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Lost Brother

Stanrick Longfang

“I see my brothers and I standing in a clearing. There are rocks piled on the ground, the sun is setting and even Mordok stay away from the clearing, the trees around are dead and dying. And I feel darkness all around me. It feels as if in this small patch of land Gaia has left behind and never wishes to return.”

Stanrick was kneeling in the small smoke filled room; across from him Soulvieg sat mixing a potion.

“Your dreams show a disgraced land.” She said not even looking at Stanrick.

“Sometimes, when an Ulven who lost their path that Gaia puts before them, and can not find their way before they pass they are not burned. They are put in the ground. Some believe that Gaia then cleans the spirit and then the spirit can go on its journey to meet the Great Wolf. Others believe that it is a way to punish the fallen spirit by keeping them from their journey. Such things are not up to us to decide. ”

“You mean like the graves where criminals are buried? I was told to never step foot on that land. I am surprised that so few know of this practice. ” Stanrick looked up at Soulvieg as she handed him the potion.

“It is that way for a reason. The High Priestesses of past generations had their reasons. One day you may have to set foot on the discarded lands. The one in your dream may be older than any we know of and you may need to go there for reasons I can not see yet. The runes speak riddles when consulted. Now drink that. It will clear your mind and help you sleep.” She got up as Stanrick turned his nose to the green liquid before he drank the potion. He coughed and grimaced at the taste.

“The place you saw may have been deep in the swamp. The runes tell me of something beyond our reach. The Daughters have divined it as well. Until the time comes when you need to know about it, you will not remember it… just like the rest.” Stanrick looked up, puzzled.

“The rest? What… what were we talking about?” he rubbed his head a little then got up.

“Stanrick, I asked you to come in here so we could talk about your plan to set up supply caches on the hunting trails. I think it’s a great idea.” He picked up his helmet off the ground.

“Oh… right, I forgot for some reason.” he said as she blinked and shook his head.

“I see you haven’t had any dreams lately, if you have any feel free to speak with me about it. Dreams can tell us a lot about our lives and the runes are sometimes tied to them.” Soulvieg smiled.

Stanrick nodded then he let him self out of the room. Rill was hidden in the corner but Soulvieg knew she was there.

“You can come out now, my child.” Rill came out from behind the curtains.

“Why do you make Stanrick forget his dreams?” she asked. “His dreams may or may not have truth he is not ready to handle. He has seen every one of his siblings fall. He has seen mates die. He saw the outsiders arrive when we thought we were the only ones in this world. Gaia has put much in his path and his dreams are a map that could guide him.

“I only make him forget them until he needs to know what he has seen… until we all know what he has seen.” replied the Runeseer with a grave tone.

Stanrick had a killer headache. He picked up a bottle of mead from the porch of the great hall and took a swig as he started for the gate.

“Stanrick!” he knew his mothers voice from anywhere and turned to look at her. “You need to take the young ones with you; Siren just let the chickens lose in the bunk house. And I’m not even going to say what Yawn did.” Youreden pulled Yawn by his ear out of the bunkhouse then went back in to grab Siren. “So you get them out of here and take them with you to the outpost, maybe you can find something for them to do.”

Stanrick finished the mead bottle then grabbed Yawn by the collar of his tunic and let Siren climb up on his back.

“Yeah I will figure out something for them to do.” he grumbled as he started to walk out of the village. Yawn flailed his arms madly and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Let me down! You gonna meet da great woof! I’ll bet you!!!” Siren was just glad to be with her dad.

“We’re going to the outpost! Out to the out post we go!” she sang as she played with Stanrick’s helmet. He scanned the pines looking for pineed sap as he went. “Ok you two lets play a game. Who can get me the most sap?” Siren jumped down and took off in to the trees. Yawn pumped his feet and Stanrick looked at him in amusement as he let him down and the two ran tree to tree picking up sap. “Remember how I taught you to pick it! Its no good if you damage it!” he yelled with a smile as he pulled out his pipe and lit it taking a drag before he started to take the walk to the out post. He passed two warriors heading back to the village and they nodded to Stanrick. Normally, he would not let his younger siblings run loose in the Pineed forest near the Village but this time of the year the harvest was in full swing. The entire woods was filled with hunters and warriors and they would be safe.

After Stanrick had returned from fighting humans, he was appointed as the quartermaster of the Outpost. He still thought he was a little young for the posting but he knew better then to question his great aunt. If she picked him then she had a reason, but he was starting to wonder if something was going on. This was the third time this month he had talked to Soulvieg but he did not ever recall walking in to her great hall. Every time she asked about dreams but he could not recall any. The thought was gone as he walked into the outpost and he climbed up the ladder and joined his younger brother Ranmir and looked out at the swamp.

Ranmir was just about a year younger then Stanrick. The two brothers watched the kids playing in the field with the wooden swords. Hunters walked back from the trails as other warriors began their patrols. “Stanrick, do you ever wonder if the Mordok believe in Gaia and the Great Wolf like we do? I mean, if we travel to the heart of the swamp, do you think they burn their dead and sing their praises?” Stanrick look at his brother and tried to see where this came from. “What? You’re kidding right?”

Ranmir headed for the ladder and started down. “No brother I mean it, the world as we have been raised to see it has changed. As children, we never knew of a world past the endless sea, yet humans and syndar have come to our lands telling stories of the dead walking. No Ulven has gone on the Long walk and returned. Maybe they had fallen or maybe they found a place to live in peace. We will never know unless we look.” He went down the ladder and went to grab his bag by the fire.

“Daddy, Daddy!” yelled Siren from outside the wall. Stanrick turned to look at his little girl. “Yes?” he asked her. She looked up and stuck out her tongue and made a strange sound “Bulipliplip” he smiled down at her and stuck out his tongue in return. “Bulipliplip”

In the corner of his eye he saw Ranmir walking out the outpost heading North. “So you’re going then? Did you tell mother?” Ranmir stopped and turned to look up at Stanrick.

“She knows as does Soulvieg, I have to do this Stanrick, this is the path Gaia has put to my feet. I don’t know what I will find but I know we will meet again.” With that Ranmir continued to walk as the moon rose in the east and soon the sight of him was lost in the trees.

Siren and Yawn climbed up to the look out and joined Stanrick. She pulled on Stanrick’s tunic. “Daddy where is uncle Ranmir going?” He looked at the tree line.

“I don’t know, but I believe we will see him again.”

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Breaking of the Goldmane

Pack Goldmane

Aesaleif Goldmane toyed idly with a bit of partially carved wood. She was supposed to be on watch, but with all the ulven activity in the area recently, there had been no mordok to be seen for miles around. Her own pack had been marching up and down their territory for months, skirmishing with the incomers, though they hadn’t had word from them since news of the treaty had come a few days past. She couldn’t wait for them to settle with the incomers, so she could get her turn to look at them. She had heard that some of them had pointed ears, like the mordok, and wore strange clothing. Her mate, Valgeir, had promised to bring her back some trinkets, if he could.

A party of Graytide had come through a day or two before. She didn’t know most of them, except for Khulgar. He had taken Valdís as his mate, and had come looking for her, and their lively little daughter. Valdis had been visiting home when news of the treaty came through, and she just had to go with the pack to see the incomers in person.

Movement in the tree line alerted her, and she drew herself up, ready to sound the alarm in an instant. But the figures coming slowly out of the shadows were familiar, the Graytide party. She looked eagerly for her mate, or any of her pack, but was disappointed.
Still all talking with the incomers, no doubt.She thought to herself. The others and her would be glad for news though, she thought as she shouted a hearty greeting. She leapt down from her post, calling to the others that remained there, and they soon had gathered by the gates, eager to speak with the dour Graytide warriors.

But the Graytide had not met them at the gate. They waited at some distance away, Lycon conferring with Khulgar. Everyone around the gate fell quiet, and the eldest among them stepped forward, and greeted the Graytides again, this time far more somberly. Lycon did not return the greeting, but Khulgar walked towards them. Why Khulgar, instead of Lycon?
Because he took a Goldmane as a mate…her mind fretted, and fear blossomed inside her. As he drew closer, they could all see something in his red eyes. He halted before them, and the pack was as silent as death.
“Do you bring news of our warriors?” The eldest asked, in a trembling voice.
“Yes.” said Khulgar, hollowly. “They are dead. All of them.”

The Graytide escorted them to the bodies of their pack, laid out carefully in the snow. She found her father and her mate, her tear blurred eyes barely able to take in their wounds. The sounds of her packmates keening filled her ears, and her world became only grief, sorrow, wails, and blood on the snow.
The Graytide offered to help them build the funeral pyres, but they shrugged them off, allowing only Khulgar to carry wood for their dead. Everyone, though, honored them, and the trees resounded with their howls of grief, and the tales of their loved ones.
Before she gave him to the fires, she carefully removed a necklace from her mate’s torn throat. She had made it for him, to mark their first year together. His blood stained the sunburst she had carved painstakingly into the stone, and the image of him laid out in the snow burned itself into her heart. She wept then. She wept as she never had before, and, she vowed, as she never would again.

They greeted the dawn wearily and painfully, discovering that sometime in the night, the Graytide had left them. Some of the survivors guessed at their purpose, and grimly nodded satisfaction. They left to go back home, one last time, spreading the ashes of their mates, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters as they went.

It was three days later when the Graytide party returned, some of them now sporting new trophies from their sword belts. By that time, most of the remaining Goldmane had left, going to what kin they had left to them. Aesaleif, Otama, and another male were the only adults left, and Khulgar’s little girl. They gave over the little girl to her father, her confused wails painting the theme of the past few broken days.
“It was an ambush.” stated on of the warriors, emotionless. “The outsiders did not know of the treaty yet. When your pack went to greet them, they slaughtered them all.”
“Did you pay them back?” hissed the male Goldmane. “Did you kill them?”
“We made them pay, but it was not enough.” seethed Lycon, hissing in pain and anger as one of the warriors treated his sluggishly bleeding stump. His tunic was stained with blood, and all could see how much the loss of his arm pained him. They had no Daughter among them to heal it. “The Longfang interfered. They chose to uphold the treaty, and protected the outsiders.”
The Goldmane nodded. It was more revenge than they could have mustered alone. It would have to do for now.

The packs stared at each other for long moment, each unsure what was to be done now. The Goldmane were broken, beyond repair. They had no where to go.
“Come with us.” said Lycon, grimly. “There is nothing for you here, now. Our home is yours, and perhaps we may take revenge together, for those lost to us.”
The remaining Goldmane shared only a brief look among them, before taking the proffered arm, and the promise of vengeance.

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The Fall of Dennagrath

Stanrick Longfang
Harlok Longfang


Two months had passed, two months of marching, sleeping in the wild, and fighting since Kragen Bloodmoon had come to Onsallas Outpost and requested that Pack Longfang send aid to fight off a new invader from the sea.

Stanrick was only twenty six but he had killed many Mordok in his life. He had been eager to join this fight and didn’t care who else was going to answer the call.

“And what of the Mordok? What of the swamp? Kragen, do you mean to take every warrior from us to fight some invaders that are your problem?” asked Norgoth.

Norgoth had only seen twenty three summers, and although he was a member of pack Longfang, he was not from the family Longfang.

“Why should we risk our lives for them?” He now directed his words to his pack. One of the young Graytide warriors who was traveling with Kragen stepped forward.

“Can you not see that this threat will not stop with just one pack? Do you really believe that they won’t come north and invade your village? You as a Longfang should understand that this is a threat to all Ulven!” Norgoth was about to give his reply with his mace but Stanrick spoke up first.

“Ekaj Shadowmane is right, if what Kragen Bloodmoon has said about these people from the sea is true then we should help.” Norgoth was alone in his feelings and Dennagrath approached Kragen and clasped his forearm.

“Kragen Bloodmoon, I believe I speak for all Longfang warriors in saying that we will go with you, for we know that a threat to one is a threat to all.”

With that the Longfangs marched to fight, singing the songs of old.

“The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong.
The heart is bold, the spirit old;
The Ulven Warriors have returned.

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away, ere break of day
Far over the wood and mountain tall.

The Great Wolf watches from on high,
Gaia guides us, In the Night.
Our names will ring, and spirits sing!
If our bodies in battle fall!”

But it wasn’t as easy of a task as the Ulven thought this would be, the invaders were nothing like the Mordok. Humans and Syndar, strange looking people, and very well organized. The Humans looked like Ulven without fangs and no change in their eye, and reminded Stanrick of a pup who had changed late. The Syndar were stranger still, their ears made points. And skin of such strange colors! But the oddest part of the invaders was how they fought. The Mordok used hit and run tactics, raiding villages and traders, and the Ulven used hunting parties to raid the loosely organized groups of Mordok. But Humans had heavy armor and worked closely together, the Syndar used magic in battle, even the males. But the Ulven had worked like a wolf pack, picking off any who had been foolish enough to break their lines. Winter was coming and the night air was chilled. And this night was like every night since Kragen convinced Stanrick to leave his daughter and the rest of Onsallas Village behind.

Harlok held up three fingers on his right hand while fluttering up his fingers of his left under them.
“Three more for the pyre?” asked Stanrick.
Harlok nodded as he helped wrap a fallen warrior in linens and place him on the stack of logs. As was tradition, stories of the fallen were told and their spirits sent to the Great Wolf. The pyres burned so bright that the human’s camps saw them from miles away. Stanrick looked around the camp and he saw members of almost every local pack he could think of.
“We have more warriors in this one war party then I have seen in any one place.” He said as he lit his pipe.
“The War Pack was ready in a few weeks, but not all the locals are warriors. They are slow, and don’t know how to fight.” sneered Ekaj, who had been playing with the Syndar ears he had hanging from his neck.
“That is gross.” Said Mena Long fang.
“The Goldmane’s love it.” Ekaj grinned.
Mena had not always been a Longfang but joined after she had chosen Stanrick as a mate. She had been accepted in to the pack as a warrior and proven herself time and again. But now she did her best to hide the fact she missed her daughter.
“I’m going to sleep, you can play with your trophies.” She said and went into her tent.
“What’s her problem?” Ekaj asked Stanrick.
“You’re keeping trophies, some packs tend to be more upset over that then others, should have heard her the night Harlok brought home a Mordok scalp.” replied Stanrick.
Harlok looked up from his mead and grinned.
“You young warriors should get some rest, our scouts report that the Humans will be passing through the clearing in the valley to meet up with a larger group. Kragen wants to hit them while they move.” said Dennagrath.
Stanrick put out the pipe and joined Mena in their tent.
“Am I weak Stanrick?” She asked in a whisper as he lay next to her.
He could tell she was crying.
“Why would you say that?” He asked as he put his arms around his mate.
“I’m afraid I’m supposed to be a Longfang warrior and I froze in battle today, all I could think of was what if we all fall, who would protect Siren and Yawn? If it wasn’t for Vilkas giving his life I would have been on the pyre.”
“Mena, fear not. If we fall, Gaia will give our village the strength to go on and we will be with the Great Wolf.” With that, he kissed her forehead and the two drifted to sleep.

The Ulven had awakened before the sun horse had started his run,and had packed up and moved to the forest edge of the valley. The fog was so thick that you could not see ten feet away but that was not needed, because they could hear the Humans marching.
“Keep moving! And stay in formation!” a voice in the fog yelled.
Stanrick aimed his bow and waited for the signal. Kragen let out a howl and the archers loosed arrows in the direction of the marching humans.
“Shields Up! Box Formation Left Flank!” From what Stanrick knew of humans this meant that they were now facing the woods in a tight formation shields high to protect from arrows. The archers let off two more volleys then pulled out melee weapons to charge the human line.
The war cries of the Ulven started low then rose up like thunder. A flood of steel, leather and fangs came from the tree line to smash upon the rock like human line. The fog began clear out of the valley just enough that Stanrick could see the lines of shield men.
“Protect the women and children! Keep the line!” Yelled a man was sitting on top of a horse. The Ulven had never seen a horse big enough to ride. This beast was large enough to hold a man that must have been over 6 feet tall on foot covered from head to toe in steel.
There must have been at least thirty humans, about half that of the War Pack. Soon he too had smashed upon the wall of steel, hacking, slashing and stabbing at any opening he could find.

“You have fought the Undead and lived! These Ulven do not rise from the grave, let your…AHHH!” The man fell from his horse as Dennagrath pulled him down. His fangs exposed, he let out a victorious howl as he stood over the fallen leader of men. Some had broken off to run but most of the line held.
“Good, I am tired of their stupid ghost stories.” growled Ekaj as he cut down one of the fleeing men. Stanrick focused on the task at hand. His shield was shattered but he pushed on to break the human’s line. He no longer knew how many had fallen to his blade when he heard a scream of rage and his heart sunk. He looked back but all he could see were humans and Syndar. Mena had thrown away her shield and began to hack at the humans in her way, screaming like a banshee of legend. Stanrick fought to get to her, to be by her side but she lost momentum and fell to her knees before a man with a two handed sword. He tried to yell out to her but it was too late, the human took off her head in one fell swoop.
The Human spit at Mena’s body and called her a bitch. Rage filled Stanrick’s blood and he charged the man who was about a foot taller than him. The man turned to face him grinning but not for long, Stanrick had slashed him in the leg and he collapsed to the blood covered grass.
“No, please don’t kill me!” he cried out but his plea fell on deaf ears and Stanrick finished him as quickly as he could. He was so struck with grief he did not see the other Longfangs still fighting the humans that were trying to protect their young. The battlefield was no place for children. Ulven learn to fight at an early age and even killed Mordok as early as four years of age but this was with older pack members, near home against a foolish Mordok that had been scouting too close to a village. To bring the young to a battle like this though made no sense. Harlok had just plunged his spear into a human that was trying to sneak up behind Stanrick.
Harlok showed his fangs in anger; if he still had his tongue, he would have been yelling about how stupid Stanrick was as he pulled him up off his knees. Only then seeing Mena’s lifeless form, he frowned then made a gesture of words going up to the Great Wolf.
Stanrick nodded “Yes, her name will ring.”

The fighting had moved away to the other side of the clearing as the humans and Syndar now tried to make their way to the road to escape to their camps. Stanrick and Harlok ran to meet with the rest but they were few in number. Stanrick looked around for other Ulven warriors. Kragen was finishing off the last of the humans that had been in his way. And Ekaj was cutting off a human’s finger. A few others had been fighting with a few footmen that had stood their ground to protect their comrades. Then he saw his father cut down a heavily armored man. Dennagrath made sure he was dead and made way back to the rest. Then it was as if time had stopped. He looked into his father’s eyes, drake green lupine eyes. He had seen this before in a nightmare. He knew what was happening and could not stop it. From the mist, a Syndar arrow pierced Dennagrath, then another and third. The life drained out of his eyes, and Dennagrath Longfang, warrior of pack Longfang fell to the ground.

Stanrick didn’t remember the end of the battle. Ekaj and a few others from clan Grimward gave chase to the humans and returned with the heads of several humans. The warriors that remained had gathered the dead, Ulven, human and Syndar.
“We burn them all, the invaders in that pile. Put our brothers and sisters on the pyre. Tonight we will tell stories and the names of our fallen will ring in his ears!” shouted Kragen. Harlok mended Stanrick’s wounds, as he smoked his pipe.
“We are the only Longfang to survive the battle?” asked Stanrick
Harlok paused and nodded he held up six fingers.
“We lost six in that battle?”
Harlok nodded again then ripped the bandage with his teeth. They got up and walked to the pyres, Stanrick thinking of stories to tell so the Great Wolf would hear their deeds.

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Icewolves Fall

(views seen by most recent pack chieftain, Darvrick Icewolf, as written in his journal 10-12 years ago)

What can I say about the Icewolves? We are hunters of day and night, we are known for many things. Compassion? Well that’s a different story, only for our young. I hope someday Salguod finds this journal so that he may know that he was important not only to his mother but to me as well. But I am to talk about the pack.

A few months ago I was approached by one of our eldest Witches. She told me of a Mordok attack that would weaken us to our core and most would not survive. She told me only the strongest would survive. She told me there would be a strong evil force that has never been seen before by our kind. She said that no one would listen or aid us, but there was hope. She also told me of a betrayal that will happen years from now by our clan to some of our friends. Then she told me of a civil war. She continued to tell me of things but the rest all seemed like babble to me Of course, out of respect I let her continue, then I ask, “Is there a way around this with minimal casualties?” There was a glint in her eye, almost as if she was waiting for me to ask.

She says, “There is a way. Do not contact any of the other packs or clans. Talk with the heads of the families and get cooperation to make plans to have them disappear during the attack. Have a strong fighting force to oppose the attack. I will arrive later and let you know.”

The Icewolves are known to be courageous, and to be feared by our enemies. We are warriors and hunters. Some are archers and farmers. What to do? Listen to the old Hag? Or have our great pack extinguished overnight? As for Salguod? He is the next in line to be chieftain. He is already respected on his own, even some of my advisers are in favor of him to be chieftain. As for a clan betrayal in years to come? Civil War? She has to be crazy.

He is my son. I cannot bear to lose him. There will be danger for all. I will send him away, on a hunt or something. He must live, for I might not.

So, I spent the next couple of days with the heads of the families in secret meetings to explain what the old Witch said, and we devised a plan for the pack to disperse among the packs and clans of their choosing. I told them not to introduce themselves as Icewolves and to avoid our clan, the Whiteoak. There was much doubt and confusion, but I made them listen. I told them to wait until the time was right. When Salguod was ready to take on the chieftain role, he should look for any remaining Icewolves to back his cause. Even though he may think the pack is gone, he will still believe that there will be few left.

Out of the Seven families, there has to be some left.
Gaia and Salguod, forgive me for what I must do to protect you.

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Demons in the Snow

Year 250: Just outside of the Newhope colony

“We are going to freeze to death before you fix that.” said Brynor.

He tried to bundle his cloak more tightly around himself. The snow was assaulting the travelers in sheets. Brynor’s hands were frozen to the point where he no longer had the dexterity to pull a drawstring, nor gather up the hem of his cloak. His futile attempt at stopping the cold made him look all the more miserable.

“After all we’ve been through, and after we have come so far, we are going to freeze.” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“No we aren’t. We just need to get the wagon wheel fixed and we’ll be back to Newhope by sundown” said Norel, Brynor’s brother, squinting and stopping to brush the snow off his face as he pried the broken wheel off the wagon’s frame.

“But you have to agree that we are cursed with a run of bad luck.” said Brynor, “We spent almost all of our money to pay for a spot on the boat to leave Aldoria. We braved the winds and the waves of the ocean only to finally arrive on Mardrun in the heart of a blizzard. And now, here we are on the side of the road with a broken wheel and our only form of income being the hope of selling a load of supplies that are stuck in the snow.” said Brynor as he stood there, uselessly watching Norel struggle with the wheel.

“Why don’t you shut up and actually make yourself useful and help me fix this damn wheel. You’re just standing there like an oaf!” snapped Norel.

“Quiet! Both of you!” hissed Gainen, their escort and the closest thing to a bodyguard that they had.

Gainen had been hired to tag along with the two brothers for a cut of their sales once they arrived at Newhope. He was no professional mercenary or soldier, but he was handy with a sword. Like many of the refugees from Faedrun, he was lucky to have arrived with the coat on his back.

Brynor opened his mouth to say something, but fell silent as Gainen’s blade cleared its scabbard. Judging by his posture and intense focus on the road in front of him, something was out there, just out of sight, obscured in the thick falling snow. For what seemed like an eternity, all three of them stood completely still. Nothing came into view and the only noise was the howling of the wind. The wind died down, and the world was silent save the gentle patter of falling snow. No one moved. Each man held his breath.

Through the snow came the distinct creak of a drawn bow and the whistling release of an arrow. Gainen recognized the noise and tried to duck out of the way, but he was too late. The arrow sunk almost fletching deep below his left hip, punching through the long leather jerkin he wore beneath his cloak. With a startled cry, Gainen collapsed to the ground on the path. He struggled to rise, but a second arrow snapped through the air and buried itself deep into his right thigh. Gritting his teeth, Gainen tried to claw his way back to the wagon while still clutching his sword out in front of him in a feeble attempt to shield himself. Brynor and Norel stood dumbfounded with terror, unable to move as the events unfolded in front of them.
The dark shapes of three Mordok emerged from the path and stepped close enough to be seen through the driving snow. With their hideous bestial faces, filthy rags, and blood caked furs, they seemed to melt forth from the whirling whiteout like monsters out of a nightmare. Their crude armor was adorned with trinkets and trophies. One of them had a severed human hand nailed to its shield. The world was silent save the falling snow and the ragged breath of Gainen as he lie bleeding in the snow. Two of the skulking forms moved quickly towards the wounded guard to take advantage of his crippled state and the third Mordok knocked another arrow. The archer took its time, pulled back the bow, and sighted in on Brynor. Finally snapping out of his stupor, the merchant back peddled and tried to run. He’d complained about freezing before, but that now he really was about to die, that whole tiff with his brother seemed rather juvenile.

The Mordok archer suddenly jolted to the side as a thrown javelin sank into its shoulder. The impact jarred its hands and the arrow whistled out of the bow, wildly off target. Before the archer had time to recover, another dark shape moved in close. Steel flashed against the whiteness and an axe head buried itself haft deep into the sternum of the Mordok. The sickening crunch of its rib cage collapsing echoed through the stillness. The Mordok archer let out a rattling cry that ended in a wet gurgle as hot steaming blood gushed from its thorasic cavity and into its upper airway. The monster’s fall was muffled by the deep snow. The axe wielder stepped on the corpse and rocked the head of his weapon free of the Mordok’s chest with a wet crunch.

The two remaining Mordok roared and turned to meet the new threat. As they charged in, the dark shape moved to meet them and was now visible, clad in brown armor, a full helm, mail of steel, and furs. He carried a shield with white tribal markings on it. From behind the figure came several more dark shapes in armor and the two sides crashed head on. Axes and swords flashed through the air, cleaving into armor, furs, and the flesh of both sides. Spear tips darted out at range. One of the armor clad figures pushed a Mordok to the ground and slit its throat with a dagger, but not before the Mordok used a wicked looking knife to slice his opponent’s arm open. Another Mordok was taken apart by numerous strikes and a stab to the stomach. It slowly slumped to the ground as the spear was twisted free. The encounter was quick, bloody, and brutally quiet, but all three Mordok were dead.
Still awestruck by the violence they had just witnessed, Brynor and Norel could do nothing but stare. These strangers, these warriors, had come to their rescue and saved them from a horrible fate at the hands of the Mordok… monsters that eat the flesh of the living and boil the people they kill down to bones.

Brynor, who had taken up a hiding spot behind the wagon with Norel after the archer’s shot missed, smiled and ran forward to greet their saviors.

“Praise the gods, I can’t believe it! You saved our lives! I can’t thank you enough for…”

“Brynor! No! Get back!” yelled Gainen through gritted teeth, still on the ground holding his wounded legs as blood pooled in the snow beneath him.

It wasn’t Gainen’s warning that made Brynor stop dead in his tracks. It was what he saw when he got close enough to the figure clad in the blood spattered armor. Instead of the Newhope guard that Brynor had expected, a man with piercing yellow eyes stood before him. The intensity of those eyes chilled Brynor far more than the snow and freezing wind that whipped his cloak around him. The man’s lips curled back to show enlarged and feral canine fangs. Not a single word was spoken, but Brynor felt as if the man before him were sizing him up and was debating on how he wanted to kill him. They would all die here, on the path, ripped limb from limb by those who could kill even the monstrous Mordok. Brynor held his breath and waited for his fate to be decided.

After what seemed like an eternity, the armor clad figure grunted a signal to those behind him and pushed passed Brynor. There were eight other warriors total, both male and female. Four of them pulled on a rope connected to two makeshift sleds formed from tree branches. On each sled lay the motionless shape of a warrior. Their flesh was pale, and the snow that fell upon their faces did not melt. One of the walking warriors who was not dragging a corpse, a female archer with a wounded arm, walked close to Gainen, dropped a couple bandages near him, and continued to walk on. The warriors continued along the path until the driving snow seemed to consume them.

With renewed vigor, Norel fixed the wagon. Brynor helped apply the bandages to Gainen’s legs and moved him into the back of the cart, where he passed out from pain and blood loss. He was in bad shape, but if they could find a healer soon, he might live. Darkness was setting in. They pushed the cart on the trail with haste and continued towards Newhope, the bodies of the Mordok already beginning to be covered by the falling snow. They continued on for almost a mile before either one of them spoke.

“Who… what were those?” said Brynor meekly, finally breaking the silence.

“I don’t know. The guards at the port told us about the Mordok, but nobody said anything else. I heard rumors of another colony here on Mardrun, but those things… they weren’t human. Did you see their eyes? Their fangs? I would never believe it unless I saw it tonight here with you, but those warriors were…” said Norel, who paused as their wagon wheel hit an unexpected bump in the center of the road and jolted to a stop.

The wheel had hit the side of a mound in their path. As Norel and Brynor looked down to see what it was, they noticed that there were more mounds in the road. Uneven lumps in the snow, scattered about… human shaped lumps. On the trail before them were ten bodies almost completely covered in snow. The wheel of the cart had brushed the snow off of the closest corpse, revealing a human in bloody armor and a tabard. The insignia on the corpse was that of the guards of Newhope.

“…demons…” finished Norel with a broken and shaky voice. Brynor and Norel dislodged the cart from the corpse and ran as fast as they could towards the gates of Newhope.

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Dennagrath

Stanrick Longfang

 

 

Dennagrath Looked out over the hill looking down at the Outpost, for the last 7 years He had made his home with the Longfangs, and proven time and Time again to be a warrior worthy of the name. He had left his old home and pack so he could help raise his 6-year-old son and too be with his mate. He was old now almost 60 yet the fire never left his eyes. In his old pack he was a craftsman and carpenter before joined his chieftain to venture to the Dirge swamp. They stayed at the outpost, and that was where he met Yoredon Longfang, his skills had gained her attention when he returned from the swamp with a Longfang hunting party, if he would have passed away that night the great wolf would know his name. But what made her pick him was his skills with a knife for 2 weeks he carefully made figures for her out of wood, the last on was a male and female ulven with a pup, as she studied them by fire light she saw it was her self and him. 7 mouths later she had her pup, a boy non-the less. Dennagrath joined the pack and became a full Longfang. He smiled at the outpost happy to have it be his home then turned to look at his son. “Stanrick!!! Its dead you will break the mace if you keep hitting it like that!” the 6 year old pup had 4 notches on the mace handle and this Mordok would make it 5. But with the first 4 his father never saw the fear that young Stanrick had in his eyes.
“What’s wrong pup?” he asked picking him up and holding him close.
“What if it gets back up? I want it t stay dead!” Dennagrath tilted his head and looked closely at the deformed Mordok. “I don’t think he’s getting up you killed him dead.”
Stanrick grabbed tight not wanting to look at the body. “It did in my dream. I was big and strong and so was little Harlok we killed an army of Mordok in the night with others by our side’s but they got back up and we killed them again! I had a little brother and mommy died, but you weren’t there and some green person fighting with us! We killed them over and over but they got up again!” he stopped talking to take a breath. Dennagrath laughed. “That is quite a dream! A green person you say was he an ulven or Mordok?”
Stanrick push away and jumped down turned to the bloody pile of Mordok and gave it a kick. “SHE was not a Mordok, or a Ulven.” His father laughed again. “Ok, ok I understand. Lets burn this Mordok and head home ok? Like I always say fire fixes everything.” Stanrick ran around getting sticks and brush and making a pier for the Mordok. The pup took his flint and hit it with a knife starting the fire, as the flames consumed the body Stanrick pulled at his fathers pant leg. “Daddy why do we burn the Mordok? We don’t honor them as fallen warriors do we?” Dennagrath tussled the pup’s hair. “No pup, but see the ash? From the death Gaia will bring life, trees will grow here Tall and strong. If we let it rot it, his blood will kill the trees.” Stanrick watched the flames as he cut a new notch in his mace. The sun set and as the fire died off the little ulven drifted to sleep. His father picked him up and took him home. “Sleep well pup, the dead do not walk.”

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The Journal of Syrus Marks

Syrus Marks (of Old World)
Background and History
Chapter 1 (How it all began)
[As written from Acolyte Syrus Marks of the Rouges Monastery]

All right, all right, by the gods of light and virtue, I shall record this. Need not for the poking, prodding, injuring, and miracles witnessed by all. While the corrupting forces of evil would just charge a daemon to write the pages that fall from the soul, I, Syrus Marks, Follower of the Rouge Cleric Monastery, do hereby write this by my own hand. So if you see a spelling error, mind you, it’s the illiteracy of my own doing, not the sprites or acolytes that the gods humbly bless me with. Where to begin and I say again, where to begin. A little information before all this began. That should help get the thoughts rolling.

When I was a wee lad that I found myself blessed with the gift of divinity. I was, or still am gifted in the ways of clerical magic’s. I, as a boy was able to cast some of the most simple of miracles. I could cure the scrapes on the kids so they don’t get in trouble with mum. A quick barrier to absorb the impact of the fall when descending a great distance . . . it’s called falling. Ah, but I boast. Least to fix that before the benevolent gods find disfavor with me, and strip my Cleric ability’s from me. This of course had me in front of churches and cathedrals a like. Marveled in awe of the ability’s bestowed on me, as if I were a creature! I knew not of what I did, just be born! Why would the gods want to bless a boy that would later become a man that will spend his life picking up the fragments of his own life? Thrust himself into danger with no care for his own life? Mayhap one day, that I fear is soon, will I learn the veiled secrets of the gods.

Unfortunately with all this new found fame I was not prepared for it. It went to my head as I grew in years. I could fill a book with the perverse things you could do with this ability. I shall instead, hold my hand and mind, and not release that beast. Least it be a plague upon all the good of learning for the divine. The gods know there are already horrors to be held at our front door. Best to hold the ones that live in our dreams in the world they reside. At least then we can defeat them with hope, imagination, and blessings rather than spell, sword or banishment. In these dark times of whoring, drunkenness, and downright filthy begging, hell, I was a youth filled boy. What did you expect? It seemed as if the only way on how I could bring myself out of this hole would to off myself or put myself into bondage as a servant of the dark ones.

On one drunken and blurry night, I was stumbling through the streets of a town I was passing through. Looking for loose gold on the ground, and perhaps an abandon house I can pass out in, at least a dry gutter. It was late on that summer night. The moon had passed the high point of its travel and was descending back to the horizon. Abruptly a door slammed against the cobblestone wall, a male and female voice echoed. The male, angered and demanding, the female voice sounding panicked. Need I detail this anymore? Filled with some righteous fury that boiled in my heart, I was drawn to the danger like a moth to flame. Just as I passed a building I got a clear view. Not only was it two males, but it was a very weak looking female! This boiled the wrath into anger. Grabbing a loose but hard stick from a garbage pile in the street, I snuck up on the two and cracked the stick over one of the scum’s head. With that opportunity the woman kicked the other guy square in the family jewels, then plowed her knee into his skull. This put the vagrant into a stunned state and the confrontation was over in those two hits. Now at a closer inspection, the woman was not weak at all. She was quite tone, as if to hint at being a warrior of some kind.

“I thank you for your help, least it be of fatigue to you milord.”

I cracked a grin “No lords here milady, just Syrus, and glad to be of your help” I bowed, and nearly lost what meager food I had left, and showing obvious intoxication.
“An unstable one you be. Come into the confines of the pub. This night only be trouble, let the night watch pick up that rabble”

She led me into the building that was a full bar, but took me to a secret spot in the wall, and descended into a basement that was very, cozy.

“My good lady, I don’t mean to insult but … are you a …”

“Just an adventure, and judging by your looks, you’re going to need help where ever you can find it, Syrus. Not all good is wrapped in light, and not all evil in blood.”
“What did I stumble into?”

“Servitude, Syrus. You’ll learn.” All I remember was her smile and then little to no memory after that.

The next few years was filled with work. In servitude of others, we would find the weak and defend them, find the poor and uplift them. I did not realize it at the time, but I was learning through practice the virtues of the codes of Chivalry. None the less through a woman, perhaps the gods realized I pay more attention to a female teacher then a male one? Or perhaps it was to insult me as to where I was thinking. None the less, I could write a whole separate book upon these adventures. Perhaps in time I may, if the gods let me grow old and grey. Needless to say, these years changed my life from a drunken man whore to an upright defender. This lasted until a day fate intervened.

I had grown the strength in my back to lift my own weight, and to carry on the teachings of what I had learned. It did not prepare me for that night. While scouring the country side, we found a fair in size, deserted camp. Signs of struggle, dead bodies and broken weapons were everywhere. The place reeked of death, must have been 50 men or more. Upon inspecting the camp, very little was left to salvage. The blood stained the ground, armor, and was like a crusty jelly on all the weapons. Armor was pierced, hacked, or otherwise destroyed; giving no protection to anyone that would want to wear it. When we got to the middle of the camp, that’s when the rattling and clanging of metal and the stretching of leather erupted like a slow rumble. The bodies we were previously inspecting were getting up! This was … impossible! Things that are dead remain dead! Not reanimate! Thinking we knew better than a few lumbering corpses, we tried to attack and hack the monstrosity’s to oblivion. That did not work. The ones we thought we killed, because they hit the ground when we split the skull open, rose back up to come back for some more. We tried to dismember the bodies, hewing bone and sinew, yet the limbs would try to crawl with whatever power they had towards us. It was clear now we needed to retreat, least we become like whatever foul plague these things were! This is that time where you wish you could strip your armor off, because if you’re caught, even if you have it, it will not save you.

We crested a small grassy hill that lead to a nearby town, and thinking we would be safe, that is when our nightmare struck. The town was on fire. The plumes of smoke blanketed the night sky. Blocking out the stars and moon, we now had no safe place to be. The lumbering corpses that were behind us, and the evil fire in front of us, only death seemed to be the closest stronghold.

“This is your final lesson acolyte.”

“Die with honor among the ones without?”

“No” she shook her head “Sacrifice”

“It’s clear …” she cut me off.

“Silence your tongue or you won’t live to use it! Take this.” She thrust a rock, which looked like a large sapphire into my hand. “Hold onto this and think of a place you want to be.” My mind swirled with many other places I would rather be. The one it focused on was a far off place, with thick walls and a team of gallant warriors, ready at all times to defeat the evil in the immediate area.

“Now harness that image… concentrate … and don’t open your eyes” She began some chanting. My mind’s eye seem to fixate on this image I had in my head and seemed to be more like a reality popping out a book the more she chanted. The chanting fell to a murmur as if she was walking away, and then the glow of the distant fire dyed, and the rot of death dissipated. I did what I may not have had to do, and open my eyes. In shock, I was not where I was before.

“M-master?” I called out in a shaky voice. Calling again and again, but all that responded was the chirping birds and the small critters that were startled that someone was here. I moved about the immediate area, setting up a perimeter of where I was but before I could get into making markers, I saw something in the sight distance through the somewhat dense forest that was not regular in this area. A stone wall! Something like I dreamed up! This must mean people, and help! With a little bit of haste I went to the wall, only to find it dilapidated, and falling apart. No good for resisting even the creatures of the woods. I began to investigate the ruins I had stumbled upon, and found it to be a mighty stronghold at one point in its life. Must have been a few hundred, possibly thousand years old and looked to be an amalgamation of both Fey and Human hands.

The tranquility was still there. Something the Fey loved, yet the hard work and back breaking construction was among it. Yet not a single soul was in this place. Ascending to the top of some of the towers of this stronghold husk showed nothing habitable in the immediate view. I thought to myself, ‘If this is something of my own creation, surely SOMONE must be around?’ I explored the complex with the remainder of the daylight. Bugs of light dotted the area. It was hard to see but the moon providing just enough light to maneuver the ruins. Fortunately, I learned the layout quick, but very little was left of practical use. Using a few dirty and dusty linins fashioned a pillow. Sleeping on rock perhaps was not the best, but it was the only form of bedding I had choice in. The night was warm, peaceful, and relaxing despite the circumstances.

When I awoke immediately something had changed. First, my gear was gone; second, I was in something completely different, robes. Thirdly, the barrack’s I woke up in was populated with people. Fey and men, it seemed that I was the first to wake. The area was furnished. Nothing like the time worn husk I found. A man walked in and with a commanding voice “WAKE UP!” his shout shocked everyone awake and the morning began. Men putting on their clothing and armor, his gaze found me, “YOU!” he pointed.

“HERE, NOW!” Scared, I mustered the ability to move closer, “YOU ARE?”

“Syrus” I meekly responded back.

“WELCOME” His voice booming, as if he was yelling, yet not trying. “READY YOURSELF.” He points to where I was sleeping and a wall adorned with new armor and weapons. I put it on as best I could. I was the last one out but still managed to follow the rest of the group. The group fell into a formation in a large field when we finished walking the perimeter. That is when the marching, swordsmanship, blocking, and rigorously training took place. For the next few days it was all I did. There was no time left to explore this area I was in, but it was just like the husk I left. After a few days, we were woken up the same fashion except this time the leader called my name.

“SYRUS”

I moved to stand in front of him.

“CLERIC TRAINING, GO!” He pointed out the door, with a bit of haste I left. My memory and some of the signs that were posted led me to the right room. I came to a vibrant room. Clerics of both races and many backgrounds were here. I spend the next few months cleansing my life essence of the evil I brought into it. After a year or so, I was finally purified to a point I could wield the familiar power of light with great confidence. The people I learned from were mainly fey, but had few humans. We spent time in books trying to memorize spells, and incantations. Quite a bit of time was spent learning how to use blessed items, their properties, and what to do when we cross one. I was a little different. They said I was Fey Blooded. Apparently instead of memorizing spells from a book like the other common men had to do, I could spontaneously cast them, with little to no effort. In fact, memorizing was hurting my ability to cast. My stay with the Clerics was long, yet felt short in the rear view of it all. Before I left, the cleric leaders spoke some words on me and inscribed some magical runes that bore into my skin. They said only the ones attuned to magic will know what is in me. It will be a spirit to guide me in further growth of my potential.

I went to bed that night, and came back to the place that I was when I lost my original master. As if I had never moved. The place was much brighter and did not smell of death. The town that was burned was built back up. A large barn was constructed and a few other buildings. I ventured forth to see what had been taking place in the obvious years I was gone.

This is where I met a good friend, Ayaton. He spent time in the military and was actually enlisted at this point. I was picked up as a mercenary with my Cleric ability’s and we also met Damion, an assassin of sorts. My tenure with that regiment did not last long. There was a night that descended upon us. The leader of this army became corrupt and I had to banish his life essence into the nether it came from after being subdued by any that didn’t follow the leader’s madness. We learned about this late one night. He brought Damion up on false charges of assassination. Damion may be a bit misunderstood, but he is doing what he does best, looking out for number one. He may defy orders, but he won’t out right kill someone. A fight erupted in the commander’s camp one night. Ayaton and I got our arms readied and helped Damion flee the scene. Damion must have used one of his poisoned daggers to kill the commander. I remember him shouting at us as we booked out of the camp on horseback ‘kill them, and bring their heads back so we may mount them on pikes for the dark ones’

The rest of the group that was true to the ways of good and right must have ended their uprising, because we made it out of that night alive, with no traitors at our feet. After that, the three of us became Specialist force. With that, we were allowed to act on our own. Ayaton got married, Damion left to fight battles to put coin in his pocket, and I left to do what I normally did, banish and purge the evil in the land. It was only a few quick years that I found myself back to the same place. Rumors of the dead walking again, and this time being organized, ready to destroy all that came across the area. A cattle call of arms was put out. The 12th company was on its way but the army would not get there in time. It was anticipated the undead horde would descend upon the township. They needed strong able bodied adventurers to come and secure the area. Hold it until the army showed. That began the next few scary nights I had. I knew I was not going to get paid enough to deal with all this, but duty calls.

End chapter 1

Chapter 2
Night of Eternal Shadows (2011 Last Hope: Old World Event)
[As perceived by Brother Syrus Marks, Cleric of the Rouges Monastery]

By the grace of light, I shall make it out alive these days. It’s the only thing right to do. I headed into the massive pub they had, Windbags Inn and Tavern. Luck would have it, I ran into Ayaton! After all, we were keeping a low profile; I thought we would only meet each other in an afterlife. “Hail Ayaton” I called to him, letting my hood obscure my face.

“Who are you?”

I stood upright so he could see me and put down my hood, so he could see my face.

“Syrus!? It’s you! How have you been ya old dog! I haven’t seen you since…”

Another voice interrupted low and callous “Since our freedom?”

Ayaton looked a little shocked by who would have the nerve to cut him off then realizing who the dark figure was that maneuvered around our back sides. “Damion . . . wow, perhaps this is a good day!”

“Yes, it is.” I replied “I’ve been good; I hope things have been going well for you as well.”

Ayaton brightened up, “Yes, things have been good and well. You know how we must start things out correct?”

Before I could answer Ayaton, he punched me across the face and I stumbled backwards trying to regain myself from the sucker punch. Before I could, I fell backwards, over Damion who was crouched behind me, as I fell to the ground, they erupted in laughter.

“The only way we can greet one another” Ayaton said “is by having a good brawl”

Damion without missing a beat stands up and punches Ayaton the chest.

Within minutes we were wrestling one another. The Guard was alerted and rushed over, but by that time we were laughing like kids in a play yard. “I’ll buy a beer for the winner” one of the Tavern maidens said. With that Damion made sure to knock us all to the ground in the next few seconds, and claimed his free beer.

A few moments later, Ayation said while standing up and catching his breath, “Hah, nothing like a good ol’ brawl to get things going”

“Yes my good friend. Yes it is.” I replied.

We took to the confines of the Windbag Tavern for a while longer; drinking, singing and telling tales of our adventures. Everything was great until someone broke up the mood and stumbled into to the tavern, causing quite a stir. “Peasants who have given themselves over to the dark ones have chosen tonight to rise up. A small penitent group is coming here! We must stop them!” The one causing the commotion was a guard, built for scouting. Little armor and arms on his person. “I’ll need all available people to get to the bottom of the hill; they are going to be here soon!” Without delay Ayaton, Damion and I, as well as a handful of other adventurers, headed to the bottom of the hill and found ourselves met by a fairly small group of peasants that wore the mark of ‘Sold Soul’. The mark is simple. It consists of two lines, one line under each eye, in a vertical fashion. As if they were crying black tears from each eye. There must have been five or six! The 10 of us that rallied (three plus the other able bodied people that came) could wipe them out! Our steel and armor verses their pitch forks and hand scythes. We took to the high ground of the hill, holding a line, forcing the penitent to charge up the hill to get to us. They set up a staggered line formation, useful to reduce the effectiveness of arrows. One of the penitents stepped forward.

“We wish only to speak to you” a robust bald penitent stepped forward, as a wicked grin erupted on his face.

“Speak your words so and let us have peace” one of the guards said.

“Tonight is the night of celebration! The dark ones have come to celebrate with you! For the small sacrifice of your life, you may partake in this celebration with us! Let us convert you!”

“My soul is not mine to barter with. For taking mine is asking the wrath of the gods” I snapped back.

“Yet all the pawns are ultimately go back to the same box. Might as well have the fun no?”

The confusing question got the better of the group, as they focused on talking a hail of arrows came out from the nearby trees, wounding a few of our group.

“It’s a trap! Get these vermin! Slay them by the sword! They want death, give it to them!” Various calls of our group shouted as a rally cry. We charged into the group, but unfortunately it was not as well as it could have been. Another volley of arrows went off, wounding a few more. With that, we realized they had the tactical advantage against our numbers. Though we were better armed, they were better placed. Someone called a retreat and oddly, the penitent let us be. We arrived back to the tavern to assess the wounded. Ayaton and Damion could not be found when we pulled back to the tavern. My flesh was still in one piece, but my armor was another story. Thank the gods for a good blacksmith! With no form of protection except for faith, I went among the wounded and administered first aid and clerical aid to who I could. Throughout the night, a few handful of penitent were killed, some brought back, questioned then executed. No matter what we did, how hard we fought, or fear tactic we used, the numbers kept coming. That was the point we all realized it would be a long night.

The battle yells, death cries and fighting soon faded, and exhaustion finally hit our battle shocked bodies. Despite the looming fear of penitent jumping out of the woods, erupting from the lake, or sneaking into our tents and tavern, sleep was easy to succumb to. We rose with the sun as it came peering over the horizon. Some of us had less than adequate sleeping arrangements. Some slept on tables, in the tavern corners, some of us slept in the hedges or in trees. The clanging hammer of the blacksmith reminded me I had some armor that needed repair. When I got to him, he already had a lot of steel to mend. Dropping it off was no problem as the benefit of the army; they would eventually help this blacksmith by paying him back. I wish sometimes I was skilled with a hammer and anvil more than magic’s. Then I could at least keep my armor in better shape for longer. Not all magic takes away the scars that a sword has left. Sometimes it will still leave scar tissue from the healing of limbs! Perhaps it is a way for the divines to remind you that you won’t always be so lucky all the time. We spent the morning breaking up into groups and scouting the area. The majority of the patrols were taken by guardsmen. We had word that a great commander was on his way! Commander Caldrin if my memory serves. Either that or I’ll blame it on my bad hands for only remembering the C. He was the victor of many battles and was the nearest to handle the threat here. At least it gave us hope.

There were a few skirmishes that took place, nothing noteworthy. Some injured, a few killed on both sides of the fighting. In between some of the skirmishes one of the scouting groups discovered a hovel across the lake, near the Tavern. In addition, some penitents were observed leaving the area. It seemed to be a routine stop for them. We sent up a search party and went across the lake to investigate.

Upon getting across the lake, we were ambushed by some penitent! Fortunately, the divines favored us and the ambush failed. I think their zeal over took their skill. They practically fell upon our blades! We proceeded across a small wooden bridge across a river, then through some woods, and found the small grotto. We set up look outs and began investigating the grotto. Upon closer investigation, it seemed to be more of a crypt than anything. Defiled, pillaged, and perhaps at one point contained weapons, buried gold or trinket’s was no longer here. Perhaps it was looted for trade reasons. Very few merchants stay where war is erupting. Yet that thought did not make sense. They have the ability to just over take things by sheer numbers! One thing that may shed some light on what or why the penitents were here may be contained in a book we found there. Unfortunately from those of us that could read it, only came to determine it were ramblings of a crazy man. Unfortunately, as some of us know, crazy means something, something to hide a much more sinister plot.

With whatever evidence we could carry we brought it with us. Unfortunately, we spent too much time at the grotto. Some penitents were waiting for us just before we got back to the lake! These ones must have had more training or were able to hone their zeal. Some of our group fell injured to the blades they wielded; some were dead before we could help them. After a hard fight, we had to take the wounded, dead, and our evidence back to the town. Hopefully someone much wiser than the rest of us would be able to decrypt the book.

Shortly after our return, as if a beast was angered, we found penitent mustering on the far side of the lake! We could spare very few people, but we had to fight. We mustered what guardsmen we could and marched on to the field of battle. With no taunts or bravado, the lines met and combat ensued. Line after line of penitents washed upon our shield wall. Limbs, screams, cries, and blood were showering everywhere! If some dark god was watching, he must have been smiling. Especially the way the penitent seemed to enjoy it! Cackling with glee and joy with what was left in their bodies, giving praise as they died. Shouting ‘I’m whole’, what were these crazy, son of a village half-wit, were these pig farming, mud eating, blunt weapon shakers think they are doing? The mayhem continued for some time, and just before the sun was about to hit the horizon and mark the time for dusk, the penitents were in full retreat. We pressed forward cut down the ones we could catch. Over one hundred and fifty penitents died that day. Our spirits swelled with hope from that fight, and we lost only a handful. One of the factors that made this such an overwhelming victory was the maidens from the tavern came down with supplies and extra arms to help the wounded, as well as guard the flanks. They did in fact, with no armor and second rate weapons, repel invaders that tried to out flank the line. A song was written in their honor. Another factor that helped with our major success was due to the fact that we put aside all fault, dismay, and selfishness and helped one another. We brought back wounded to the healers and tavern maidens, who were renamed Tavern Valkyrie’s. I know for myself, I fell to a grave wound many times, but was helped back to the line by Ayaton, Corpral Tavin, and even common foot soldiers. The unification to live was stronger than the selfish calls to the grave.

The night started well, a few cold drinks, some warm food, some smiling and happiness! The patrols of guardsmen with a few volunteers were good enough to keep the semi frequent attacks of penitent away. The night unfortunately was not able to end on a good note. The moon was high in the sky when the horrors from my past would come to haunt me again. Undead invaded our perimeter. Unsure where they came from, they have obviously been dead for a long time. No distinguishable features or clothing, nothing but rags and rotting flesh or bone. The only fortunate thing about this is their were two or three, but no matter what we did; slice the skull off or open, hack the limbs off, these zombies were not like the ones I fought in my past. They would regenerate, sew themselves back together with some dark necromancy and start again! We only had one other cleric with us and he could only make so many Divine Weapons. It seemed to hold them at by for now, but whatever ground we had, we lost. We soon retreated back to the Windbag Tavern where it was lucky we had a strange woman working tirelessly, to draw runes the around the tavern that warded the area from Undead to come in. We were able to dispatch any of the corrupted peasants that were with them, but those creatures, those Undead, kept coming. As we were in the inn like a bunch of scared cornered rats, we found out that at the grotto, there was a skull. Someone took it as a prize. I don’t know why they would want to do such a thing, yet they took it anyway. They tried to barter with the Undead, “take the skull and leave us be”, I don’t know about you, but I am not sure the dead know on how to communicate. I will admit, while I don’t remember what happened that night, for some reason the Undead left us. I think their dark masters called them back, or they got bored, or maybe that other cleric blessed enough weapons that we banished them. I wish I could tell you, but none of us dared leave the tavern that night. We had a few wounded, a few killed, but over all we did not lose that much in the way of man power. At least nothing to the crippling degree we had in some of our early skirmishes.

The night dragged on. Even though we could take refuge in the safety of the tavern, we still held patrols and watchmen to make sure we were not over taken by something that was not living, or not friendly. Somehow we got sleep, despite the overbearing fear, but at least we recovered some of our strength. Morning came with egger anticipation. Scouting for food and preparations went slow. It wouldn’t have mattered; some of us were still horrified from last night and did not have the ability to eat. After we ate, as if on cue, we finally herd some trumpets blare and in the distant horizon as the sun was cresting the hill, we could see the uniformed numbers of the 12th! Or was it the 7th, ah, the gods know what it was but I’ll keep with the 12th Vandregon Army company, in tow with Commander Caldrin with them! It was an inspiring site to behold. When the rank and file finally came upon the small village we were at, it was not a lie that we were already beat up, damaged, and possibly defeated. With the arrival of the army now, we could at least hold on to the hope that we were actually going to make it. Commander Caldrin was soft spoken to say the least, but his presence brought power to us all. It felt like good spirits and celestial beings were among us. By the gods if he were divinely inspired, I would not take a bet to say otherwise. With the hope of our lives making it past another day, we could possibly turn this fight around. Not sure what we would do with the recently found Undead in the penitent forces, but we will win.

We spent the day making preparation for the final battle ahead. It was obvious that the penitents in the area were dwindled in numbers, and this was the last of their forces. It was confirmed they are reinforced with a few Undead, perhaps with time they will decay, die, or fall apart. I also herd one of the other clerics may have fashioned a weapon or device that may help as well. The tricky thing with the dead is they don’t tire, they don’t have a will to break, nor can you intimidate them. In addition, with sufficient magic when one falls there will be another, if not another two in its place. I don’t think whatever necromancer was controlling these beings was particularly powerful. Just the magic was very potent. We knew that we could bless our weapons. Fortunately, the other cleric that was with us could do that. Ayaton and Corp. Tavin were charged with finding and destroying the creatures as they showed. The rest of us were to keep them alive and destroy any penitent that would try to stop them. The plan was simple. Destroy every last one of them. The commander would be on the field of battle, along sergeant Graves. (His name escapes me, but it was something like that, I’ll call him that unless I can remember.)

Sergeant Graves was the commander of the guard. He was a grizzled vet with a bite to match his bark. He wore the scars of his battles with pride. It was said he served nearly 20 years. He was rough, tough, and over all a very respectable man. While he was on the front lines with us most of the battles, he was usually busy elsewhere seeing to the preparation of his troops and readiness of the weapons. I presume he was also seeing to the rights of the dead. Last thing we need was our own soldiers to crop up and start killing us from the tombs we put them in. Now with a final push we were able to join in the forces together, and see to it that these dead were, well, dead. We marched onto the field of battle, and formed our line. I wish you could have seen it. The words I write won’t tell you how great it was. To see our men at arms take the field. The penitents were waiting for us. They crested the forest, where all their witchcraft and heresy was coming from, the remnants of their camp were strewn about, as if some great fight had taken place. One of them even stepped forward and offered a parlay. After a few moments of consideration, Sergeant Graves moved forward to meet the scum. They had a few words back and forth. What little I heard it was them pleading for us to see the light, to come over and give our lives willingly to the dark ones. Not only did Sergeant Graves reject such an absurd notion, he proceeded to punch as well as choke the poor beggar out! Both sides were stunned at what took place. Both Graves and the diplomat (and I use that word loosely) wrestling and fighting, after some rolling on the ground, punches and verbal slander, Sergeant Graves killed him with his own hands by snapping his neck. With that, the penitent responded by raising their banners and charging forward.

Like a blacksmiths hammer, pounding out the impurities of hot steel. Forging into what the smith would want, Sergeant Graves got up, shouted a rally cry and charged in. Not alone of course, but with the backing of the Vandregon army and guard! We charged ahead, splitting skull and shield alike! We made some short work of the initial force, but when the Undead came in, fear gripped the lines. A few ran in terror, a few others were braver and tried to fight. I was one of them. They seemed more concerned with killing then eating. For when they impaled me upon one of their weapons, they decided to leave me for dead. Fortunately the weapon missed some vitals, and by the light, I was able to get retrieved from the battle. Brought back and patched up, I decided it was better to stay and help with the healing efforts. We had our town healer and smith here. Patching up the most critical of the critical, the rest were able to help keep the lines strong. I helped as long as I was able to, until both my medical supplies and my manna ran out. I went cautiously back into the battle. By this time, I saw Aiton and Corporal Tavin flank from our line and make a strike into the side of the defending forces. One of the last things I remember before the battle closing was one of the penitent, a slender female, screaming like a Banshee, after she fell to the blessed blade of Aiton, the rest of the penitent were routed and fled. I don’t think any Undead were left to retreat either.

The aftermath of the battle resulted in a bitter victory. Commander Caldrin went missing. Apparently a smaller force of our men tried to go around the back of them and fight, it was an elite unit. They came after them and we gave them a fight. Him and his men were routed, but gave the smaller force enough of a thrashing they couldn’t peruse. Sergeant Graves got bit by one of the Undead. We had little to no exposure to bites and scratches. Some of the rumors and ancient texts we recovered after sacking what was left of the camp was a description saying that he would turn into one of those monsters. I think with the news of that he took off into the woods. Perhaps to find himself an honorable death, perhaps to keep himself away from turning on other, his reasons are his own. Mostly out of fatigue, but equal parts respect, they let him go. Bitter was the weather that day. We may have saved the town, but two influential and important people have gone missing. Lives are something that cannot be replaced. Damion as well crept off into the night. One thing I learned from him is when he wants to be left alone; he will find his alone time.

The cycle of life will continue in this area. I don’t know how long it will be, but Ayaton is forming the Vandregon Rangers. Our exploits with combined arms rather than our own separate adventures was noted at this point. Instead of being local, individual heroes, we decided to combine arms and find the more concentrated forces of evil. With leave of the army, we left to adventure the countryside and wilderness. Finding and rooting out evil where we could find it.

I think the time spent with Ayaton’s Rangers and my celestial buddies from the Rouges Monastery turned out to be what I needed to free the dark corruption inside myself. I felt some of my healing potential come back. With this, I grew leaps and bounds in my healing ability’s. I was only just an acolyte when I entered into the maw of the beast. After it was slain, I turned into a master of the arts. My healing provided Aiton’s Rangers with more staying power and protection from the evils we faced. I would not doubt we struck some fear back at them. I hope so, for those cave dwellers should feel something for the pain they caused. Maybe not, I won’t know, any exposure I had with them was a happy bliss for causing death, blood, and destruction. I don’t know who holds these strings, but if we were to figure a master mind behind it all and sever their existence from this plain, perhaps we can bring peace back to this world again.

End Chapter 2

Chapter 3
Unchained Carnage (Last Hope Event 2012)
[As written from the perspective of Syrus Marks, Cleric of Aiton’s Rangers]

The next year progressed well enough, at least for us. I don’t know about the rest of the Vandergon Army or any enemies they may have had. With our constant adventuring, it kept us as a hermit to the rest of the world. We sent letters now and again, letting the main forces know what we were up to. We would occasionally check in at towns to see if anything was wrong or trouble was about to hit the town. When we couldn’t find outright evil to vanquish, we would take jobs to pay the bills. Remove some ruffians at a tavern, kill a few bandits on the road, and my favorite; exterminate some crazy black magic cultists. So long as the job was paying, we would take care of it. Might sound weird, a group that is taking job’s on the side when they are in the employ of an army. My thought is, the more coin the better. Things do break that the army does not think will break, and having some extra funding to keep our belly’s fed, supplies fresh, and a few coins to get some extra information to keep from hurting someone is a great alternative. It’s not like the army life is paying handsomely in the first place.

It was dreadful news we herd when we stopped to check in at one point. We checked in at one of the way stations in the realm and a message was waiting for us. Big wax seal on it and written in elegant handwriting. Apparently there was some evil force, reeking of death and destruction brewing back in old Windbags Tavern. Like a waves to rocks on the ocean, memories we thought had been put behind us, came rushing back. The terror, the screams of the wounded, the horrid figures, yet we are the best at what we do. We are stronger now than what we were. With steel, magic, and camaraderie, we will be able to triumph over this task. This time, we were not so zealous or positive, more like a veteran before battle. We would know it will cost us something; and that cost, may be us.

Upon our trip back to the dreaded land where the first events took place, the conversations we had with the rest of the rangers were short, and despite our attempts to make it sound like heroism we were not even close. Even the dullest fool was able to tell that what we witnessed there was nothing that one would want to recall to memory. No bard would want to write a song about our deeds. Nor would anyone want to even come to the back to end of the world- where we were going to and attempt to make things right! More than enough blood was spilled and bodies burned those few nights. We did not need to add to that number. When we were within the outskirts of town, it was dusk. We set up our tents and headed into the small tavern to have ourselves a wind down drink from the journey.

Some of the adventurer’s herd of the ‘excitement’ up this way and decided to come and see what they could provide in assistance. Some of them looked green, too green. We sat down and had some introductions, I do them a dishonor by not remembering their names, but I think that’s what their gravestones are for. The first round got us all talking and into arm wrestling contests. Quite the pint of mead was passed around. As we got into our second round of drinks we herd an awful shriek from outside. Someone was in dire terror. Like children wishing to play, the adventurers and the rangers left the tavern to see what is going on. There was an Undead lumbering toward a townswoman! The adventurers leapt into action and started attacking the creature. After a few swings of their blades and a few bashes with the shield the Undead fell. Just before they could do a victory dance, the cursed thing got back up and nearly grabbed one of their legs! With that, we knew that even though it looked and smelled like an Undead, we were defiantly dealing with Undead. I went to work blessing blades for the destruction of the Undead. If you were wondering why I did not do this years before, it was due to the fact I lacked the spell, and the time to learn it.

Just like the previous year, Ayaton went in for the killing blows and destroying the Undead as the adventurers brought the Undead to the ground. Our actions may have disturbed whatever dark forces are growing here. What turned to be single Undead here and there in the night, ramped up to pairs, then increased to triple. I was barely able to rest long enough to keep the manna flowing to keep the blades blessed. Within time though, the attacks suddenly and mysteriously stopped.

The next day, I awoke to some hammering and general labor. It was the 12th Vandregon Company with Commander Tevor! If you did not know, he was thought to be missing and possibly dead, yet, somehow made it back alive! I had herd he was a cunning and tough guy. As his story went, when they finally broke from combat, they had to flee in a very wide birth than normal. They found places to camp, but unfortunately the undead in those areas were far too many in number to safely settle. Eventually, it took some time but they were able to get back to safety. With his elite group and the remnants of the army that stayed behind to reinforce the area, they were able to keep the area at peace. Unfortunately, things recently have been too quite. I hope this turns out to be a good decision. Typically when an enemy in the area turns inactive, they have retreated. The commander here did not think so, he is sure they are planning something big.

I hope his hunch is right. He has been at this far longer than I have. I just don’t want to be kept in an area that is already causing mental anguish, as well as keeping me from coin, paired with doing something good. Yet, if this turns out to be right, then I’ll have to be sure to stay alive or I won’t be able to see the coin I have kept be used for good use. Either way, my senseless bantering with myself won’t make this any easier. I even though we rangers don’t need to follow command, we are sworn to protect the weak. I’m sure with the twelve of us here, along with the army’s rank and file, in addition to the few individual adventurers that have shown up, this should go better than what was initially expected.

It was best for us to scout the area. We were set in a good spot. The tavern was right on the crossroads and was fairly lit to. The back end of the tavern and up the road was all camps with guards on routed patrols, so nothing was going to come behind us to easily. They were forced to either come up a hill to the tavern, or wade across a lake.
A set of our scouts found a few penitents that were feeling brave. They came to the hill down the way from the tavern. They did not seem to be making haste to our location, but were headed in our direction. We rallied the nearby fighters and assembled a shield wall to defend the one point of access to the tavern. Almost as if we were in sync, our shields formed a line. A handful of penitent approached, one of them stepped forward as a speaker. As he stepped forward he rambled on about some non-sense. A lot of the same stuff I heard before. Instead of in the cover of night, this was during the day! It was something I don’t think I have seen before. I know doomsayers when I see them, yet this was far beyond that. He was actually trying to convince us to give our life essence over to whatever dark god they worshiped! I’ll admit the anger in my heart nearly over took my action. While he was boasting, we were reinforced by some of the Vandregon Army. The reinforcements joined the rest of us in making a shield wall. In a unifying one step forward we preceded, one step at a time, in this slow fashion until we could get in range to charge and exterminate the vermin. I don’t recall us taking any losses, although I think a few of us were slightly wounded. These penitents had nothing of value on them. Their weapons had no value, no armor, and nothing of worth in jewelry. This would not be easy to make a profit off of pilfering the bodies. Looks like we will have to add them to a pyre see if we can’t scare the ones that are alive to break and run.

I got a better look with who was in the fight, I got to meet Bucky, stalwart and proud, perhaps a little too proud for his own good; Corporal Tavin, level headed drunkard. I’ve never seen someone drink as much as he does and still swing a claymore straight the next day. There was also Paladin Artenen, Fighter Zo, and a few other people.
I decided it was best to separate from the rest of the rangers and find a spot in the tavern to look over some material that was found before we arrived. A few journals and a few letters and notes; one of them was the book we found in the grotto last year. Another was a letter about the Captain’s whereabouts and orders. Another, was a really strange journal, the writer was obviously deranged and crazy. He was either crazy, or he was speaking so metaphorically that no one would be able to capture what he was talking about. I spent a good hour on the journal, but nothing came of it.

Ayaton’s Rangers were tasked with patrols and keeping the perimeter safe. This is a little, inferior to what we are used to but it’s what the Captain wanted. The good side, I was thinking that he trusted our eyes a little more than the other’s out in the rank and file. Yet at the same time he was, in opinion, keeping his best troops in the most harm.
One of our scouting groups found the May’Kar. They were a pair of priests that were able to do great acts of healing. Perhaps sent from the divines to help us in this god forsaken are?. With them in the ranks… well, behind the ranks, we would be able to withstand an onslaught of what penitent could bring to us. Despite only being two people, they were able to heal far more than anyone else could. I tried to spend some time with them, but they were recluse and not too chatty. Very driven to help, not to teach or instruct. We did have some good conversations about the healing arts.

If memory serves correctly, one of our scouting groups witnessed a mass of penitent forming along an open field. They were armed and obviously not looking to surrender their arms. We had a bit of time to muster the forces before the battle happened. We decided rather than use our assault group; we were going to use the rank and file of the army. Although the assault forces were able to fell five or ten people, they would fall eventually. Especially with some of the individual hero’s that were there.

We won a fairly decisive victory. I personally stayed behind to help the May’Kar heal up the soldiers and valuable people that came back. Some did not make it past the battle, but a majority did. They did release some Undead on the troops. This was one of the few times I broke from my healing tasks to bless weapons or throw the wrath of the divine on them, shattering them into dust. Not too much to write since I was not overseeing the fight or personally taking part. The only time I did step onto the field of combat was at the end, when they broke and ran back to the forest.

The rest of the daylight faded away. We healed up who we could, repaired armor, restocked arms. Took a count of losses and said our goodbyes to the dead. One of the scouting parties happened across a journal that perhaps pointed to the remains of a Paladin of long ago, burying an artifact with him at his grave. This may give us the edge. Since Paladins are the direct counter to undead, if we harnessed this artifact. Then perhaps we will gain a solid victory over the penitent, and perhaps drive them from the land. I was egger to read the pages of that journal, but alas I never got hold of it. For when the Captain looked at it, they started drawing strategies and theorizing where it could be. This is the time when he called Ayaton, and his handpicked group to arms to find it. I wish we had more time, because searching for the artifacts during the night was not going to go well.

I was a part of Ayatons main force to go find the artifact. We had a clue and that was it. If memory serves correctly all that we had was ‘where the trees and blood meet’. It took us a good hour to find the location. When we did, we found a ghost flanked with two other ghosts. It spoke to us, asking us questions and answering any question with a question. It asked over all if we were to be worthy of this task. Just as if on cue, some penitent ambushed us from the bushes and darkness.

A few of us fell to wounds, but none of us came out dead. Seeing that, the ghost of the paladin found us worthy and showed the location of his artifact. The trees whispered Ayaton’s name that night. It was an odd yet refreshing breeze that frolicked in the trees. We brought the artifact back to the camp. After fighting off a few more Undead that made their way into the camp, looking for the artifact, we did as much as we could in the time we had, and had to wait for sunrise.

The artifact its self was a fairly ornate wooden, lack of a better term, stick. It seemed to be that of a Celtic knot design inscribed in the stick. I didn’t recognize who the patron deity was but it was a double sided cross design. The Celtic knot bordered the edges. After we got some sleep, the May’Kar looked into the relic. It seemed to hold its own life force, allowing those that could use magic an extra source to draw from, it could also be destroyed and completely obliterating all undead in a wide area. Unfortunately it was only the size of a small battle field, so it would not purge these lands.

When morning hit us, scouts found a few penitent that were already battle worn and in a fit of fanaticism, attacked the scouts. They were shouting “we have a doom stone”. Unsure what these unholy sounding doom stones were, we came to the May’Kar again. They seemed a little shocked with what we said by doom stone. They informed us that doom stones were pure evil, so much evil that any living creature would be rendered down to its very structure with pain, wounds, and pure agony. The undead would be unaffected and perhaps empowered by this as well! So, if they have a doom stone, they are making a secure foot hold. The only thing that I figured we have is ranged weaponry, intelligence and agility. Yet, if one of us steps foot inside that effected area of the doom stone, we will be dead, and offering ourselves as a free meal. The May’Kar also provided a means to destroy the doom stone. To smash the paladin’s relic into the stone, shattering it and destroying it. Thus, freeing up the section of land and removing the possible breeding point of evil.

The real trick would be on how to infiltrate close enough to actually slam the artifact into the doom stone! The May’Kar had a way around that. Since we can’t step into the affected area without dying, we would be able to combine our cleric powers to create a leap frog style, divine barrier. We would have to take turns casting and holding the barrier so we could get close enough to smash the stone. The affected area was roughly fifty feet in diameter from the stone from what the scouts reported. The penitents were also keeping out of the area. The few that did not watch where they were died a horrible agonizing death. While the other penitent were cheering their ‘passing’ it reminded us that it was indiscriminant. I do wonder how that stone was set up! I’m assuming it was created with sacrifice of the bodies and blood of the ones who performed a ritual of some sort, or perhaps it was just a place rot with evil and cropped up. If THAT is the case, then we may have to cleanse these lands, least we find ourselves jumping off the continent in fear.

By this time all of the factors were thinning our man power. The battles, night fights, ambushes, and scouring, we were getting thin on troops. This one called the independent adventurers. We were going to go as a strike force, hit hard and quick. Hopefully clear the area out of penitent, then hopefully wind around and seek protection with the priests of divine barrier to shelter us from the undead. We closed in and saw the omniscient site. The area around the doom stone was dead, no growth or anything. The plants, trees, and anything living seemed to be as if it were ravaged by war for a thousand years. Just hard dirt, dead grass, and hollow trees. If these crazies known as penitent were set on doing this to the land, why trade a free life for the life of shackles and walls? All evil leaders I have met don’t share power. To me, this was pure lunacy. Best to kill them before we find out it is infectious and have to kill every good man, woman, and child in the area. These are desperate times, but I will not lose my head about this business. Nothing good has ever come from panic.

Upon seeing how much death was in the area I did think that this would be my last moment, to die destroying a rock. It was black, with runes and symbols on it. It glowed with evil. We began our march on the doom stone. The fighters flanked the sides and crushed the flanks giving us the ample time to set our path. One of the May’Kar went first with her divine barrier, then the other, and then I had to step in. And two more May’Kar divine barriers later we were at the rock. One of them held the barrier over the rock and the other began a prayer. That was when from the tree tops an eagle eyed sniper shot the May’Kar that was holding the barrier through the hand and up the arm. With the immediate ceasing of the power, we all collapsed to the ground faster than rocks off a trade cart. We tried to crawl our way out. It felt as if our veins were filled with razors, our skin was peeling off, and our vision was slowly going dark. That was when I was pulled up from the ground and slammed on a rock. An undead ripped what little flesh was together apart. The world grew black and cold as I saw the dream state.

I then saw with my own eyes lush fields with rolling hills. A large monetary with a bustle of activity, as I got closer I could hear training drills being shouted from just beyond the walls. I approached the main gate and a thin woman veiled in a hood but with what few features showed perfectly beautiful. She slammed a large maul in front of herself. She said “your task is not done”. With a tap of the hammers head on the ground, a quake began. I fell through the cracks and found myself alive with both the May’Kar around me, mending my wounds together with divine magic’s. They did not look in the best of condition. Their wounds protruded through their white vestments, but had signs of magical mending. With the three of us barely able to move I realized that one of the May’Kar had the divine barrier up, and the other one was beginning her mantra again to destroy the stone. My blade was in no need at this point. The penitent upped their resolve to take out the May’Kar. They lined up their archers in the tree line just outside of the affected area, and began raining arrows on the location. Either my shield becomes a pin cushion or my body will look like a porcupine. Arrow after arrow and trick shot after shot, the arrows came in. Deflecting or absorbing them into my shield, until I heard a shout of furry behind me. One of the May’Kar with significant force, generated by the divines, channeled through her arms, shattered the doom stone! The evil that permeated the area dissipated, the penitent broke and ran, and the dead left the area.
We got our broken weary bodies back to the main camp and tavern. We suffered heavy losses that fight. Most of the adventurers were dead and quite a few footmen were too. As we came back to report our success, it was countered with some chilling news. A banshee was on the loose and looking for vengeance for destroying her doom stone and routing her plans for the area. We had enough time to get patched up, armored repaired, weapons sharpened and honed, and assemble with the troops. Our ranger squad was down to a handful. Ayaton, Ronin, myself and two others I forgot the names of.

Without much any delay after the necessary was done, we lined up on the field of battle. We positioned ourselves with a lake to the left of us so they could not flank us, and a dense forest that even the Syndar were not able to traverse on the right of us. A wide open field in front of us, the worst part was all of our survival supplies and gear was destroyed or used. The May’Kar were exhausted and had no manna to assist in the battle. I was then called out of pure duty to fill my cleric roll and heal the wounded. I would have to spare myself from the fight, and only engage the very select targets. The men were to engage any human they could find, and lead the undead to me so I would be able to destroy them with holy wrath. Simple plan, but I doubt it will be that simple when the fighting intensifies.

Line after line of penitent crashed up against our shield wall. Victory seemed inevitable, until the Undead came in. We were taking few losses and what wounded did come back, I was able to patch back together or heal magically. Rather than waste the time on blessing weapons, it was much easier to do holy wrath on the Undead. The main difference was time in this battle. I have to spend a few minutes with a mantra over the blade of choice to imbue it with the power. Then, the soldier needs to beat the Undead into submission, and then activate the Holy Word to banish the Undead. With Holy Wrath, that is all bypassed. A sudden surge of power thrust through the channeled caster and the Undead is destroyed. The disadvantage is the troops are helpless until help arrives.

Moral was fading a bit when the Undead broke the line. We had to go from our straight line to staggered line formation to allow the Undead to be ensnared in the Holy Wrath. When they figured this out, that’s when the piercing screams of The Banshee came around. Her piercing scream got in our heads. Every scream seemed to emanate from the mind rather than from her. This started to turn the tide, destroy the moral, and tilt the favor in the penitent’s advantage. No amount of physical abuse was able to stop The Banshee. Arrows just stayed where they hit and did not impede her movement. Blades only came away with dust and cloth, and then left the blades men open. I remember seeing one of our own rangers grab on to the back of The Banshee and attempt to sever her head. Like child’s play, she grabbed him and held him high and screamed in his face With that, his head exploded. After seeing that, Ayaton called the Wing Protocol… this was for all remaining Rangers to leave the field of battle. The only issue was … it was only Ayaton and I. When he called the Wing Protocol, I began to leave, and then saw the rest of the forces collapse. I had to stay. I was the reason they were wining. I came back, rejuvenated with some potions I found. With no mercy, slaying any human being in my way, and showing the furry of the Divines with my hands. A woman’s soft, yet commanding voice told me to march on. I went forward, blazing a trail of blood, and coming up to a man proclaiming our doom. I thrust my sword through his back, and watched him sputter and die. With that, the horde and Banshee left. We sustained heavy losses. It was a bitter sweet victory. Just before the doomsayer breathed his last, he asked, ‘where do you come from’. As if someone else was in my body, I showed my vestments with an emblazoned seal of Ethnessa on it. He screamed in pain as he bled out and died.

We lost over 130 good men and women that day. All the adventurers that came died; the only three that made it were Ayaton, Corporal Tavin, and myself. Was this the price that we were to pay for our continued survival? Were these few measly coins what we deserve for ‘saving the day’? Without Ayaton and I, this area would be torched and full of death. Yet we were only granted some extra time to recover. Other than that, it was business as usual. I was so furious that I wanted to leave. Yet, I know that would not be the best. Yet, I did have a lot to weigh on my mind.

I wrote my exact thoughts in a journal that I left behind. I know not where it went. I remember being furious, and full of anger. I may have written or said some things I don’t remembered. For now, I will continue to find what power holds this evil here and destroy it. We can’t fight this war forever. At this rate, we will lose, and we will all bow a knee to the dark and evil ones.

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Soldier’s Journal

This partial journal piece was discovered near a village that was the site of a bloody battle. It was recovered by a Vandregon Scout and turned in to the local commander’s fighting unit.

—-

that we captured today. Our policy has been to take no prisoners, nor show mercy to the blasphemous infidels of the Penitent. Sir Elswich will not let us take her life, however. Giles says he thinks our lord must know her from somewhere, for there was a heavy sadness in the knight’s eyes when we found her, and he has been distracted and ineffective as a commander ever since. We have made no raids, nor have we marched. We sit, idle, and wait for nothing. Most of the work has fallen to the yeomanry and much of the decision making has been made by Squire Ablebrook. The Squire has been at least taking the initiative to send out short patrols, but they don’t really accomplish anything except that they occasionally get ambushed by cowardly rebels who hit and run, but won’t engage us honorably. The longer we sit here, the more isolated we feel, and the more vulnerable to the attacks of the actual Undead Army. We desperately need to link up with the Baron and the rest of the 5th Regiment. Sir Elswich is the only one who can order the Company to march, though, and for some reason he refuses to.

After seeing the atrocities carried out by the hands of the so called “Penitent” cult, my fear was quickly replaced by anger, and my desire to get out of here alive seems less important than revenge. I talked to Chaplain Bors about the darkness in my heart. He explained to me the same virtues of chivalry that I have had pounded into my head over and over again ever since I joined up. One of those, of course, being righteous anger. He says that it is virtuous to want to defend the weak and to carry out justice, but then he talked about the danger of a monster hunter becoming a monster themselves if they revel in the dark aspect of their duties more than the sacred aspect.


The war changed today. I was talking to Giles earlier, and we realized that neither of us knew what day it was. How could we forget? The counting of days is the most important thing in the world to a Soldier while away on campaign, for it is in the numbers that we find the salvation of our hope and morale. More so than even our faith in the gods, do Soldiers place their hopes and dreams upon the march home at the end of a tour. We have forgotten. How can this be? Crane thinks that it is an omen that none of us will make it home.

I was assigned a shift of guard duty with the infidel today. She rants and raves, and from what I can tell, has deep conversations with the grime beneath her fingernails. I did my best to distract myself from the unpleasant smell and wretched noises she makes. Sir Elswich came into the tent this afternoon and ordered me to leave so he could interrogate the prisoner. As I stood watch outside, the Chaplain approached me. He seemed angry. He went into the tent and got into an argument with Sir Elswich. For all his talk about how Soldiers like me need to control our anger, he wanted to kill the cultist right then and there. They did not. I had to deal with her ranting and cackling for another three hours before my shift was over.


I was sent on a perimeter patrol today. We stopped in the Village of Ipsdale to refill our water from the well. Giles drew water for the Lord’s hounds, but they refused to drink, despite the blistering heat. Maybe if we weren’t so hot and miserable we would have been more astute and seen the danger. It was too late for Giles, Crane, and Brumley. They were all dead within 15 minutes of drinking the water.

When we returned, the Squire sent me straight to prisoner detail. I didn’t even get to eat anything first. I tried to take a nap in the tent, since the prisoner was actually being quiet for once. I turned the brim of my helmet down over my eyes, but I couldn’t sleep. I could feel her damned eyes upon me. I couldn’t ignore her. Out of nowhere, she started talking to me. We aren’t supposed to talk with her, so I did the best I could to keep my mouth shut and hide beneath the brim of my helmet.

“Too bad about Brumley.” she said, “He was healthy and strong. He had a better chance of making Squire someday than any of the rest of you.”

I didn’t say anything, but I silently wondered by what witchcraft she knew of Brumley’s demise. Perhaps she was just guessing since I was working his guard shift rotation? Surely that’s all. She is as clever as she is treacherous.

“A silly aspiration, however,” she said, “in the grand scheme of things. Soldiers, yeomen, squires, knights, and nobles are nothing but cog pegs in a pointlessly toiling mill. Sure, the nobility might think that they make up a more important part, like an axle, but the world never revolved around them. Even an axle would just be another component. Do you know what Brumley was? He was a cog peg. A simple wooden cog peg. Easily broken off of the gear wheel. Easily replaced. Just like you. Wars happen, and you get broken off and replaced all the time. Maybe even a new axle gets installed. This is different, though. The stream that turns the wheel itself will soon trickle to a halt, and the mill will grind its last. Everything will be dismantled. Do you know what that makes you?

I didn’t answer her

“Spare parts, for an obsolete machine. A simple wooden cog peg, with no other use besides what it was carved for. Maybe you might find yourself shoring up the wobbly end of a piece of furniture, or something. Sooner or later, though, you will burn in someone’s fire.”

I stood to sound the alarm, but then thought better of it. What was I to tell the other guards? That she was creeping me out? Instead I sat back down. She kept talking, but I was able to tune much of it out by silently reciting the virtues of chivalry over and over in my head, and praying for strength against the temptation to split her skull right then and there.


Had to guard her again today. She was quieter. I actually fell asleep on duty, in fact, because she was so quiet. I woke up to find her kneeling and staring unblinking into the roof of the tent with her arms outstretched. She was perfectly immobile for quite some time. I found it unsettling. I thought maybe she was in a trance or something, so I tossed a clod of dirt at her.

“Don’t do that, please.” she said, still unblinking, “I am trying to pray for you.”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and went back to her meditation.

As the warm afternoon sunlight bled through the canvas roof of the tent, it gave the edges of her face, chin, and nose a certain softness that I had never noticed before. She is actually quite beautiful.


I got to sit with her again, today. I asked her what she meant when she said that she was praying for me, and she just smiled. We talked quite a bit, actually. She is so smart. She must have a lot of education.


I brought her a bucket of warm water today. I know that others have splashed her with cold water through the bars of her cage before, under pretense of cleaning and basic hygiene, but in actuality just to be mean to the poor girl. I rounded up a cake of soap as well, and placed them inside her cage so that she could properly bathe and wash her hair. She began to disrobe, and I immediately felt ashamed. I averted my eyes and turned my back to her so that she could have some privacy. The temptation to watch her was overwhelming, and I fell to my knees in prayer.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I told her that I was praying to resist the temptation to gaze upon her in her nakedness.

She laughed at me. The sound of her laughter brought me great pleasure, and I found myself closing my eyes and envisioning her flesh.

“Why would you pray for such a thing?” She asked, “Do you really think so little of your god that you believe him to have time to fret over something so trivial as how you use the eyes with which he has gifted you? Or do you think me unpleasant to look at?”

“I most certainly do not!” I protested, “I think you…”

I stopped myself before I said it.

“Well, then,” she said, “get control of yourself, turn around, and do your duty, Guard. You are supposed to be watching me, are you not.”

“Of course, ma’am.” I replied.

I turned and did as she told. At first, I hid beneath the brim of my helmet, but eventually I gave in and watched her bathe.

“You do realize how silly it is to pray for such things as strength against temptation, do you not?” she said, “You are a creature of free will, are you not? Why then, would you ask your god to be your puppeteer? Doesn’t he have better things to do, like keep your faithful brethren from being raised as the Undead?”

I found myself taken aback by the bluntness of the statement. I would have said something in protest of her blasphemy, but I felt as though I couldn’t get any air.

“Of course,” she said, “that is in itself a silly notion as well, is it not? Your god won’t stop you from coming back as a walking corpse any more than he will stop you from using your own eyes to see the naked truth.”

I tried to tear my eyes away, but found myself unable to. She rinsed her hair.

“The truth?” I asked.

“Yes, the truth.” she said.

“Tell me the truth.” I said, “Please.”

“The truth is that you have been deceived your entire life. You have been manipulated. These people brainwash you into thinking that you have to act a certain way, and threaten you with the notion of having to face the afterlife based on your obedience or disobedience. The truth, however, is that you don’t have to fear the after life. You don’t even have to face it. You can choose not to go.”

I was beginning to understand.

“I have told you the truth of the Penitent. You’re the one in a cage,” she said, “not me. But now the door is open. It is up to you whether you stay, or whether you leave.”

She dried herself off, and was about to get dressed when she noticed how filthy her clothes were.

“Go wash these for me.” she said, wrapping herself in her blanket, instead.

As I hurried off with her clothes she called after me.

“Thank you, dear. You are my favorite Guard.”


I got in trouble for leaving the prisoner unattended the other day while I did her laundry. The Squire wanted me whipped, but Sir Elswich refused to sentence me. He is especially distracted and distant the last couple days because we have learned that a May’Kar Paladin is coming to our camp along with another contingent from Vandregon. The rumor is that our Lord is to be relieved of his duties, and that it was the Chaplain who sent for the Paladin.


The May’Kar Paladin and his troops rode into camp this morning. The sun was still coming up, and their horses were weary, so they must have rode all night. The troops that were with him were not militia from the Army of Vandregon, though. They were fully armored men with kite shields bearing the Lion rampant. There was a lot of confusion as the men at the gate had already let them in, but then Sir Elswich started ordering everyone to take up arms. He was in his full plate, and wearing his great helm when he confronted the Paladin and ordered him to leave. The Paladin presented him with written orders to stand down and to transfer both his command and the custody of his prisoner. The next thing we knew, all chaos had broken loose. Sir Elswich’s great-sword flashed in the dawning light, and the front legs of the Paladin’s beautiful grey horse suddenly tumbled away from its body as it pitched forward, rolling on top of the holy warrior and crushing his left leg beneath its girth. The sound that the animal made was one of the most terrifying things I have ever heard in my life. The Lions of Arnath moved in to protect the fallen Paladin, and suddenly everyone was fighting. The men of Vandregon were split. Some of my comrades attacked the intruders, other attacked their brothers in arms. Through the swirling melee, I saw the Chaplain grab a weapon and run through the battle, towards the tent where my love was being held prisoner.

I did what I had to do. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He wasn’t my Chaplain anymore, for my love has shown me that I never had need of that god anyway. The truth has set me free.


I was quite proud of my ingenuity today. The wooden splints are nailed straight into the bones, and the stiffened boiled leather wraps and glue keep everything together. The grey horse walks again, thanks to my handiwork and the magic of my true love. She says that the more raw flesh the night-mare consumes, the more the mare will heal. Eventually, our hardy red-eyed mount won’t even need the splint hardware anymore. This is the glory and the miracle of our merciful Death! It is not a punishment, but a release! My eyes are open.

In the Army of Vandregon, I was but a cog-peg. I was going nowhere. Now, here I am, my dreams fulfilled! Riding triumphantly into the rising moon on a grey steed, be-decked in the finest plate mail, with a beautiful noblewoman hugging me around the waist, my eyes open and my heart swelling with joy and courage. Into battle I will ride, like the knights of song and poetry, and my glorious fall in battle will be my errand of knighthood, for I shall embrace, rather than fear, my surrender of the flesh. I will be resurrected. I will be an immortal Knight. I have seen the miracle first hand, for the DeathKnight Sir Elswich rides ahead of me, finally leading the march back toward the 5th Regiment.

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In-Character Stories

Year 202

Soldier’s Journal – Brian Pekarske – A soldier’s account of the capture and escape of a Penitent prisoner.
The Journal of Syrus Marks – Daniel Zillman – An acolyte’s account of his beginnings and why.

Year 214

A Shadow of Hope – Brenna Norton – A May’Kar soldier recounts one night of terror, love, and desperation as he stands guard at the Oasis.

Year 225

Dennagrath – Jake Nitzel – A story of Stanrick’s father and his time long before the arrival of the colonists.

Year 250

Spring

Demons in the Snow – Ryan Jopp – Colonists run into mordok and something else in the dead of winter.
Icewolves Fall – Mason Rower – Tough decisions lie ahead for the chieftain about the future of the Icewolves Pack.

Summer

The Fall of Dennagrath – Jake Nitzel – Conflict between the Ulven and the colonists comes to a head and both sides suffer casualties.
Breaking of the Goldmane – Kristen Knoertzer – After the truce is signed, Pack Goldmane discusses revenge with Pack Graytide.

Autumn

Lost Brother – Jake Nitzel – An Ulven dreams of forbidden and forgotten things as his brother leaves for the unknown North.

Year 252

Autumn

Maiden of the Sea – Sadie Raab – An Aldorian naval ship finally catches up with it’s prey, a notorious pirate ship.
Childhood Memories – Ta Lea Miller – A story of a young Ulven girl growing up in a dangerous land.

Year 253

The Long Game – Emily Vakos – A young women takes unwilling help with her to the New World

Year 256

Scuffle – Wiley Allard – A young Ulven decides to finally stand up for himself.

Year 260

The Watchwolves are Stirred – Brian Pekarske – An Ulven warder ruminates about the past, and discovers the strange similarity between Ulven runes and an ancient Syndarian alphabet. A young Syndar’s fate is sealed, while the time has come for the Watchwolves to move.
The Seeds of Vandregon– Allen Zautke – A soldier meets with old friend’s of his grandfathers, in the hope of reviving a legacy of his homeland.
Letters to the Priestess – Brian Pekarske – A father tries to explain something of the world to his daughter, and she has some observations back.
Big Trouble in New Aldoria – Brian Pekarske – An Ulven delegation travels to New Aldoria. Friends are made, cultures are misunderstood, and shenanigans ensue.

Winter

Snow Tide – Jake Nitzel – A mismatched group of warriors and unlikely companions set out together before a trial that could end their friendship.
Acceptance – Kristen Knoertzer – A lone feral Syndar is taken in as the first non-Ulven pack member, and finds hope for the future.

Year 261

Spring

Letter From an Ulven – Brian Pekarske – Letters detailing the circumstances surrounding the failed political dinner at New Hope are exchanged.
To War – Ryan Jopp – A father and newly made chieftain must make a difficult decision that may change the fate of the Ulven nation forever.
Slaughter’s Response – Jim Stevens – In the wake of a vicious and unforeseen attack, a man atempts to seek allies.
Old Wounds – Brian Pekarske – An expedition to start up a new trading post goes terribly wrong as an old foe thought left behind appears.
Drifting – ?
Touch in the Night – Mischelle Maas – A human finds comfort from an Ulven as a group of travelers returns from a fight against a lich.
Nightmare Night
Sir William of Vandregon
The Tides of War – Brian Pekarske – As the Watchwolves and numerous delegates from Nightriver the colonies head to the great hall of Clan Grimward to discuss peace, events unfold that will change the Ulven race forever.
Ash Cloud – ?
Unspoken Words – Ryan Jopp – Inside the head of a Longfang Warrior
Long Walk Home – Jake Nitzel – An Ulven’s thoughts as he makes his way home.
Into the Self, Into the Past – Wiley Allard –
So It Begins – Jim Stevens – A message is sent to Grimward.
Letter’s to the Priestess – Brian Pekarske
Blood, Steel, and Curses – Marie Maschmeier – Civil war begins for this female Ulven.
Wayward Flight – ?
Letter After Fire – ?
A New Day – ?

Summer

Not Here, Not Again – Jim Stevens – The Order makes preparations as news of the lich reaches them.
Meditations on the Mhordak – Tim Cochrane –
Into the Black – Wiley Allard –
Those Left Behind – Kristen Knoertzer – Magrat thinks about her place among her pack, her name home, and what she can teach the Ulven.
Ulven Betrayal – Ryan Jopp – As a Clan Grimward war pack pushed deep into Longfang territory, brave volunteers try to warn Onsallas Village of a terrible betrayal.
Catalyst – Kristen Knoertzer – A broken warrior reflects on her journey and decides to walk away from her life.

Autumn

The Lich Emerges – Ryan Jopp & Kristen Knoertzer – The Order of Arnath’s Fist sends a team of Lions and militia to fight the undead threat on Mardrun… with disastrous results.
Only One Escape – ?
The Diversion – ?
Brotherhood – Brian Pekarske, Ryan Jopp, Kristen Knoertzer, Dante Hardy – An extensive story regaling the history of Venator Dreadfang and his involvement with the Vandregonian army, the events surrounding Onsallas Outpost during the month of October, the fall of Kanos, and the funeral rites of Cedrick.

Winter

Winter’s Cold Comfort – ?
From Both Sides – ?
Truth Seeker – ?
In A Cold Sweat – Shana Aber – Selena Stargazer experiences a vision-like dream following a dangerous situation.
Among the Brave – Wiley Allard –
Seeker’s Journal – Shana Aber –

Year 262

Spring

You Lost It?! – Kristen Knoertzer – Clan Stormjarl travelers head northeast and discover they have lost something very important.
Conquest and Glory – Brian Pekarske – Brave warriors of the Watchwolves and Pack Longfang take on terrible odds to secure the mountain pass and a Watchwolf militia tries to defend itself from the approaching warriors of Clan Grimward
Dreams and Smoke – Wiley Allard – A young Ulven’s fear of what he might become.

Autumn

Dreams Do Come True – Becky Strupp – Aislinn of the Phoenix has a terrible dream before her joining ceremony and discovers that her family has arrived to join her.
Back into the Wolf’s Den – Shana Aber – As a meeting takes place in Grimward territory, a truthseeker questions Khulgar Graytide and learns new information.
Let the Courting Begin – Jake Nitzel – Stanrick Longfang searches for a special stone.
War-Line Letters – Jake Nitzel – A Clan Nightriver warrior stationed on the Yurnai River writes a letter home to a loved one, detailing out thoughts and questions about the war.
Return from The Black – Shana Aber – A truthseeker remembers her recent dangerous trip into the swamp, recovers at Onsallas Village, and meets with the Runeseer.
Edge of Winter – Wiley Allard – Yawn joins his new pack, the Bloodfangs, in a bit of training.

Winter

Divided We Fall – Emily Monaghen – Ryla recounts memories of the past and meets with Prince Aylin of New Aldoria to discuss support for the war effort.
Before Him, I am Bound by Honor – Ryan Jopp – As winter arrives, Pack Longfang warriors reach Stormjarl territory, Clan Stormjarl makes a tough decision that will change their clan forever, and Clan Grimward moves forward with their new plans for war.
Ten Days to Everyspring – Shana Aber – Selena Stargazer and Stanrick Longfang pack supplies and travel to Everspring, the main settlement of Clan Spiritclaw. Along the way they stop at a site of importance to Selena’s pack.
Ten Days to Everspring, Part Two – Shana Aber – Emotions run high as Selena and Stanrick arrive at Everspring to learn of the events surrounding the Clan.
Letters in the Wind – M Cerys Jenks – Following the recent expedition into the Dirge Swamp, Ylsa Stormherald writes to several individuals to inform them of the current situation.
Midwinter – Shana Aber – Selena Stargazer, as well as Stanrick and Reyna Longfang, prepare for the celebration of Midwinter in the settlement of Everspring.
The Other Hunters – M Cerys Jenks – The ends are seen to justify the means by Banning Redscythe, a Coywolf hunter who has taken up an unfortunate duty.

Year 263

Winter

This is War – Cole Potter – Bryech Savagefang and the rest of the Pack Longfang warriors steel their resolve and help Clan Stormjarl warriors defend their northernmost settlement.

Spring

Long Forgotten Foes – Paul Peterson – Ranmir’s time in the swamp has taken its toll on his spirit, a wound several Daughters seek to wash clean before he returns home.
Old Beginnings – Sadie Raab – Anne voices her concerns regarding the Pirates to an unlikely confidante.

Summer

Decisions – Shana Aber – Selena Stargazer discusses some of her inner thoughts, talking to her mate about possible upcoming changes to her life.
Broken – Sadie Raab – Still shaken from the events of her latest trip to Onsallas, Anne struggles to cope with her emotions.
I Am Not Dead – Winter Edwardson – At the edge of death, Mad Morty looks into the past and awakens to a new purpose.
An Answer to Faith – Drake Nelson – Yulrude writes in a journal and has ponders divine faith, and the aftermath of events with the Mordok leave him changed forever.
Future of the Longfangs – Various Authors – Pack Longfang discusses their options and tries to choose a path to take after the death of their Runeseer.

Fall

Again – Ryan Jopp – Thrand Stormjarl deals with his inner thoughts as he and other members of Pack Longfang train and prepare for the raids on Clan Whiteoak.
On The Mushrooms of the Old and New World – Tim Cochrane – A fragment of a treatise written by a Syndar scholar, speculating on one of life’s greatest mysteries.
The Games of the Old and New World – Tim Cochrane – A manual of games and pastimes found in the barrooms, camps, and taverns of Mardrun and Faedrun.
On The Curious Ulven Game of War – Tim Cochrane – One scholar’s examination of an Ulven sport.
Cousins and Sisters – Mischelle Maas – One Ulven dreams of family from a time long ago.

Winter

Sapphira’s Journals – Melanie Houghton – Sapphira’s entries into her personal journal, detailing several events that took place late in the fall and in the winter.
Salguod’s Journals – Mason Rohwer – Salguod writes of his decision to do what he feels he must.
Faolan’s Journals – Jimmy McCann – Faolan’s inner thoughts and doubts: Who are the “good guys”?
The Winter Solstice – Jimmy McCann – Sapphira and Faolan give thanks and revere the winter solstice in their own way.

Year 264

Winter

The Storm – Michael Tukiendorf – A wary traveler recalls his past with others after being saved from the bitter cold of winter.
Memories Recovered – Tyler Dubey – Volrok Hinrich recounts the past and prepares to journey to meet old acquaintances.

Spring

Of Muffins and Magic – Drake Nelson – Vazra teaches a class about magic, mana, and converses about and with things that may not be there.
Rebirth – Jimmy McCann – Faolan and Sapphira greet the morning and the Spring Solstice with a ritual to Gaia.
A Cold One at the Gate – Nate Tukiendorf – Brodin regales Marcus with his life’s story as the two endure a storm together.

Summer

Old Ulven Texts & Scrolls – Tim Cochrane – Recovered by an expedition into the Dirge Swamp in June of 264, these texts were copies of Old Ulven originals. They have been copied again and distributed by Clan Ironmound Daughters of Gaia.
Gifts from the Dead – Cole Potter – After parting ways with Pack Longing following the Dirge Swamp expedition, Bryech Savagefang finds himself surrounded by unlikely allies, some less friendly than others.

Fall

Never a Dull Moment – Mike Tukiendorf – Marcus Clearbrook learns of his captors’ plans to sell him as a hostage and begins to realize the danger he is in.
A Blood Moon Rises – Jake Nitzel, Shana Aber, Shawn Smith, Ryan Jopp – Stanrick, Selena, and One finally manage to schedule a meeting with Nightriver’s warleader, Kragen Bloodmoon, to get to the bottom of the elusive Honor Duel that led to the first truce between humans and Ulven.
Visions of Fish – Sadie Raab, Drake Nelson – Vazra, through his dreams, realizes the hard way that excessive use of magic can have some negative consequences.
Hunting Trip – Tyler Dubey – Volrok works with some allies to search for some known Lorespeakers and bring them in for questioning to some of the Clans.

Winter

The Night was Falling Fast – Melanie Houghton – Despite the death all around her, Sapphira risks everything to see her companion one more time.
Saving Faolan – Melanie Houghton – Amazingly, Faolan survived the Battle of Pyre Hills, though only barely. Sapphira and Vazra work to escort him to the safety and warmth of the Spire.

Year 265

Winter

Hearth Fire – Brian Maas & Ryan Jopp – Chieftain Atep Oatcaller recounts the events of the night the mordok attacked Hazemane village as he writes a letter to Gustave Ironmound.

Spring

The Clan Stormjarl and New Aldorian Campaign – Ryan Jopp – Volunteers and adventurers work the camps or return from combat after almost two full months of helping the New Aldorian and Stormjarl campaign to invade Clan Squallborn lands.
Honor & Friendship – Ryan Jopp & Mischelle Maas – Thrand and Fritha rest in camp after returning from the raids in Clan Squallborn territory and discuss whether to stay or try to convince the campaign leaders to let them go and help Pack Longfang.
Something to Sell – Catherine Butzen – Manetho struggles through the lasting effects of being tainted by corruption, of being offered gifts from the Red Eyed Syndar.
001: 1-S – Ian Loebl – The troubling research notes of Al Mafajjar, following his work with a new subject.
A Better Way – Jimmy McCann – Apprehended by a bandit on his way home, Faolan must use hope, the only weapon he has left, to save his life—and another.

Summer

Warden – Cole Potter – After months away from the fighting, Bryech makes the hard decision to leave his new home in Ironmound territory to return to the front lines once more.
Wholeness and Separation – Fionna Nelson – As a darkness creeps through her very soul, Ragna Axhound forces herself to remember what it is to be Ulven.

Fall

The Path We Tread – Cole Potter – A new recruit fights his demons while learning the new life of a Lion.
The Free People’s Trial in Starkhaven – Many Authors – A trial is held in Starkhaven that decides the fate and punishments of those arrested during the Inquisition into Serai, home of Bos Mezar.
What I Am – Cole Potter – Bryech Savagefang confronts his past, looking for answers to his future.

Winter

Needlework – Kelly Peterson – “for through her creation of beauty through needle and thread a Daughter could bring herself closer to Gaia.”
A Warrior’s Rest – Sadie Raab – After months of torment and several near-death encounters, Brynja finally returns home to a much-needed rest.

Year 266

Winter

Spring

The Few, The Brave – Cole Potter – While learning to control his connection to Arnath, Harkov is selected by his mentor to help revive the group known as the War Eagles.

Guardian – Lex Robinson – Talonflame has earned the respect of his clan, and they perform a ritual to honor him.

 

Summer

The Survivor – Tim Bollig – Wren Duncan lived through the battle for Clan Riverhead, but her injuries had gotten worse. Luckily for her, she was picked up by a group of green-clad strangers.

Year 267

Winter

A Dream Come True? – Cole Potter – After a long, hard winter, Harkov returns to Starkhaven and is granted the rank of Eagle, but his moment of glory masks a hint of doubt.

A Winter Well Spent – Cody Jackson – Cordyn and Jimmy the Beggar work towards an alchemical breakthrough. With Cordyn’s success, however, Jimmy’s winter gets a lot longer and harder…

Great Wolf’s Hunt Story – Many Authors – The Longfang participate in the high honor of the Great Wolf’s Hunt with many of their ulven brethren. They share the trials and hardships of hunting the Mordok in the Great Forrest.

Honor, Family, Vengeance – Many Authors – Members and allies of Clan Stormjarl have gathered together and collected supplies to raid the coast of Clan Grimward.

Mysterious Ways – Sadie Raab – A devout follower of Arnath finds that the strength she has needed and the divine she has sought after have been within her all along.

Spring

Children of the Wolf God – Catherine Butzen – Hoping to secure some peace and quiet for her ill patients, Manetho conjures a tale of her homeland to distract a village of Ulven children.

Summer

Warhound – Andrez Beltran – Basil Gavras reflects after the Order Civil War.

Fall

A Journey;A Test – Andrez Beltran / Cole Potter – A winding journey leads Harkov with a retinue of Eagles and Scholars to an ancient tomb and the long forgotten secrets that rest inside.

Year 268

Spring

Tarnished Honor – Tyler Dubey / Jaime Arreguin – After a tense encounter between James Arbor and Audhild Wind Walker, a truthseeker of Clan Spiritclaw, Commander Volrok of the Broken Blade Company is forced to decide his friend’s fate.

Fall

I Just Need Time – Cole Potter – In times of peace the mind is free to run to dark places, but with the encouragement of friends and the bonds of found family; all things heal with time.

Winter

The New Master – Cole Potter – Brother Harkov awaits the arrival of a new potential War Eagle.

Year 269

Summer

The Fate of Chairs – Cody Jackson – The Official Unofficial Chairs Tournament of 269 was abruptly cancelled?! What could have possibly happened?

Year 272

Winter

Íolbhristeoir – Winter Edwardson – A few nights after Eireann helped to defuse a pair of entwined corruption idols that turned out to be a trap left by the Mordok, they were plagued by a distressing nightmare.

Einherjar’s Vengeance – Cole Potter – After finding the cause of a sickness plaguing a village and an attack against another along the Stormborn Coast, The Einherjar find those responsible and battle to avenge their people.

Spring

The Path of Divinity – Lex Robinson – After the birth of the Organization of FATE and the finding of Fort Dread Wyrm, Artemis sets his sights on increasing his internal power, only to advance his abilities as an enchanter.

Reminiscence – Nik Knight – Silas thinks back to a time he went by another name, when life made sense and he felt he had purpose.

Forgotten Wars and Rotten Apples – Matthew Timmons – With only memories to fuel his journey, Barnaby wanders Mardrun seeking to find his purpose.

Dragon King Artemis – Lex Robinson – After the events that happened at the island in May, distraught and lost after the loss of his Divine powers, Artemis takes this time to rebuild himself anew into something stronger.

Summer

And then, the sky went dark – Aladrin Greywood – The creation of the Guardian’s Oath

Fall

Gates of Grief – Leticia Gonzalez – Runa and her dad reconnect, contemplating everything they lost in the siege of Silfurfal

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December 1st, 2012 – This Ends Now (night adventure event)

After the gravestone was discovered in the Dirge Swamp near Onsallas Outpost, the coalition of factions moved to destroy it. Distracted by an attack led by the Order of Arnath’s Fist on the lich itself, the group was able to destroy the gravestone.

With the stone destroyed, the lich fled and moved southwest along the coast. Moving past Watchwolf territory, it destroyed several small ulven settlements and villages and converted the slain into zombies. Closely following it were the combined forces of the Order of Arnath’s Fist, the new Vandregon soldiers, and Ulven from several packs such as Clan Nightriver, Pack Longfang, and the Watchwolves Clan. Wherever the lich spread the undead plague it was rooted out and destroyed by the clerics of the Order and the Ulven Daughters of Gaia. With the lich pushing deeper into Clan Grimward territory, the coalition forces had to move quickly before Clan Grimward responded to the trespass and moved to stop them. They would have one last chance to close in on the lich and finish it before being cut off in enemy territory and the lich disappearing.

Joining the coalition during the final attack were the Phoenix Syndar, a nomadic group that has lived on an island south the continent. The Phoenix added healer and magic support to the group’s already potent magical presence of the Order Clerics and Daughters of Gaia. The veteran members of the Phoenix and the Order would conduct a complicated ritual, May’Kar in origin, to channel the recently discovered Paladin blade. The ritual, if successful, would allow someone to wield it and channel their life force into the blade and create a powerful divine weapon. This weapon would be strong enough to finish the lich but would take all of the life force of the wielder… destroying the lich would sacrifice the life of the one who destroyed it.

As the large group set off to pursue, a group of Ulven of the Watchwolves and the Longfangs broke off to push deeper into Grimward territory. Clan Grimward responded to the trespass into their territory by sending a hunting party of warriors to attack the group. The group, led by Raskolf of the Watchwolves, left to delay or stop the attack.

The lich had to be contained or cornered so that the ritual could be conducted. The group pursued the lich, fighting it as it fled. After combing through the last few villages, the lich was cornered in a large abandoned lumberyard. The coalition split their group and trapped it with members of the Ulven packs and the soldiers of Vandregon taking the brunt of the fighting against the lich. Meanwhile, a few clerics and the Phoenix Syndar secured the other entrance and began the ritual. The time needed to complete the ritual was paid for in the blood of Vandregon and Ulven warriors, several falling to the foul lich magic. Several other Ulven and humans were bitten and infected.

Venator Oathkeeper, one of the last surviving members of Clan Dreadfang, volunteered to be the wielder of the May’Kar Paladin blade. The ritual was completed by a combined effort of Ulven, Human, and Syndar magic while the warriors kept the lich and his zombies at bay. Knowing what the outcome was, Venator never hesitated when taking the charged blade, giving into the power of the weapon and channeling his rage and essence into the weapon. Venator lead the final charge against the lich, chanting the final incantation of the ritual. Members of the Phoenix, Order, Vandregon and their Ulven allies charged with Venator to give him the time he needed to fight the lich. As the blade landed struck the lich’s body, the power channeled through it and obliterated the lich. With a thunder clap that stunned all around it and withered the zombies nearby to lifeless corpses, the battle fell silent. An eerie calm fell across the battlefield…. the only sound that of the wounded and dying.

The wounded were gathered quickly and moved back towards a small camp established by the Phoenix Syndar. Some of the worst wounds were treated but the healer’s resources were quickly depleted. Some of the infected were treated as well, but the rest of the spell casters with divine magic ran out of energy quickly. With no way to heal or purify some of the infected, a Vandregon soldier and an Order cleric were put to death and burned on the spot by the survivors. The camp was quickly picked up and the survivors moved northeast towards Watchwolf territory. The menace of the lich on Mardrun has been ended for good.