STORY INFO:

The Order of Arnath has taken it upon themselves to apprehend those responsible and bring justice to those who have committed crimes. A letter has circulated around regarding the recent undead scandal and those involved. It reads as follows…

“By the authority of the Hand of Arnath,

Recent interactions with residents of Serai and those who rose to accuse them have brought to light a great deal of new information. A handful of rumors have been confirmed true, another handful confirmed to be falsified. Many more have arisen from this conflict, and it has become the duty of the Order of Arnath to investigate these rumors and uncover the entire truth of the situation at hand. To this end, a series of trials will be held in Starkhaven to separate the truth from the lies.

At the present, preliminary investigations of Serai have uncovered the existence of reanimated bodies. This is not the charge for which the accused of Serai are being tried. The trial is to determine the nature and extent of the research conducted within Serai, including but not limited to the creation of such abominations, and to establish the guilt or innocence of each of the accused. Al Mafajjar is currently in the custody of the Order of Arnath and will remain so until his guilt or innocence can be determined. The presence of Al Haddad, Shiloh Dal-Rashid, Umm Haidar, Gerhard, and Ren-La, each of Serai are hereby officially required so that they may also stand trial.

Sakura Sakai is currently in the custody of the Order of Arath and will remain so until her guilt or innocence can be determined in the matter of attempted murder against the person of Vazra of the Spire. She has made a claim for justifiable murder.

The presence of Vazra of the Spire is hereby officially required so that he may stand trial for involvement with necromantic research, multiple accounts of murder, and bearing false witness.

The presence of Oberon of Key’s Crossing is hereby officially required so that he may stand trial for collaboration with agents of corruption.

Leniency may be offered to those who willingly surrender themselves to Order of Arnath custody. Accused persons who fail to attend will be tried in abstentia. Rewards may be offered for information leading to or assistance with the capture of these wanted individuals. Any and all persons bearing evidence for or against the individuals named in this letter are hereby summoned to Starkhaven to attend the trial and give their testimony. Those unwilling to attend will be considered silent on this matter, though letters sent in the case of an unavoidable absence shall be considered.

Please do not hesitate to bring forward to my Inquisitor any and all evidence for or against any of the accused named herein.

Bearing the authority His name carries,
As written by the Hand of Arnath”

At the recent market faire, it was witnessed that members representing the Order of Arnath peacefully apprehended a number of those involved in this trial. There are still others at large which now have bounties placed on them for their capture to either stand trial if brought in early enough or to be punished for their crimes if brought in after the trial.

A few weeks after the release of the letter of the trial, word has fully spread of a few critical points. One, is that those in custody are being treated fairly. Two, is that both Clan Nightriver and the Colony of Newhope have granted the Order of Arnath jurisdiction and even pledged aid if needed to see this through. Three, is that the Order of Arnath will not conduct the trial without a jury made up of representatives from other Clans and colonies but instead focuses on conducting the trial and carrying out the judgment agreed upon. And four, is that Clan Grimward has made it public that they are watching the results of the trial and will hold Clan Nightriver responsible if it does not meet their expectations. The already complicated trial involving the undead on the continent has now become intensely watched by eyes all across Mardrun.

The specifics of the trial and the charges being judged upon are made public for all to see.

• Al Haddad is being charged with conducting undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, possession of undead, murder of members of the Brotherhood and others as undead vessels, coordination of the hostility and murder of civilians in the Spire, and resisting arrest.
• Al Maffajar is being charged with conducting undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, possession of undead, murder of members of the Brotherhood and others as undead vessels, and resisting arrest.
• Gerhard is being charged with conducting undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, possession of undead, murder of members of the Brotherhood and others as undead vessels, attempted murder for necromantic research, and sacrilege of bodies and corpses for necromantic research
• Ren-La is being charged with conducting undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, and possession of undead.
• Shiloh is being charged with conducting undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, and possession of undead.
• Umm Haidar is being charged with conducting undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, and possession of undead.
• Bos Mezar and the people of Serai is being charged with being responsible for willfully allowing the conducting of undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, possession of undead, and resisting and interfering with the recent Order investigation.
• Sakura Sakai is being charged with attempted murder and interfering with the recent Order investigation.
• Oberron is being charged with collaborating with agents of corruption and failing to agree to the summons of a trial.
• Vazra is being charged with conducting undead research, collaborating with agents of corruption, murder of unarmed civilians, attempted murder of prisoners, and conspiracies of revenge and bearing false witness.

The judgment of those named and the administering of punishment will be decided upon today and carried out with haste to see this trial come to a conclusion. In attendance, acting as jury to this trial, are representatives from Clan Nightriver, Clan Spiritclaw, Clan Shattered Spear, the Colony of Newhope, the Colony of New Aldoria, and the Colony of Starkhaven. In attendance as well is an official representative from Clan Grimward, come to witness the trial and report the findings to their Clanleader. All other settlements, colonies, and Clans are invited to witness the trial in the halls of the court of Starkhaven

Click the links below to read through the trials, testimonies, and judgements of each involved person:

• Al Haddad
• Vazra
• Al Maffajar
• Gerhard
• Ren-La
• Shiloh Dal-Rashid
• Um Haidar
• Sakura Sakai
• Oberon
• Bos Mezar and the people of Serai

Ulven Sagas and Texts recovered during the June 264 expedition into the Dirge Swamp.
Sagas written by Tim Cochrane

• Thorstein Staff
• Lament of Athr
• Softpaw Saga
• Banded Man
• Another Ulven Saga

Hunting Trip
Written by Tyler Dubey

It was raining that night. The droplets falling like hammers against the canvas tarp of the pavilion. Lightning occasionally spider-webbed across the sky giving brief glimpses into the darkness that filled the camp, except for the pavilion standing in its center. Inside sat three men in chairs staring down at three bound individuals. Stanrick Longfang sat on the right, Clypeum Legis on the left, and Volrok Hinrich sat in the center.

Volrok glared out from underneath his decorative hat at the three ulven who were kneeling before him and his council. Each of them were lore-speakers. Each of them now had a story as to how they were captured and each of those stories unique to them and a member of the council in the pavilion. Volrok thought back over the past month, about the events that occurred to them.

Volrok turned his gaze to the lore-speaker on the right, which was kneeling before Stanrick, whom was glaring coldly down at her. The fog of memory lifted and Volrok found himself back at the beginning of the hunt, on that warm early fall day. The sun was warm, the leaves were just changed of their color, and the wind was cool; a fine day for a hunt. They started off down towards the Great-Wolf Hackles, a bit of a trek, but each day showed promise. The Longfang hunters seemed to have picked up a trail, one that had been in use recently. Stanrick sent them on ahead to scout and discover who was frequenting this land.
A day later the hunters returned, and they had interesting news. Apparently they found a hastily built shack on the side of a granite outcropping with a warm fire inside and a fair amount of books and scrolls. He didn’t hesitate. Volrok had the group move with haste to this shack. His gut pulled him to this direction more than anything, a mere hunch, a mere guess.
Once they arrived, Volrok placed the volunteers in places of advantage to observe, to follow, and to capture. Volrok had Stanrick lead the forces on the ground while Clypeum and himself waited on top of the outcropping. So the group waited, and waited, and waited. It was deep in the twilight when an event occurred, the rustle of leaves, the sound of the litter of the woodland floor being walked upon, and the glimpse of a dim lantern. The group’s uneasiness about the wait vanished instantly, for what walked towards the shack, walked carefully. The hunters later told Volrok that this woman walked with caution, as if she was afraid of something. Slowly, but surely, the ulven woman moved towards the shack. The hunters started to move, as quiet as the night’s shadow that descended upon the wood. Then the woman stopped and looked around her. She felt that she was being watched.
“I did not know I was to have guests to my humble little shack… Not to mention so many of them.” she said aloud. Volrok was taken aback for a moment, his first thought was that she bluffed, trying to throw off possible hunters.
“Oh come on out already. I’m old, tired, and am sick of hiding like this. I know you’re there. I can smell the sweat and oil from your armors.” she said aloud once more. This time Stanrick stood up from behind the brush he was hiding in.
“Since you said you were hiding, I take it you are a lore-speaker then?” he inquired. She sighed at the obvious question and set her captured game down on the ground beside her.
“Yes, Stanrick Longfang, I am what you think I am… But allow this ulven one last dinner as a free ulven before she is taken away to answer for what we have taught.” she barked with bitter words. Even Volrok was taken aback by her words and allowed her to at least eat her meal. The rest of the group slowly came out of the shadows and surrounded her shack as she prepared, ate, and slept for the night.
When morning came, the old ulven had her books and scrolls packed into a bag, her personal belongings as well, and came out with her hands ready to be bound.
“I am too old for this game of hide-and-seek. I hope you are as kind as you were last night when it comes to the treatment of your captives.” she said once more with bitter words. Stanrick came forward and assured her that Volrok and the rest would follow ulven tradition when it came to captives and treat her fairly.

Volrok came back to the present, his eyes still looking upon the older ulven woman. While she was indeed bitter about her capture, she cooperated and did not cause problems, other than the frequent bathroom breaks along their travels. To also be of note, the books she brought were also in runes, making it rather difficult to decipher them. However, all of that didn’t matter. He was glad that they got that one without much trouble. It was the next one that bothered him more. This individual was an older ulven man with a long bushy beard, balding head, and a blind eye. This lore-speaker sat before Clypeum, and this story was rather entertaining.

It had been two weeks since the volunteers left Onsallas in search of lore-speakers, and their travels brought them to the lands of the Goldenfield Clan. It must have been a spectacle to see a force of ulven and humans march this far away from the frontlines. There was even a point when a small group of warriors grabbed their farming tools and confronted them on the reason they were there. Thankfully, Stanrick was able to help keep things calm before it got out of hand and they were able to camp near a river that night that ran next to the town. Volrok had been more than thankful for Stanrick’s presence and asked the hunters to look around to find any evidence of lore-speakers nearby. That had been their routine for a while now, and it had worked quite well. It in fact had brought them to this village. The group had their orders and prepared for the day to come, but the events that were to transpire that morning would surely be unexpected.
From here on out is where Volrok’s memory had to turn to imagination. For these events were related to him by Clypeum. Apparently he woke up early, along with the hunters, in order to pray before too much commotion occurred. He walked up the river quite a ways and lost himself in the scenery of Goldenfield farmers that worked hard to harvest the grain. Finally, Clypeum came to a serene place where a creek became part of the small river. He sat down and began to meditate and pray to his deity. When he was done and was about to walk away, he noticed an item that was out of place. Just across the stream there was a small campsite, smoke still coming from the embers of a fire. Quickly he waded toward the place, through the cold water. Fish bones, a small basket filled with lures, and a rod with fishing line attached, littered the campsite.
“Well… This is odd… “Clypeum mumbled to himself. Who would leave such fine equipment laying around? It bothered him, apparently, as it eventually led to him to explore the surrounding area alone. That made Volrok reem Clypeum a new arse for such a foolish decision, but his thoughts returned back to recounting the report he was given. After some time, Clypeum did eventually find an old abandoned barn near the edge of the river. From what he could tell, someone came through here quite recently. In fact, probably within the past few hours. Cautiously he moved, his warhammer in hand just in case.
As Clypeum entered the barn, a putrid stench filled his nose. Fecal matter, urine, bones, and mold littered the place. He thought that maybe a wild animal lived there. That was, till he heard singing…
“~Dil dim didily dom! Eat the fish with the palms! Cook the bones and scatter them far! See the future, count the stars!~” said a rather chipper old voice. Clypeum froze dead in his tracks, he dared not move if only to make a sound.
“~Do dob dibby dak! I see the future, there is a pact! Foes hurt, feelings more! There just might be another war~!” went the cheery old man’s voice. Clypeum had enough time to focus now. The song wasn’t coming from within the derelict barn, but rather, under it.
‘Wait… Why is it coming from beneath the barn? How is that-‘ Clypeum pondered wildly and in a panic. He slowly and carefully walked across the refuse filled floor, avoiding anything that could make a sound. He was successful, apparently, for he found himself near the edge of a pit.
“~Thim tan wibbly damn! Running, running, avoid the brand! Stories told once I did! Never thought that I-” the old dirty ulven man stopped mid song. Clypeum could hear why. The boards were creaking beneath his weight. The old man’s head slowly turned to reveal an opaque eye that glared at him.
“~Wim pel bibbly bell… Look whom came to join hell… You are human, do not trust… Great Wolf eat you, yes he must…” said the old man in a slow and yet rhythmic way. The words gave Clypeum chills, but he quickly resolved his nerves.
“Who are you? Why do you live here?” Clypeum asked, curious as to why an old ulven man like this would be here.
“~Voop Vam giggly slam! I am Speaker Glam! Stories I told, this is true! But my question be, who are you?~” rhymed the old one, who called himself Glam. Volrok imagined Clypeum’s jaw to have dropped at some point due to the constant rhyming, but he continued to imagine what happened.
“I am Clypeum Legis. I am from the Rangers. If you are a Lore-speaker then I would ask you to come with -” he had begun to say when he was suddenly interrupted. For while he spoke, the old man danced around, the mana flowed out from the old man’s decrepit fingers and whirled into a single ball of light blue energy that hovered in his hand. From there the ball of energy crashed into Glam’s target and Clypeum was then on his knees in the mud and grime, binding his very physical being to be still as Glam ran to a small bundle and grabbed a bow, nocked it, and aimed it at Clypeum.
Once the spell released its hold over Clypeum, he put his hands up and yelled, “I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT!” But apparently Glam didn’t want to risk it. That or he was insane. The arrow was loosed and sunk into Clypeum’s thigh. As soon as it did, Glam grabbed his gear and began to hobble away at amazing speed. Clypeum, however, was still pretty fast at a hobble himself. He stood up and gave chase, catching up to the old man. However he had an idea. To herd old Glam to the camp. So he slowly began to change his course from time to time to try and steer him, and it worked. When he eventually did catch up with Glam, he received a nasty surprise.
Glam turned around on a dime, his feet kept firmly on the ground, let loose a burst of pure energy which flew like ballista bolt and sent Clypeum flying backwards onto his back at the river’s edge. Just as soon as Glam turned around to finish manipulating the mana and keep running, he ran face first into a chest plate. Volrok’s chest plate as matter of fact. He quickly tackled Glam to the ground and pinned him down using weight alone. Volrok tried his hardest not to vomit after inhaling the smell, and luckily didn’t. Soon two hunters appeared from the tall grass nearby, helped restrain Glam and brought him. Not to the camp, but straight to the river to be washed and cleaned.

Volrok shivered and steeled his gut from the remembrance of the stench. He gave thanks to The Battle-Father right then for helping him overcome that dreadful ordeal. After that thought came to pass, his attention turned to the last of the three ulven kneeled before them. This one was quite young and seemed to be named Yort. The young one, whom Stanrick constantly called a pup, was probably the most troublesome of the three lore-speakers to capture.

The reason that Yort was so difficult of a capture was not his skill, but his location. After trying to talk with Glam for a while, the wily old ulven slipped some information. Information about a lore-speaker that headed north with an apprentice. North to an old abandoned village in The Great Forest. Volrok turned to Stanrick puzzled, but was met with a look of surprise and disgust. It was later revealed to him that the Great Forest is home to many Mordok, as well as many old abandoned settlements. Volrok didn’t care. He wanted that lore-speaker, more than ever now. For if one was pressed to enter into dangerous territory, then the prize must be worth the risk.
Volrok had immediately begun to organize the group and moved them north towards the Great Forest, despite Stanrick’s warnings. Volrok probably should have listened, for when they arrived, the hunters reported a decent amount of Mordok activity in the area. Volrok had only then begun to realize how clever this lore-speaker they chased was, which made him even more driven. He took only the best hunters and Stanrick with him from there on out and headed into the forest to give chase to this elusive ulven and his apprentice.
They were a day into the forest when they came across an old abandoned village. The supports burned to charcoal, skeletons littered the ruins of former houses. Mangled and distorted skeletons lashed to trees with vines and some sort of twine. It disturbed them to see to say the least. The hunters and Stanrick seemed disgusted at the site of such a vile scene. However, there was something there that didn’t belong. A fire pit that had been used recently. Smoke still rose from the red embers, which could only mean this had been used very recently. The few hunters that were there scattered and searched frantically, and cautiously, for a trail. It didn’t take long to find one and it puzzled them for a bit. For the disturbed leaves showed that one had a shorter and normal stride, while next to it had another one. One that followed the pattern of someone that limped along using a staff. They didn’t waste time pondering on that issue for too long, for they immediately took off on the trail like wolves on the hunt.
They ran, sprinted, and even bolted through that forest as quietly as they could. Thankfully Volrok was in minimal armor and wasn’t as weighed down as he normally was, or they would have moved much slower, and much, much more audible. They continued to run. Their legs burned with pain and begged them to stop. They ran till they finally found them, the two they had tailed all that time, the lore-speaker and his apprentice.
“Well it seems they finally caught up. I was seriously wondering when these pups would catch up to us.” murmured the older ulven while he leaned on his cane.
“Who are they Master Lygari?” asked the young ulven male near him carrying a large pack.
“They seem to be of pack Longfang, Yort. Notice their markings on the cheek bones.” commented Lygari, he taught his apprentice despite the situation.
“Wait… Lore-speaker Lygari? I haven’t seen you in quite a few seasons…” commented Stanrick.
“Well… Being a Lore-speaker and traveling to record and speak of stories of old makes one quite busy. Especially if it is during a civil war.” Lygari said with a slight sneer at their presence. He had already guessed at their intended reason for why the group followed and tracked his apprentice and himself this far into the Great Forest. There was a moment of silence after that, the tension was high; the hunters started to reach for their weapons.
“Lore-speaker Lygari, I would ask you kindly, turn yourself in for questioning about the documents discovered and the lies the Lore-speakers have spread. I would rather we not have to fight. If you do, I personally promise that you are treated well and looked after during our venture back to Onsallas.” Volrok said to help break the silence and just get this hunting trip over with. Lygari reacted quite surprised at what was said, shocked even, that a human could act this way.
“Do you even… No… That is fine if you do not know me…” he mumbled to himself as he thought aloud.
“Very well. My apprentice and myself will accompany you to Onsallas for questioning. Though I cannot guarantee that I know anything about these documents everyone claims to be so important.” Lygari stated as he hobbled towards the group, and motioned Yort to follow suite.
They traveled back to the abandoned village without incident. Apparently the Mordok had not been as active as they thought in this area of the Great Forest. The group marched onward, past the village and into the night. Straight back to the main camp, which was about eight hours away as the crow flew. Confident that they would get out of the forest unscathed.
How naïve they were, thought Volrok as he recalled those events, to the terror that they had gone through that night. They were about an hour away from the camp when it happened. A howl. Not that of a wolf or coyote, but that of a Mordok. The entire group froze and realized the error of their decision to continue forward. Stanrick’s face was whiter than the moon that was peering through the canopy. Volrok’s forehead soaked with sweat and his palms quivered with uncertainty. It was then they heard a voice.
“Run… Or they will get us…” Volrok turned his head to the voice and saw that Lygari had now moved as quickly as he could without out a torch through the wood. That brought Volrok back to reality and steeled him.
“Put out the torches, use the moonlight to see. It’s bright enough for us get back.” he whispered to the hunters who, without need to be convinced, did just that. That’s when another howl came and it was closer than before. The group took off like a stag being chased by hounds. They leapt and bounded over logs, sprinted across the forest floor, and flew through the air as they made haste to get to the camp. However, the howls were now yells and yelps, followed with a course of other voices. A hunter grabbed Yort, threw him over his shoulder, and sprinted onward. Volrok did the same with the frail Lygari on his, chugging on at a steady pace that kept him at a safe distance from the Mordok that were giving chase.
For a long time the Mordok were on their heels. They howled like mad and made a large racket as they chased them through the darkness of the Great Forest. The group ran as hard as they could, through thorn and briar, through mud and cold; they didn’t dare stop. Their legs ached and cried in agony as they pumped them up and down. Then finally, finally, the sweet sight of light beyond the tree line. Moral began to raise, the aches didn’t bother them as much and the Mordok seemed to have lost interest in their prey. They got to the tree line and the rest of the group made their way back to the camp while Volrok, with Lygari in-tow, took a second to breathe. That was all he needed apparently, for in that second that Volrok placed him down onto the ground, Lygari’s hands began to move awkwardly. In a flash his bonds were severed, for while he was being hauled like luggage, Lygari was busy at work using the unexpected. For that cane which he was carrying held a hidden blade. Lygari put the blade against Volrok’s throat and glared at him.
“You WILL release my apprentice and mysel-” he demanded, before Volrok’s gauntlet found its way into his nose. Thought to be stunned, Volrok rushed in low for a tackle to bring the resistant Lygari to heel. Lygari had different plans it seemed, for as soon as Volrok was about a step away from going into the grapple with him, he aimed his hands out in front of him. Summoning some of the mana he collected that day, Lygari sent out a wave of pure energy that not only halted Volrok, but sent him reeling away and onto the ground.
“Wait… You… Can use magic?” Volrok said, shocked at what just occurred.
“I can do more than just heave you around like a sack of potatoes. Now, I want you to release my apprentice and myself… We have no quarrel with you nor do we want to fight more than needed… But I will save both him and myself if need be.” Lygari went on, obviously tired from the journey but determined to not be a captive of these bounty hunters. He looked over in the distance and could see the rest of the group escorting Yort farther and farther away from him.
“Sorry… A contract is an oath I swear to fulfill by my choice, along with the rest of the group who came with.” Volrok said as he slowly rose from the ground, seemingly to have regained his bearings for that moment.
“Now… Am I going to hav-” Volrok went on to say, but as he began to draw his blade, Lygari’s hands went into motion, giving form to the mana that was stored within him. It whirled around in his hands and took the form of a white and blue orb that created a small amount of fog around itself. In an instant, as Volrok went on to charge the Lore Speaker, he found the world around him colder than he ever remembered it. His body, his senses, his whole world, seemed to have stopped as he became covered in a thick layer of icy frost. Lygari saw his opportunity and slid into some bushes nearby, hiding away for the right moment.
Volrok came back to the world cold, angry, and quite confused. Why have so many Ulven males have access to arcane powers? That thought confused and even unnerved him. That what was supposed to be a rarity within the race was proving to be less and less true. He looked around once the last of the frost left his body in attempt to find Lygari. That is when he felt it. The cold touch of steel against his neck. His eyes slowly rotated to the side and found that Lygari’s hidden blade was placed against his throat.
“Speak or move and I will end your life, human.” Lygari threatened, slowly moving Volrok towards the camp. Volrok complied, but knew he had to wait for his chance to escape. Once they were at the edge of the tent line, the rest of the hunters and members that were traveling with him were armed and ready.
“What are you doing Lygari…” growled Stanrick, who looked upon the situation with great disgust.
“Now… While today has been quite entertaining… I think me and Yort will retire for the day. So would if you be so kind as to hand over my apprentice?” Lygari went on calmly, as if nothing was wrong with the situation. His eyes were constantly moving, making sure no one made any sudden movements. Stanrick growled in contempt and motioned for one of the hunters to bring Yort to the front of them and to exchange the two. As Yort walked over, Lygari began to move backwards, away from the group and kept Volrok held tight against the blade.
“Release Volrok now Lygari!” Stanrick yelled as the group of three retreated into the night. Lygari only smiled and continued to bring both his apprentice and Volrok beyond the fires of the camp, and left their sight shortly after. Clypeum and Stanrick, along with others from the camp, quickly chased after, but found only the night and far distant Mordok howls.
The three of them quickly headed back towards the woods, Volrok now bound by rope thanks to the help of Yort. While they ran, he snuck out a knife from his boot and began to cut the rope carefully as they ran, in attempt to hide the motions. Eventually they stopped and the feeble Lygari had to finally rest up against the cane he used. Volrok took the opportunity to do what he could. While Lygari was busy and tried to catch his breath, Yort had the remainder of the rope wrapped around his neck and mouth and was gagged in an instant. Volrok then went on to quietly place his gauntlet deep into the boy’s stomach, taking both the wind and the will to fight out of Yort.
Lygari finally came back to his senses from all the running and turned around only to see Volrok tackling him to the ground like a massive bull. The two of them struggled, both tried to gain some sort of advantage over the other.
“No spells for you Lore Speaker.” grunted Volrok as the two of them rolled in the grass. At that moment Lygari heard it, the sounds of pursuit, coming from the direction they ran from. He looked around, thought for a moment while he tried his hardest to stop this unusually strong human from crushing him. He then placed a knee into Volrok’s gut and threw him over using the momentum. The both of them stood up and Volrok charged once more to hold Lygari down, now that he heard the sounds of reinforcements. However, Lygari had planned something else entirely. For as Volrok charged his foe, Lygari summoned some of the last mana he had collected for that day from his core, wove it and released another wave of pure energy straight into Volrok’s chest. Volrok flew backwards at the sheer force and landed hard against a tree. He suddenly felt a large amount of searing agony in his lower back, then his head collided with the tree behind him. Hard. He fell to the ground, the power to move quickly left his body and mind.
“Another day human, another day…” Lygari said as he disappeared from Volrok’s sight and into the darkness. Volrok tried to speak, but only groans came forth. He slowly moved his right arm to touch his back and felt searing pain and agony. He bit down on his lip and pressed further towards where he thought the wound on his back was and was surprised at what he found. It wasn’t what was in his back as much as what was absent from it. His fingers only briefly brushed the edge of the gaping hole above his hip and he nearly blacked out. Apparently the tree he was slammed into had a broken branch strong enough to tear through his chainmail and puncture him deep. He groaned, took shallow breaths to avoid the pain in his back, and slowly used his arms to drag his body the three-hundred some feet to the campsite. Volrok got only about ten feet before everything around him faded to black.
He woke up the next day, his wound cleaned and dressed, his head wrapped, and his armor off and on a nearby stand. Volrok took a glance around the room, even though his head was pounding like a mallet on a war drum. Next to him was Clypeum who was rinsing out some rags and soaking them in cold water.
“How long have I been out?” Volrok barely managed to moan out.
“About a day and a half. We packed up as soon as we saw how bad you were and began to travel back to Onsallas.” Clypeum stated as he placed a nice cool compress on Volrok’s head.
“Apparently you got a concussion and a pretty messy wound near your right kidney… Yawn says you should be okay for now, but the Daughters of Gaia back at Onsallas should take another look at you to be safe.” he went on to say. From what Volrok heard, it sounded like he took a rather unfortunate beating.

That was four days ago. Now the group was about two days out of Onsallas. Thankfully Volrok was able to muster enough strength to sit upright for this moment. He didn’t want a moment to be lost, despite the pain in his back and head.
“So… Why? Why did you run when you knew you were being sought after?” Volrok asked the three of them.
“Who wouldn’t run when they are being hunted for something like that? We are being called liars and are being herded in like cattle to answer for crimes some of us did not know we even committed!” said the ulven woman. She was quite obviously displeased with such a hearing, but Volrok wanted, no, needed to know their motives.
“Then why the secrecy about what transpired all those years ago? What is the motive for that?” he went on asking the more important question at hand. The very fact that everyone in their culture was deceived for unknown reasons.
“Hin hel bimmidy bell! One answer we cannot tell! Unknown to us, this lore you speak. Someone higher up maybe, but not us weak.” piped up Glam. That statement alone seemed to make sense. It wouldn’t make sense for lore-speakers everywhere to know the true reason of hiding the truth and that only a select few should be privileged to such information.
‘But why though? Why even tell anybody at all then? Is it possible that the last person to have known of the truth left these clues behind in hopes that someone would figure it out, or perhaps it was left due to a guilty conscious? What in the heavens and hells was the reason?!’ Volrok thought wildly as he sat there in his chair. While going through all the information, he remembered something rather important.
“Fine, then at least answer me this… Are all lore-speakers able to cast arcane magic?” Volrok finally asked a rather important question, one that has been on everyone’s mind. Silence filled the pavilion, one that allowed them to even hear the deafening crackle from the torches and fire. The three of them averted their gaze, trying not to look at anybody.
“Hey,” Volrok began to ask one more time, his voice now much more menacing than before, “I asked you a question… Can all lore-speakers cast arcane magic?” Fear began to manifest itself in the pavilion. Volrok’s anger was starting to reach a boiling point and everyone could feel it. He looked first at the old woman, then to Glam, then finally at Yort. Volrok’s eyes glared daggers and even made some of the nearby hunters take a step back from where they were.
“Yort… Answer me… Consider this a chance to redeem yourself for the actions of your so called master Lygari.” Volrok now said coldly, every syllable a threat in its own right.
“Volrok… You are-” Stanrick began to remind him, reading the atmosphere in the pavilion. He was however suddenly interrupted by Yort.
“I… Do not know. But from what Master Lygari told me there are quite a number of us that do! They sometimes seek out those that can cast arcane magic, and those whom have the potential, and train them to be lore-speakers!” cried out Yort, his voice filled with terror and desperation. Everyone’s faces went into shock: the hunters, the other lore-speakers, Stanrick, Clypeum, and Volrok. Their expressions didn’t dissipate for some time.
Finally Stanrick spoke up. “If this is true… Then…” he began to mumble to himself, then went into deep thought.
“That means there is more going on than what we previously thought…” Volrok began to add onto the brainstorm aloud.
“Bring them to Onsallas! I have heard all I desire to hear from the lore-speakers.” Volrok told the hunters. They began to escort them out, one by one, and when Yort was about to leave the pavilion,
“Yort… You did a very hard, but very honorable action today. Be proud you spoke the truth…” Volrok said aloud. His voice carrying on not like before, filled with intimidation, but that of comfort. The reason for this was unknown to Volrok. Perhaps he felt the need to comfort the kid, or some other unknown reason. He would have to think on it after he was more healed up.

They were back in Onsallas’s Tavern now and everyone was celebrating the success of the hunt. Volrok sat in the usual corner with his comrades drinking quietly. Tonight he was joined by Stanrick and Clypeum, whom were nursing drinks as well.
“So, Did Reyna heal your back?” Stanrick asked him, trying to think of something to say after the long trip.
“Yes… She did… My head is still a little foggy but my back is much better now that it has had time to properly heal and be treated.” Volrok replied dryly, finding that this is just small talk and that no one really had a reason for speaking. Silence fell upon their corner once again, until Sarmion came running in holding a scroll.
“Volrok! We got a job offer!” Sarmion blurted out as he ran to the table almost throwing the scroll into Volrok’s face. He took the scroll and went over the contents, studying it very carefully. His eyes taking in every possible meaning and phrasing of the document before him.
Clypeum was in his own world, minding his mead when he finally spoke, “So what happens now? We know that these lower “ranked” lore-speakers apparently know little of the documents and that there is a good number of lore-speakers that can cast arcane magic…” he went on in a sort of overwhelmed state of mind.
“We don’t do anything. At least right now.” Volrok said as he threw down the document with a large grin on his face.
“Excuse me gentlemen… But I have a company to build and a war to win…” he went on to say as he finished his mead and walked off.
Both Stanrick and Clypeum looked confusingly at one another as to the context of what Volrok was truly getting at. They both grabbed the scroll and opened it. Only one part caught their attention.

“…In return for service, The Phoenix of Fire Isle will rebuild the Broken Blade Company and have it made into a functioning unit. As soon as you are ready, Volrok, we will send them up to the Pass to secure our supply lines. May your banners fly high!”

_ Fin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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