said that I was to take all the names of the all the people on the ship, and when rations were dispersed I was to make a note that they received their rations. If someone got double rations or he found out that rations were stolen, I would get flogged the first time and then tossed over the second time.”

“I stayed in the captain’s quarters on a bed of rags. We stayed on the ship for many weeks, I lost count. Eventually we landed on Mardrun, at New Aldoria. I was then tasked with working with the dock master, inventorying stores and rations. I did that for many years, caring for cargo, and honing my reading and writing skills. I didn’t have any family, and didn’t really socialize with people. Only the occasional fishing trip and I would sometimes help out an old tanner slaughter beef for their leather. Most of the time I stayed in a basement room of an inn near the docks. Some nights I worked hauling casks of beer and wine to thirsty patrons. “

“I soon found out that my foreman was embezzling cargo and funds from the docks and selling them to bandits outside the city. One of offloading crew found out and informed the city guards one evening. When he was brought for questioning, the snake pinned the whole scheme on me. I then heard that he bribed the captain and sent the guards bring me in and hang me.”

“I had just bought a new tunic and was returning from the seamstress who I had my eye on, but was to cowardly to ask her to share a meal. I was about to turn the corner to the inn door when I overheard the guards interrogate the tavern owner of my whereabouts. The innkeeper said that he would send his son to get the guards when I returned. So I snuck back into my room, using the hatch at the back of the inn where brought casks of mead and ale. Gathered my things and left the city, never to go back if I could help it. “

“I stayed off the road and made my way slowly through the late fall underbrush going in a southerly direction, toward the New Hope Colony. I trapped small game for my meat rations and drank cold water from the brooks that I came across. No more than two days of leaving New Aldoria, I was just finishing a mid-day snack, when I heard the sound of voices from the road. I feared either the city garrison pursuing me or a bunch of bandits that would liberate me of my gear.

So, I crawled slowly to investigate. I moved behind a large oak and bunch of bushes to see three figures confronting a lone figure. The three figures had their backs to me, but they were dressed mostly in black. They had small capes and I could see that they were fully armed with swords, shields, and bows. These men were prepared for a fight, what type of fight I didn’t know yet. Beyond the three armed men I could see, was the lone figure that they were addressing. He was covered mostly in a thick black cloak, which was pulled far enough forward that I couldn’t make out his face. He also kept his cloak closed so I couldn’t see if he was armed. The lead bandits where asking if the cloaked man was deaf, because they asked him for his stuff or they were going to kill him.

One of the bandits drew his sword and walked to about a yard between him and the cloaked figure. The bandit asked again if he didn’t hear him and pointed his sword in the other man’s face. In an instant the cloaked man flung open his cloak, which revealed bright red and black garb and a small dagger at his side. In the instant that his cloak flew open, a royal blue ball of energy flew from his right hand striking the surprised bandit in the chest. He instantly fell to his knees and screamed in pain. The man in red then took his dagger and cut the staggered bandits throat, producing a stream of crimson blood.

The bandit’s companions yelled in anger and drew weapons. One grabbed his sword, hefted his shield and charged. The second unslung his bow and knocked an arrow. The bandit that charged got there in two strides, wound back the sword to strike the now apparent mage down. Before the weapon came a foot from the mages neck, the mage cast another spell that sent the attacking bandit flying off the road and into a bunch of brambles. The other bandit fired his black arrow at the mage, which he was not prepared to receive, or so I thought. The arrow flew true and would have pierced the man in red’s heart. But as the arrow touched the mage’s garb it broke into a shower of splinters. Obviously some sort of mages armor I assumed, he hasn’t told me much of his spells yet. But the bandit archer wasn’t deterred, he knocked another arrow and was about to aim his bow, when I intervened.

I don’t know why I did it, but I broke my cover and ran as fast as I could at the archer, which wasn’t focused on me at all. I tackled him in the ribs, which I heard his breath leave his lungs and maybe some of his ribs breaking. We fell into the ditch on the furthest side of the road in a heap. I then took my small utility hatchet and buried it in the side of his head. I looked back toward the mage, to see that he had a spell set in his hand that seemed to change colors in the light. I also saw that the other bandit that he pushed into brambles was sneaking behind him. He also saw that he had a spell primed, and instead of going for the killing blow he was going to stun him with his shield.

I yelled for the mage to look out. The bandit’s shield was almost about to connect when he flicked his spell behind himself striking the bandit in the hip. But the motion of iron bound shield grazed the side of the mage’s head. Which sent him flying and he fell to the ground unconscious. The bandit also fell to the ground stunned. I removed my hatchet from the archer’s head and ran to the kill the stunned bandit.

I then checked on the mage to see if he was seriously hurt. Not finding any serious wounds, I proceeded to loot the bodies. I looted a few coin, a sword, shield, and meager rations from the bandits. The mage slowly started to come around, and I held my hands up to signify that I didn’t mean him any harm. He held his head in pain and muttered thanks. I saw some birch trees and went to collect some of the bark. My father always told me that chewing on birch, and willow bark was good for dulling pain. I learned this when I broke my ankle a couple years before the undead attacked. I told the mage to chew on some of the bark to dull the pain. He looked at me skeptically, but complied. The mage then introduced himself as Brodin Fizzlewick, a Phoenix Syndar, and an apprentice mage. He was making his way to New Hope to meet some people. Since we were both going toward the New Hope colony, we decided to travel together. He retrieved his satchel and we traveled together for a week before we got caught up in this blizzard. And the rest you know.”

Hearing his tale come to the end, Marcus felt light headed and somehow elated. He has not talked this much to anyone in many years. He talked with Brodin, but only in spurts. They were always on the lookout for game or bandits. Brodin always seemed like the reserve type anyway and didn’t feel like explaining much. From what Marcus could gather out of Brodin is that he was orphaned as well and was trying to make Mardun a better place for human and Syndar alike. Must be nice to find someplace that gives you purpose, he thought.

Marcus now just noticed that the water that his feet were in has run cold. The fire has reduced down to smoldering coals. Marcus lifted the tankard to his chaffed lips to swallow the last of his mead.

“What are you going to do now?” Asked one of the Ulven men.

“I don’t know really. Go to New Hope and pray I find something. Maybe travel with Brodin and join The Phoenix.” Marcuse said absent mindedly. He doubted the last part. The Phoenix are a pretty well-known group of merchants, and he didn’t have any training in a trade, nor was he Syndar. The only thing he could do was read, write, trap and butcher game. Not exactly the fanciest of professions.

“Nothing is going to get done tonight. I would recommend that you all get some sleep.” Fritha said as she made her way to the stairs.

Marcus nodded and followed her and her companions up the stairs, his bones and muscles protesting all the way. At the top of the stairs he saw one of the Ulven men point to a room. “We put your friend in this room. There is a second bed in there for yourself. We are keeping your weapons till the morning.” Muttering a small thank you, Marcus went into the room. The barely lit room was commonly furnished with two beds in opposite corners, a small table in the center with a wash basin, and a simple wardrobe behind the entrance. Seeing the bed, Marcus dropped the blanket that was keeping him warm all evening and fell into the surprisingly comfortable bed. The last thing he remembered hearing was the blizzard whipping across the little inn, and the light snoring of his friend.

Finally safe… maybe.