Archives: Wiki Pages

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again.”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again.”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thrand looked up at Stanrick and met his gaze.

“Again.”

---

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

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

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

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

Food.

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

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

“Again.”

– End

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

The Great Hall of Pack Longfang

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bryech smirked and chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before anyone could add in, Thrand continued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Year 263, The Revelations of Shepard Bannica Yulrude.

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Apologies Elder, it appears I misunderstood her.”

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

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

——————————————————————————————————————-

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

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

Yulrude was alone. His faith was shattered.

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

———————————————————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

– End

He’s dead.

That’s what the man said.

Momma started weeping. He came over and handed me dad’s sword. He said “your father fought bravely son. He died with honor!”

He died. The man said it so calmly. I don’t understand. It’s been 3 days since that man was here. Momma’s just been drinking and crying. I told momma I was hungry but she just looked right through me. “Momma please?” I said. She saw me this time. Her face twisted. She got angry and shouted “Go away!” and slapped my face. I’m sorry momma, I thought as I went to my bed and lay down.

“Go away! You’re just a burden!” She shouted as she struck me again. I fell down. “I’m sorry momma! I just wanted to help.” She sat down and started to drink and sob. “You look just like your father. By the gods why do you have to look like your father.” I was slinking back to bed. Why does it matter if I look like daddy? It’s not my fault. I’m sorry momma I didn’t mean to upset you again, I thought as I drifted into troubled sleep.

“Momma! Momma! Look!” I shouted holding up the bread and meat the butcher had given me. He said he heard about daddy and that I could work sweeping his shop for some food. Momma just got mad again. She swatted the food out of my hands and hit me again. “Why couldn’t you get more booze! Something good we’re almost out of it!” I felt the tears burning my eyes. “Oh you’re crying now!? Not when you find out your father died but when I yell at you!?” She kicked me on the floor. “I’m sorry momma! I’m sorry, I’ll do better!” “Get out!” She cried. I ran from the house. I ran far away.

I don’t remember how long I ran but it was night before I stopped. I was on the edge of Vandregon land. I found an alley to sleep in that night. I wept again. It was cold. I was hungry. I had a fitful night’s sleep. I woke with the sun. I decided to leave the kingdom. I wanted away from her and their memories. I fought the tears for so long, but it was futile and the tears came. I wept and I walked.

It was night again before I stopped walking. I had just reached our neighboring kingdom. I recognized the colors. Blue and green. I slept in another alley. More hunger and another fitful night. I woke with the sun again. I still felt too close. I walked again. I walked until I reached the coast. I needed food. I begged and begged different shops to let me work for food when finally an old man said he would feed me if I would help him unload some shipping vessels. I eagerly agreed. I worked with him for several years. It was the week after my tenth birthday. A ship pulled into the docks. I had seen it a couple times before but usually when it docked my master told me to go inside, but this time he told me to stay.

I saw a man get off the ship with such an air about him that only meant he must have been the captain. No one on the docks would look him in the eye and everyone tried to avoid him, except for my master. He greeted the captain with a hearty smile and a great handshake. “Bart! By the gods it’s been forever since you’ve pulled into port! How have your travels been?” The captain gave out a loud and jolly laugh “Mathias! They have been most excellent! I have plenty of spoils that need unloading if you don’t mind.” He ended his sentence with a jolly smile and a wink. My master sent me with the captain right away to help unload. “By the gods! You sure are an eager young lad!” The captain said after the last of his cargo was unloaded. “I sure could use a young man like yourself aboard me ship. What d’ya say?”
“I-I….don’t know if my master would allow it….” I responded, crushing my own dreams before they were realized.
“Leave that old codger to me. I’ve know Mathias for quite some time.” He said with a wink. My hopes grew slightly.

I set out with my new master the very next morning! I was to be his cabin boy. He said it was like an apprentice. I would learn his trade. His name was Captain Black Bart De La Roja. He was a jolly old man. He called himself a “free merchant” but I knew it was piracy. I didn’t care. I felt free. After joining his crew I hadn’t had a single nightmare of my mother or father. It was freeing and exciting. A few months after joining we found someone floating on some driftwood out at sea.

It was a girl. She was just a year older than I was. Her name was Miranda and she was the daughter of a servant traveling aboard a ship that had been attacked and sunk. We took her in and Bart made her a cabin girl along with me. He taught us well. Showing us how to raid other ships and defend our own from attack. We trained hard and fast. Ten years seemed to fly by. But it was then that a ship raid went wrong.

She’s dead! That’s all I could think. I saw the captain of the other ship run her through. I charged him and caught him off guard. I was able to run him through the chest. Miranda lay there on the ground bleeding fast. “No! Don’t die! Please?” I cried out to her. I didn’t want to lose her. My mind raced back to my parent whom I had not thought of in years. “Please!? Dear gods no! I don’t want you to die!” She’s dead I thought.
“Morty, It’s okay. I’m sorry about before…”
“No don’t. It’s okay. Just don’t die…”
“I’m sorry…about that…too….” I could feel her last breath escape her body.
“NO!” I sobbed and held her body close. I brought her out to our ship after the captain had finished the battle by showing the crew their dead captain. She’s dead.

I couldn’t stay aboard and asked the captain to let me go at the next port. I found home in a small merchant port with a small crew of cut throats and pick pockets. After gaining a small name in the underworld I found a backer to buy in on a ship with me by the name of Bridge. I promised her some percentage of each cut but as soon as the ship was done I ran off to a small village known as Oarsmeet. I had my crew start spreading rumors about me, saying my mind was slipping. That I had witnessed my own death several times. I’m dead. Or who I was before. I wish to no longer be weak. If I had been stronger I could have gone with my father. My mother would not have hated me. I could have saved Miranda. I sailed around making quite the name for myself over the next few years. It was only when the undead were knocking on our gates that some navy personnel actually asked for help from me and my ship. We barely escaped in time.

We somehow found the new continent and helped them create a village. We fought some terrible monsters that came from the woods. I even helped a war effort by moving supplies but that was when I first discovered a taste of true power. I’m dead. And I’m reborn. I now know I was wrong. If I had had the power I needed I would have not needed my father or mother nor would I have been hurt by them. I would not have needed Miranda or anyone else in my life. How could I have been so weak? People are only a weakness! Strength and power are all that is needed. The mother promised me power for helping her. She will give it to me.

I tried to find her more but her voice stayed silent. Even in the swamp she remained silent. But what spoke up was a man who came forth and proved to be my bastard son. I thought him dimwitted and useless but when he said he was a shipwright, I found a use for him. I found a slave for myself as well. She has served me well thus far and only proved more useful.

That bitch Bridge managed to find me! She wanted to collect her debt but I never had any intention of paying her. So when the fighting broke out I cornered her. She’s dead. Her screams still bring me joy. I took her scalp for a prize. Thank the mother she’s dead. Her crew was easy enough to stomp out. How weak humans are and how easily they are snuffed out. Life is nothing but a joke in the eyes of the gods.

Praise to the mother! She has finally sent me a messenger. They call him the red eyed Syndar. He has opened my eyes more and more to the mothers plans. He has given me a taste of the power the mother has promised me. I want more! I must grow stronger! He says the Syndar are the key. That’s why he could use my bastard. I have another I can use. I’m alive. I’m truly alive!

I will give her to the mother. She will die to open her eyes! “Stop” I shout as the others surround us. The preacher-man works at his ritual as they attack. We are overwhelmed. I’m dying!? No! I’m bleeding. I’m dragged near the outpost. “Why!?” Is all they are shouting at me. They do not understand how weak they all are. Lineth screams for me. They somehow saved her. But she seems to have been awoken. I know not what happened to the preacher-man. I hear my bastard somewhere but I hear the mother. She is louder. She says “Crawl away,” so I do as she bids. I heave myself towards the swamp. As I am crawling I hear her screaming for me. I hear them struggle with her. I am in the swamp, still bleeding and still crawling. I hear rustling and Lineth runs out to me. She helps carry me farther into the swamp. We rest and she tries to quell the torrent of blood flowing from me.

I hear more rustling and all I see are red eyes.

I’m.

Not.

Dead.

NO! LET ME GO!
Anne stared into the fire in the outpost. She was rather surprised that the Longfangs had allowed her to stay with them for a few more days, but Reyna had insisted. It was just last night that Morty had been cut down just outside of the gates, that Anne’s whole world had come crashing down. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw her weapons into the fire and take off into the swamp to slaughter anything that reeked of corruption with her bare hands, but there was still work to be done.
Reaching for her bow, the former pirate rose and moved towards the outpost’s gate. She felt a hand on her shoulder as she neared the threshold, seeing a young Ulven male, no more than sixteen years old when she turned to see who had touched her. “Hey, you can’t go out there. We don’t know if the Whiteoak are gone yet, and you could get lost, and…”
Anne put her hand on the pup’s wrist, cutting him off. “I’ll be fine. Trust me,” she said with a wink, though her tired eyes betrayed her lack of sleep. Truth be told, the thought of rest had scared her since the night before. Bow in hand, Anne set off into the woods. The warm summer night’s breeze flowed through her hair and caught her skirts like a sail, almost pushing her forward. Her heart was still heavy from the day before, but getting up and moving again would be good for her.
As Anne crossed the tree line, the exhaustion slipped from her mind: she felt as though she heard every branch snap, every leaf rustle with the movement of woodland animals. With an arrow nocked she stalked through the woods to the north, seeking to return to the site of the Whiteoak camp which Stanrick had ordered burned to the ground. She moved quickly now, forgoing stealth for speed. Her trained eye caught a slight blue glint in the moonlight while scanning the woods for potential threats.
Drawing closer, she saw the source of the distraction: a small patch of finch leaves, a deep blue color that reminded Anne of the sea. Oh, how she missed the sea. So much of her time since she had come to Mardrun had been spent playing politics, managing the operations of New Oarsmeet, or trying to keep the Captain out of trouble. She hadn’t truly been to sea in probably two years, and had barely been on a ship in the past few months. She missed the salted spray on her skin as her ship broke the waves. She missed the slight twinge of fear she got standing up in the crow’s nest, looking down at how far up she was. More than anything, she missed the swaying of the deck. Solid ground did not suit her well.
Lost in her thoughts, Anne was nearly caught off guard by a dagger whizzing past her ear. She turned to face her attacker, seeing only a set of snarling fangs caught by the starlight. Careless, she thought, letting a Mordok sneak up on her like that. An arrow quickly found its way to her bowstring and was soon hurtling towards the Mordok, wedging itself deep in the tree behind which it had ben hiding before it took off running through the brush. Whispering a prayer to the Huntress, Anne drew a barrier of magical energy around her, allowing her to more intently focus on her prey. She lowered her stance, trying to move as silently as possible, following the beast’s trail. The quick response to the initial attack had caught the Mordok off guard and spooked it into running, making following the trail much simpler. Her bow drawn, and arrow ready, Anne was back. The only place she felt as at home as on a ship, Anne was hunting again, and it felt glorious.
For what seemed like an hour, she followed the trail of broken branches and trampled brush until she found her quarry. Confident in the fact that it had just outrun the being stalking it, the Mordok had squatted down beside a pool of water, eagerly lapping the water. The small splashes made by the careless creature drowned the soft creak of her bow as she drew, loosing an arrow with haste. This projectile struck no tree; the Mordok gave a pained howl as the arrow came to rest deep in its side. Knowing better than to try to run again, the Mordok charged its attacker, pulling a crude axe and a wicked-looking dagger from its belt. Anne tried to draw another arrow, but her foe was simply too close. She dropped her bow and pulled her father’s knife from its resting place at her side. Bracing for impact, she waited until the Mordok collided with her, trying to tackle her. Instead she rode it to the ground, using its own momentum against it. Confused by the change in direction, the Mordok shrieked in pain as the old dagger was thrust repeatedly between its ribs. Soon enough the creature stopped moving and Anne wiped the blood from the dagger off on a scrap of fabric the Mordok was wearing. She began to make her way back to the outpost, making a mental note to return to harvest the flowers the next morning. Little did Anne know that the outpost itself would remind her of the events which had transpired the day before, and soon enough her memories would return to haunt her once again.

I NEED TO SEE HIM!
She had tried to help. What more could she have possibly done? The Captain was beyond saving. Surely Lineth must have seen that, too.
Anne was on her way back to New Oarsmeet. She had stayed an extra few days in the Onsallas Outpost at Reyna’s urging, hoping to see her recover before she left. Anne would hear none of it, though, far too proud to admit that she still hadn’t slept four days later. Aris and Santiago had departed immediately, so Anne was left to make the trek back to her home alone, though she was glad for that. Each day she travelled, and each night she tried to rest. Her eyes would close, eager for the sweet release of sleep, though her mind could not be torn from its current focus.
Eager to return home, Anne continued walking when she could not sleep. She found her way back to New Oarsmeet in what seemed like less time than normal, though her perception of time was far from spot on by the time she stepped into her own territory once more. It was late afternoon when she came across the first tavern, and evening once she found her way to her office and her home. Her door shut and locked, Anne smothered her head with her pillow, hoping to finally be able to sleep, and no outside sound would disturb her.

I’ve made my choice.
Anne sat bolt upright, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger beside her bed. Beads of cold sweat had collected on her brow, and her breathing was heavy. It had been two weeks since the events took place, and this had been the first sleep she had truly seen. Those words…the words she had hoped to never hear, rang in her ears as if Lineth was still in front of her. Hoping to find an escape from her thoughts, Anne quickly dressed herself and stepped out into the New Oarsmeet streets.
Pulling her cloak around her tightly despite the warmth and lack of breeze, Anne tried to appreciate the town before her. The drunken stupor in which many of the residents constantly lived was astounding, surely a coping mechanism for many. Hard winters, hungry nights, and far too much bloodshed in recent years had certainly taken its toll on morale, but between the hearty sea shanties bellowed from various taverns, the occasional tradesman sober enough to recognize the only remaining authority figure in the settlement, and the curious glances from children’s bedside windows, a stranger would have had no idea.
This town had been through so much in the last decade. An alliance born of the need to survive by naval sailors and pirates alike, Anne half expected the whole thing to fall apart to in-fighting within the month. Yet here it stood, ten years later. She prayed that the town wasn’t a mirror of herself, though: strong, even thriving on the surface, but hollow inside, just trying not to crumble in on itself.
Anne turned between two buildings as she saw two sailors drunkenly stumble around before her, not wishing to be disturbed. This was her first night back in New Oarsmeet since half of her crew had been taken from her, and she wished to be alone with her thoughts. No one could see her as she was: they needed strength now more than ever, and that was simply something she couldn’t be right now.
Leaning against the wooden wall of the building behind her, Anne couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between the two drunks, or at least what was left of it.
“I…*hic*…I don’t know, Tony,” she could hear one of them slur. “It just don’t seem right.”
“It ain’t, Mick,” the other replied. “But that’s just how it is. ‘Course she’s gonna go back to ‘im, after all he’s put her through.”
“Still, you’d think she woulda jus’ run away, if nothin’ else.”
“Yeah, but I guess she’s made her choice.”
Something in Anne’s brain snapped. She saw red, then she saw nothing. She came to a few seconds later, standing in the middle of the street with an overwhelming pain in her wrist. Tony’s face was in the dirt, a small pool of blood starting to form underneath his head. Mick was shouting for help, trying to fumble for some kind of weapon in his drunken haze. Confused, Anne pleaded with Mick to calm down, that she could help his friend, but only if he would relax and find a healer or a cleric. Eventually Mick dropped his sword and ran off, still screaming, but his tone was more concerned than frightened. Anne reached for the necklace she used as a focus for the Huntress’ magic when bursts of pain shot through her right hand up to her elbow. Looking down, a nasty bruise was already beginning to form, but it was much less serious than the wounds she had apparently inflicted on Tony. With her left hand she dug out the necklace and began the incantation, pulling Tony’s dwindling life force back into his body and staving off death for the time being. When the spell was complete, Anne said a quick prayer, thanking the Huntress for finding her when she had. Enough things had gone wrong recently; murder of one of the citizens under her protection was not an issue she needed now. Applying pressure to Tony’s wound, Anne waiting until Mick returned with a man known for his skill with divine magic.
As the cleric was fixing the rest of Tony’s face, Mick took the time to remind Anne of what had just happened, since she remembered none of it. When Anne had snapped, she ran from behind the building, punching Tony several times in the face and stomach, drawing her dagger with her left hand. When Mick had tried to intervene and protect his now-unconscious friend, Anne dropped the dagger and threw a punch at Mick’s head, missing wide and striking the stone wall behind him. Mick remembered hearing an awful crunch, then a lot of screaming. “Mostly me own, I reckon,” he tried to joke, though the fear was still present in his eyes.
Anne apologized profusely for her actions and was about to walk away, but stopped short as her curiosity got the better of her. “How did you know? Did word honestly reach you down here so quickly?”
“What do ye mean, ma’am?” Mick was truly confused now.
“The slave girl. Lineth. Who told you?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, what are you drinking? It’s either too strong, or not strong enough. I didn’t say nothin’ about the slave girl. Heck, I ain’t seen her or the Captain in months! I was talkin’ about that sweet lass Molly Malone. She keeps runnin’ back to that psycho Rupert, even though everyone knows he’s a cheatin’ little bastard. We’ve all seen the bruises, too. But I guess she’s made her decision, and there ain’t nothin’ we can do now, ma’am.”
The realization brought on by those words hit Anne like a ton of bricks. Her shattered wrist was excruciating and should probably be looked at, but more importantly, she would need to get her emotions in check. She needed to be strong like the people of New Oarsmeet, for the people of New Oarsmeet, and she could not be strong as long as she was tired, nor could she be stable when such a simple phrase, even out of context, could anger her so badly. Tomorrow, she thought to herself. Tomorrow I will fix everything.
Tomorrow came and went.

Decisions
Written by Shana Aber, as Selena Stargazer

“Selena, why are you packing?” Stanrick asks as he walks in after a pack meeting, eyeing me while I casually throw clothes into my travel bags.
“Crows Landing is having a market faire. Puckerman mentioned it during his lessons today. He wants to go home for it and I want to go with.” I state plainly. Stanrick frowns at me.
“What?” I ask as I look up from folding my shirts.
“But you are pretty far along.” He frowns.
I sigh “I have at least three months yet. I also have two formal students, Puckerman and Echo, that I would like to understand their non-traditional ways a little more. If I understand what it is he does or will be doing and where he came from, I can alter lessons so it will be easier for him to understand. “
Stanrick is still frowning “I am not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
I smile at him “And just like the swamp, you are going to follow me anyways…”
He glares at me a little. “Not funny”
I walk over and kiss his forehead “Sorry. It will also do you good to get out of here for awhile. Besides, I miss you. I haven’t seen much of you the last few weeks.”
Stanrick sighs. “I know. The Pack is still trying to sort things out after Soulviegs Death.”
I nod “I know. I can see evidence of that all over the village, but they will be fine without you for a while. You need some time to sort things out in your own head as well.”
Stanrick goes and pulls out his travel bags from the storage chest. “I know you are right.”
I frown. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It’s not like I am heading out alone. I am going to be traveling with Puckerman. Bridget and Keres are coming with as well. Bridget and Keres haven’t been outside of Everspring much, so they want to take the opportunity to see other places as well.“ I smirk. “It’s a pack trait. The curiosity to see and learn new things.”
Stanrick rolls his eyes at me “You know full well I can’t let you travel without me. It’s my job to protect you, not Puckerman or Keres.”
I sigh but am quietly glad he’s coming with. He may not remember, but I do. The New Aldorian market faire was the night that we first talked till the wee hours of the morning and first time he stayed with me. There may have not been mating the first time, but that was the place where he caught my attention.
That was about a year ago now.
So many changes in a year.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Stanrick do you have a moment?” Someone calls to him and he walks off. I sigh, again, as he leaves me to wander the faire. This has been the theme for much of the Market Faire. I don’t know why…no wait. I know exactly why. The Civil War is still a plague to everyone, not just Ulvens, though it is our problem. The Outsiders want to see someone in charge doing something. They have no understanding of how our political system works. They want change right away and no patience to let it come in its own time. They had all been to the Outpost at some point or another and they longed for stable, forceful leadership there, even though it’s not their home. Never mind our own traditions and the way things work.
I sigh grumpily and munch on various food stuffs. I have to admit, some were quite tasty and I am going to have to see about starting a couple Cherry trees up by the Swamp. These things could made some beautiful wine. I will have to tell my Uncles about them. I watch Stanrick as he spends most of the day talking to various people, though he did stop by and check on me every so often. It’s not what I was hoping for but in all honesty, I shouldn’t be surprised. Stanrick does what he does best. Talk.

I watched how the Rangers deal with things and giggled a little. I think they had a stark awaking to what it’s like when your home is the center of attention. I do hope it translates to better behavior and more support when they are at the Outpost.As I watch everyone move and flutter about, it makes me reflective. I watch a young mage out of the corner of my eye trying to connect with nature. I don’t think he found what he was looking for though. I watch Anne as she was suddenly deemed not a Pirate and apparently that young mage is also one of hers as well. I am not sure what that means but wish them luck. It’s going to be hard to get rid of a reputation that you tried so hard to build in the first place, though I think it will make her stronger. She understands the value of remembering where one came from.

I gave my respects to the Prince of New Aldoria. Stanrick, like normal, spent more time talking to him than I. If you want to understand the culture, you talk to the common folk. I feel more comfortable there than talking to the elite classes. It was that way with my own job. I hate talking to Clan Leaders and even Chieftains. I think that’s why I stumbled so much when I had to talk to Khulgar. As I sit in my chair under the shade of the umbrella, it dawns on me what I have to do next, but I don’t want to…

I spent time talking to the Silver Syndar, Phaedra. I learned a lot about their culture and class system. She has access to a Syndar Library. The Idol popped in my head, reminding me that I still need to answer to that. Like a subtle reminder of ‘yes your path is changing, you still need to find answers but to different problems now….’

No, there was nothing subtle about what came next. I would have had to be a fool for not noticing it. I spent a lot of time talking to the Richtcrag Armors mate. He kept dragging off my mate so I spent time talking to his. I learned about her culture and what they believe, it’s remarkably similar to our own. They even have markings…their eyes change. Apparently becoming blue like the sky in winter. Though I am unclear if they are born that way or if they change sometime later. They do not get the animalistic touches like Ulven do, but I do wonder if the Winter Wolf touched them somehow. There are some differences, especially when it comes to how females are treated and trained, but she asked me if I could teach her. She will probably be easier to train than Puckerman, mostly because she is already female, even if she is an Outsider.
Apparently in their culture they like to know if they are having male or female pups so they have a ritual that will tell them. I let her perform this ritual on me. I want to see what it was like and to get a feel for what she already knows. We may have run into the same problem that happened when Puckerman tried to use the dagger before he understood the ways of our magic. I think some sort of feedback loop or magic hiccup happened. According to her magic, she thinks I am having both a male and a female. I just shrug. We are not known to have multiple births and nobody in my family has, so I have no reason to think that it was an accurate reading.

That pretty much made my decision. Three students and I am not even a full Witch. It’s pretty clear on what my path should be. I feel like I want to cry as now I know what I need next. The only person who knows I have made my decision is One. I haven’t even told Stanrick yet. I think it’s because I just made it and I needed to say it out loud to someone to make it seem real. I am fairly shaken by my decision, yet I know it’s what I have do. Gaia’s been giving me signs all day…some not subtle at all.

Surprisingly, One understands why it was such a hard decision to make. He also understands my plight and says he will send me information when he could. Apparently he too is going to be stuck in one spot for a while. I tell him to not tell Stanrick yet…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Are you okay Beloved?” Stanrick asks as we lay in the tent after having left the Market faire. I have been restless all night. I can’t seem to sleep.
“I am leaving my pack and clan.” I whisper
He sits up and looks at me. I can see the smile pull at the corners of his mouth, though he is trying not to. “You sure?”
I close my eyes. “No, but Gaia was quite clear at the Faire on what path she needs me to follow…”
He kisses my forehead. “It’ll be okay. You’re still going to be part of your family. “
I sigh and look at him. He really believes it. I didn’t have the heart tell him that while I will be welcomed at pack gatherings and the like, I will be treated as an outsider. I won’t be able to help with rites, I will have to trade for things, not just given them because I am a part of the pack. I may still be family by blood, but that doesn’t mean much when you aren’t dedicated to supporting the blood.
Stanrick cuddles in close and whispers in my ear. “Just like I told you that first night…Everything will be okay.”
I didn’t reply. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes and didn’t trust my voice not to betray me. He remembered…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“How could you?!” Keres screams at me. “What about Tradition?” Bridget and Keres both figured out why we were heading to Everspring instead of back to the Outpost after about three days.
“Because I have to.” I state quietly.
She gets up in my face. The hurt and betrayal is written all over her face as clear as day, tears stinging the corner of her eyes.
“That is mordok dung and you know it. You always have a choice and now you are choosing him over your pack and your duty.” She snarls.
“What is going on here?” Stanrick growls as he comes back with an armload of wood. He drops the wood and grabs Keres by the collar of her shirt and pulls her back.
“They need me more. With the death of Soulvieg, they don’t even have a full witch. Rill and I are on the same level but she doesn’t know how to handle the corruption, she has never really taught anyone. She is a great organizer and knows how to maintain the village but not much else.” I state.

Keres shrugs out of Stanrick’s grasp. Her eyes blazing with rage and pain. “We need you too. The Pack still doesn’t have a Witch since Grandma Freya died.“
I sigh. “Yes I know…but there are also many candidates for that roll. Your own sister being one of them. You also have High Priestess, Morrigan, as well. The Longfangs even don’t have that. There is no Higher Clan structure for them to turn to. I could bring that, even if it’s indirectly.“
“Females don’t leave. Males come to us just as the Great Wolf Joined the First pack. You are going against Tradition here.” She yells.
look at the ground. “I know.”
Keres stomps the ground, tears on her cheeks “Fine. Go throw your life away.” She turns and storms off.
Bridget stands there and looks at me. Tears in her eyes but she comes up and hugs me. “I understand, but I don’t like it. You will still teach me right?” She asks.
I hug her back. “Of course I will.“
Stanrick comes up and looks at Bridget. “Go find your sister. She was yelling loud enough I think half the territory heard her. I don’t want her getting jumped by something in the state she is in.”
Bridget frowns. “You don’t think she can handle it?”
Stanrick smiles a little. “No. I think she will not know when to stop if something does find her right now.”
Bridget sighs “Yeah, probably. You do know she is going to blame you?”
Stanrick nods. “I would rather have her blame me than Selena. She will get over it.”
Bridget nods and goes to find her sister.
I sink down by the fire, grabbing a piece of wood that Stanrick had brought and placed it on. I wipe my cheeks on my tunic.
“Are you okay Love?” Stanrick asks.
“No.” I state quietly as I watch the fire. “That went as well as I expected but it still hurts.“
He pulls me into his arms as a fresh batch of tears start down my face…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Selena was fast asleep now. After everything that happened, she had a hard time falling asleep and would not let go of Stanrick. She tried to hide her tears, but it was no use. They heard Bridget bring Keres back, but she was still really upset and this made it even harder. Finally, she exhausted herself so badly that she could not keep her eyes open and she fell asleep. Her grip loosened and Stanrick slipped out of bed to check on the fire.

Bridget looks up and was curious to see what would happen, though Stanrick could tell her muscles are tight, ready to spring up just in case.
“What?” he asked as he tosses a log on the fire, watching Keres glare at him out of the corner of his eye.
“I want to hurt you.” Keres growls as she sits sharpening her sword with a wet stone.
“Yeah? Then do it. Get it all out because I rather you go after me than go after Selena.” Stanrick walks over and stands before her. His chest was exposed and the heat steams off him in the cool night air. She looks at his scars, stands up and socks him in the abdomen. She thought it would have more give, but it didn’t. She hit it again and again, with each strike the tears began to flow.
“Feel better?” he asks when she falls to her knees sobbing before him, knowing full well she did not.
“No! This doesn’t change anything! All it does is just hurt me!” she cries out while rubbing her knuckles.
“Yeah, that’s all it ever does. Now do you want to talk about all this?” he asks as he kneels down beside her.
“I hate you! How could you do this to us? How could you take her away?” she says in angry sobs.
“Do what? I did nothing. Selena made her own choice. I cannot tell her what to do. This was what she chose to do and it was not an easy choice. No choice is. As Ulven, we are lucky in a way that most choices we make in our lives are small. What we want to eat or what tunic we want to wear. The big choices are made by a Chief, Clanleader or our Priestesses. We are spoiled that way. But one day you will find that you have choices, big ones, life changing ones, and they are hard. I made the choice to protect your cousin rather than go with my shield brothers. We make choices and do what we believe is right and we have to live with that choice no matter what others may think of us.” He pulls out a small piece of cloth and gives it to Keres.
“You chose to be with her? I thought you were ordered.” She says as she wipes her eyes.
“No. I made that choice, Soulvieg gave it to me to this day. I do not know why. Selena gave me the choice to say no when she chose me to mate with her. I knew what she was doing was important so I could not let her go on her own. I also chose to take her as my life mate. Keres, I care about her more than I knew I could. I make choices not only to protect my pack, but my family, and above all others protect Selena. I swore an oath to do so in this life and in death. I know you feel like she is leaving you, but she will always be blood. No changing of pack can take that away. You’re not losing anyone. The stress that she is going through is more dangerous. You do not just hurt her, you hurt little one too.” Stanrick calmly states.
Bridget walks over and sits by them, moving close to stay warm. “But why can’t you just join our pack? You would be welcome. You could probably become the Warleader if you wanted.” She says as she leans in and puts the blanket over his shoulders.
“Then what would become of my pack? They lost their warriors and their leader. Yes, I could, but not all would be as welcomed into the fold as I would be. Not all of them are as open minded about things.” Stanrick replies. “I don’t pretend to fully understand what you’re going through. I can’t, but I do know what it’s like to lose family. You need to also realize that family is not just pack loyalties, but blood and the ones you keep in your heart. You two are also my family. I was just surprised that you saw me that way.”
“Is it ok if I join you?” Asks Selena from behind them. She was wrapped in the heavy rabbit fur blanket. No one knew how long she had stood there.
“I am sorry cousin.” Says Keres with a sob.
“I know. I also know you are still going to be angry for awhile…and it’s okay.” Selena says. They sit and watch the stars a while…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The walls of Everspring rose up in front of us as we walk down the path. My heart sinks lower and lower the closer we get. Bridget looks at me. I nod and she sprints off ahead. Stanrick is about to stop her. I grab his arm and shake my head.
“This needs to play out as Tradition demands. Otherwise I will never be able to come back.” I state solemnly. Stanrick frowns at me but nods and takes my hand. We are all very quiet the rest of the way to Everspring.

I had already been trying to prepare myself mentally and emotionally for this, but my walls feel very fragile. I just hope they hold.
We stop at the Drunken Uncle to drop off our things. Bowmen looks surprised when I come in, but then gets very serious as he studies my face. He knows something is up. Without saying a word, I place three rabbits on the counter and head upstairs to stash my stuff and change my clothes. I come back down in the best outfit that I can manage to get around my ever enlarging belly. Normally I would throw on my best gambeson, but I can’t get it closed around me currently. I can barely get my boots back on by myself. I straighten my torc and look around the room. Bowmen comes around the counter and hugs me. I am pretty sure Stanrick told him what I am about to do.
“You’re always welcome here. Your father would find me in the Great Forest and kick my ass up and down the pathways if I didn’t take care of his daughter, regardless of what pack she is in.” He whispers in my ear. My lip quivers and I can feel the baby shift uneasily in my tummy. All I can do is nod. I am afraid my voice will crack if I try to speak now.

Stanrick takes my hand and leads me to the Great Hall. Keres opens the doors for me. Of course the Great hall is packed full of people. It was the middle of the afternoon. I wouldn’t expect it to be anything less. Large and flashy and in front of a lot of people. Word travels fast, for that there is no question…I suddenly feel very vulnerable.

I weave my way to the front to stand before Clanleader Cahal Spiritclaw and High Priestess Morrigan Sol Fire. Bridget stands to the left of the High Priestess and next to Chieftain Faelan. Chieftain Erin Stargazer stands next to Gjerta and Henrick. Henrick is looking confused and uneasy as he picks up on the emotions of those around him. I know Bridget told them everything. They all wear solemn expressions. I can feel the energy in the room changing.

I gather my courage and voice. Clanleader Cahal gets to his feet and slams his cane down. Everyone becomes silent. I can feel myself waiver, but I pull myself up tall.

“Clanleader Spiritclaw, I wish to present to you my last report as a Truthseeker and beg for release from my duties so that I may pursue the calling that the Mother has put before me. “ I state loud and clear for the whole room to hear.
He looks down at me. “What Duties do you feel she has laid before you that are heavier than the duties to your pack and clan?”
“I wish to join and aid Pack Longfang. With Soulviegs passing, their Daughters lack the ability to figure out new solutions to the ever growing Corruption. I have already taken on three students in less than a season’s time. Gaia is using my skills that I have developed as a Truthseeker and now has me asking a different set of questions to a new set of problems. I feel I would be failing both duties if I tried to split my time between the two.” I state.

“You wish to leave Pack Stargazer as well?” Chieftain Erin asks.
“Yes Rhya. I know I would be the first female to leave in three generations, but if I am going to help Pack Longfang, they need to see me as one of them.” I reply. I feel Stanrick shift uneasily beside me. Both Erin and Cahal look at Stanrick.
“She is correct, Rhya. Pack Longfang doesn’t like outsiders, regardless if they are Ulven or not. “He states plainly.
Cahal turns to consult both Morrigan and Erin, though I think it’s mostly for show.
“Truthseeker Stargazer approach.” Cahal states. I approach the stairs and he nods. I remove my torc from my neck. He takes one end while I hold the other.

“You have served your pack and clan well. I release you to fly free and pursue what your heart desires. Your work was honorable and truthful. May it ring his ears.” He states loudly for the room to hear.
“Thank you Rhya.” I state. I look to Erin.
“Meet at the stone tomorrow. I will gather the Elders. “She states solemnly. I nod.
“Selena. Meet with me for dinner and give your final report. That shall be your final duty as Truthseeker.” Cahal says to me.
“Yes Rhya.” I nod. I look down at the torc and I have to force myself to let go of my end. I didn’t think it was going to be this hard. I bite my bottom lip to keep it from quivering and turn and walk down the steps. Stanrick nods to the Elders and walks with me.
“That went better than I was expecting.” Stanrick says as he helps me down the steps.
“That was the easy part.” I sigh.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Selena walks in the front door of the Drunken Uncle and she looks exhausted. She turns to her mate.
“I am going to go lay down for a while.” She states.
“I’ll come too.” Stanrick smiles. Selena shakes her head.
“Don’t. I need some alone time.” She frowns. Stanrick frowns after her as she walk up the stairs.
Stanrick sits down at the bar with a huff.
“She will be fine.” Says Bowmen as he fills a mug for Stanrick.
“I don’t understand why this is so hard for everyone. Everyone is acting like she is going to go into the Black or something.“ Stanrick shakes his head.
Bowmen frowns. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”
“Tell me what?” Stanrick asks over the rim of the mug.
Bowmen sighs. “No, of course she wouldn’t. Because she is stubborn and thinks she needs to shoulder it all herself. “ He pulls a stool around to the other side of the bar so he can sit. “Your into the black analogy isn’t all that far off. Physically, yes, she will still be of the blood but she is choosing to leave. Socially, she will be treated as an outsider. She no longer has the protection of the clan so if past mistakes come back, she has to endure them on her own. She can ask for help, but she has to earn it now or barter for it just like any other outsider.“ Bowmen shakes his head. “Though really, that isn’t what bothers her. I am assuming she needs to go meet with people at her Homelands, correct.”
“Yeah, we are doing that tomorrow.” Stanrick states.
Bowmen frowns. “Tomorrow they are going to sever her connection with the Homelands.“
Stanrick looks up from his drink and nearly spits it out. “They can do that?!”
Bowmen nods “It’s painful for a Daughter. They are connected stronger to their Homelands than your standard pack member. She can still give energy to the barrier and protection spells since she is blood, but if they fall, she will never know. It also means when she dies she will be unable to find the Homelands, which means she will never see her family or her first mate or her other children again.”
Stanrick blinks in disbelief. “Do you think if she wanders the Great Forest she will find them?”
Bowmen shrugs “I don’t know. Unless she joins another pack and ties herself to their Homelands, she will wander the forest, never knowing the comfort of a home. Basically becoming a Ronin spirit.“

Stanrick frowns. “She is going to join my pack so there is no worry there.”
Bowmen smiles “Good. I didn’t think you would let her wander the forest, though this is going to be really hard for her. “
“What about the pup she is carrying? “ He asks absently.
Bowmen shrugs. “If they die before marking, they go live with Luna. I suppose they would have a choice which homelands to return to, though I would guess they would return to yours since that is where you guys will be.”
Stanrick nods. He doesn’t bother correcting the notion that they don’t have a homeland. Nobody in the family remembers where they were from originally. Stanrick stares into his mead absently.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dinner was solemn. Even Henrick was fairly quiet throughout dinner. Nobody wanted to ask if I was sure about my decision because they all knew the answer. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I want to know. I don’t know if I can have meetings like this again. I can’t leave and not know.
I set my fork down on my plate and look at my Elders. “You all knew that this was going to happen, didn’t you? This is why you sent me to Onsallas to study outsider culture instead of New Hope or Crows Landing where an assignment like that would’ve made more sense.” I say accusingly.
Cahal and Morrigan look at each other before looking at me. I narrow my eyes a little. “Don’t lie to me. I may not be an official Truthseeker anymore but I still have all the skills.”

Cahal smirks a little as sighs. “See? I knew you would figure out something was up. Soulvieg asked me to make sure you were up at Onsallas. I don’t know why. I figured she wanted to train you personally in something. I also knew with the death of their elite war pack, Stanrick was going to be needed up there as well.“ Cahal smiles and takes Gjerta’s hand. “I knew he would follow you anywhere and I couldn’t have that, so it was easier to just assign you to the same place I knew he was needed. “

Morrigan shakes her head. “I knew I had to train you beyond just being a normal Witch, the runes had shown me that. Soulvieg’s letter to me asked as well, though she stated the Corruption at the Outpost being the reason. You had many paths before you, you had to pick one. You can be indecisive sometimes trying to make everyone happy. Though once the letter came that Soulvieg had died, I knew it was more than a possibility that you may leave. The fact that Soulvieg had no one to replace her was well known among the other Priestesses. Your skills as Truthseeker probably made it clear to you that there was no one to take her place either.

I frown. “Rill has the skills to maintain the village. She’s been doing that since she was little, but she doesn’t have the skills to teach others. Soulvieg was a powerful Priestess, but from what I have pieced together, she was sick most of her time so she wasn’t a good teacher and Rill had to take care of her. Rill excels at things. I don’t like runes and potions. I excel at things like rites and cleansings. Rill should be leaps and bounds ahead of me considering she started training much, much younger than I, but we are on the same level with different focuses. I think we could really could do well together but right now she would rather see me eaten by Mordok.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad.” Stanrick frowns.

I sigh. “She blames me for Soulviegs death. That is clear as day. She has had a chip on her shoulder since I first appeared in the village and even more so after my one meeting with Soulvieg. She shoulder checked me when I went to go do the laundry after getting back to Onsallas, after our winter stay here.”
“She did that?!” Stanrick growls.
I nod.
“She does it again, I will wipe the floor with her.” Stanrick frowns at me.
I shrug. “Either way, we are going to have to work together in order to succeed with the Corruption spot outside the outpost. Neither of us are strong enough to do it on our own right now. The Longfangs are used to taking orders from one person. Now that’s gone and they appear lost. “
“Well, that not entirely true.” Stanrick states.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Stanrick smiles. “They voted me in as Chieftain before we left for Crows Landing.”
Everyone’s heads snap up to look at Stanrick in surprise. I glare at him to the point where he shrinks back in his seat a little before rising up to his full height. “Stanrick Longfang, Chieftain of Pack Longfang.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “Even I still think it sounds weird.”
Gjerta grins at me. “Trust me child. This will not be the last thing he does to make you glare at him. You are going to get so many more opportunities, especially now.”
Stanrick frowns. “I don’t want that to go beyond this room.” He glares at the guards who shift uneasily.
Cahal tilts his head. “What are you planning?”
Stanrick replies, “I want our enemies to think that the Longfangs are still floundering for leadership. I want them to think that we are vulnerable. That way we can be more than ready for them when they come. We know they will, especially when they hear we sent people to go raiding with Axehound. I am expecting Grimward to try and use that to their advantage and attack the Outpost, quite possibly the village as well.“
Cahal smiles. “This is why you have the reputation as the clever Longfang.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Morrigan shakes her head. “It appears we are all done here. Come Selena. Let’s leave the males to talk fighting. We have a different fight to get you ready for.” High Priestess Morrigan, Gjerta and Erin stand and help me up. We head towards Morrigan’s Study.
“I can’t believe…he didn’t…Had I known, I wouldn’t have had us leave.” I snarl.
Gjerta smiles. “Get used to it. There is going to be so many more things he doesn’t tell you because he feels that he needs to keep you safe.“ She winks at me. “You will find them out anyways, given time…he just doesn’t know that yet.”
I growl under my breath as I take a seat in a chair in the study.
“You’re really going to leave us, aren’t you cousin?” Erin asks.
I look down at my lap. “Yeah. “
Morrigan frowns. “You know what that means…”
I nod. “I will lose my connection to the Stargazer Homelands. I will be able to add strength to the shields since I am a blood Stargazer, but should the shields go down, I will never know, nor will I be able to find the homelands when I die.“
Erin frowns. “Are you going to keep the name?”
I shrug. “Probably for a while. I won’t be able to join the Longfangs till after the pup is born. They won’t let me do it while I am pregnant. Too afraid of hurting the pup. If I change it, I’ll let you know.”
Erin nods. “I am going to go and start gathering the elders.”
I nod. Erin leaves and closes the door behind her.
Gjerta nods. “I am going to put Henrick to bed.” She gives me a hug. “You will be fine. Remember what I told you before you left. You are always welcome here, regardless.”
Morrigan is gliding across her room gathering things. “Now that they are gone, please tell me what’s on your mind.”
I frown. “The Longfangs don’t have a Homeland. Stanrick’s Mother left a book, which I don’t think he has ever fully read. Most don’t know where they had started from. There is a loose family history, but that started with Soulvieg’s generation. I think she was the last one who knew where they were from and she never told anyone else. So even when I join their pack, I am going to be doomed to wonder the forest.”
Morrigan looks at me. “How many of the blood rites to you know?”
I frown. “I know the individual joining and severing of a pack member.”
Morrigan nods. “There are others. If you are going to walk this path, you need to know them all. If they don’t have one, make them one. Make them a proper pack spiritually. That is your new job, to guide them spiritually. Rill and you may be on the same level right now, but I see you going so much farther. After the pup is born, you are to come back here and finish your training. Understood?”
The conviction I heard in Morrigan’s voice was pretty astounding. I just nod my head. “Yes Rhya.”
“I will also gather supplies and transcribe some rites for you to take with back to Onsallas that should help you deal with the Corruption better and hopefully figure out a way to cleanse it. Until then, drink this.” She hands me a cup of what appears to be tea. “It will protect the pup from the shock of the severing tomorrow. Unfortunately, that is something I can’t protect you from.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I drag my feet as we head up the path. I am going slowly on purpose. I want to savor this feeling. This connectedness. I am terrified. Stanrick is pulling the cart next to me. Keres and Bridget are already at the site, probably helping set up. We break into the clearing and I stop dead in my tracks. I think Erin gathered half the pack. There is a processional line on either side of the path from the entrance to the rock.
“Gods.” I swear as I inhale a shaky breath and rub my hands over my face to try to get the tears to stop. Stanrick looks amazed at the amount of people gathered for this.

“Did she gather your entire pack?” he asks as we stand there in amazement.
“No. Though I swear this has to be half.” I mumble. I swallow hard. “Leave the cart here. They will bring it in.” We start up the path. Everyone is hugging me, touching me, crying, and telling me they will miss me. I can’t help but to start to cry. We finally get to the front. There at the base of the rock stand Erin, Garik, Bridget and Keres along with the Elders. Uncles Waylen, Pryderi, Grandma’s Frayas brother Drudwyn, and his mate Lone. High Priestess Morrigan is there along with her daughters, Deidra and Breanna, probably to help oversee the rite since we have no formal witch yet. Cousin Maeve steps up with the bowl and the knife. Deidra and Breanna step up next to me and slightly behind me on either side. They whisper in my ear.

“We are here to catch you when you fall.” Deidra starts “and to make sure the baby isn’t harmed.” Breanna finishes. I nod lightly.
Meave comes forward and holds up the bowl. “Today we say goodbye to one of our own. She chooses to find Gaia’s calling outside the arms of the pack and we have agreed to let her go in good faith.” Meave calls out to the people behind us. I try very hard to stare at the rock behind everyone as tears run down my cheeks. “She knows she is loved and will be missed and knows we will no longer be there as we once were, but trusts in our strength to survive without her. As the Great Wolf had to sever his ties with his pack to join Gaia’s pack, we will now sever hers from ours so that she may make bonds with her new one.“ Meave walks over to Erin who holds out her hand. Meave cuts it and she bleeds into the bowl. She also does this for Uncles Waylen, Pryderi and Grandpa Drudwyn. She walks over to me and I hold out my hand. She slices it across the palm. I turn my hand over and bleed into the bowl. Meave then walks up to High Priestess Morrigan, who from a pouch pours a clear liquid into the bowl. She turns, tears in her eyes, her voice cracking a little as she talks. “Fire cleanses all things but it also destroys. So with clean conscience we send you forth on your own, Selena, with all the love and best wishes we can.” She takes a stone flint from her pouch and strikes it. The bowl ignites with a whoosh and I feel like my heart is about to explode. I feel my legs give out as I grab my chest. Deidra and Breanna catch me and hold me upright until the feeling passes, about the same time as the fire dies down. There is an emptiness. I know what the feeling is supposed to be, but it’s not there now. I can still feel my connection to Gaia. I look around. Some of them feel it too, like there was something there and now it’s gone. Someone lets out a mournful howl from the back and the rest join in. I bite my cheek until I taste blood to keep from crying out in pain and emptiness. Erin and Garik hug me, and so does Uncle Waylen and Pryderi. I walk up to Grandpa Drudwyn.
With a shaky voice I say, “When you go to the Homelands, tell them why I will not be there. Give my mom and dad my love. Tell Torolf I am sorry. Tell my other children that I love them and I am sorry that mommy will not get to see them. “
The old grey Ulven looks at me and nods solemnly before hugging me and whispers in my ear, “They will not be ashamed of you. They will find you in the forest.”
I look at everyone one last time as they part to take the processional out. I walk. Stanrick takes my hand and walks beside me. I do not turn around and look. I can’t…Stanrick does for me though.
“They are all crying.” He mumbles.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks.” I know.”

Knock knock knock.
“Come in,” Anne called through the heavy door of her office. A slight young man stepped over the threshold, striking her by how much he had grown since they had first picked him up in Oarsmeet. Seated at her desk, Anne’s gaze gradually came to meet the boy’s.
“You asked to see me, ma’am?” His voice was steady, but there was anxiety in his eyes.
“Relax, you’re not in trouble. I need to speak to you about the future. Your future.” His nervous eyes grew wide, though he struggled to maintain his composure. “Tell me: how are you at keeping secrets? Not from your enemies, but from your friends? Those you once called allies?”
“I-I don’t know. Pretty good, I would say,” he stammered.
“I need you to be perfect. Can I count on you?”
“Tell me first. Who exactly am I keeping this from?” His curiosity piqued, Anne knew better than to reveal her plan so soon.
“I’ll ask again: Can I count on you?”
“Yes. Yes you can. I won’t tell a soul,” the boy promised, eager to be let in on the secret.
Anne reached into a drawer on her desk, quickly removing a small sheet of paper. It had been sealed with wax, bearing the Compass Rose crest of Aldoria, which the boy recognized as the symbol Anne had been using for official New Oarsmeet business for many years. She stepped outfrom behind her desk, extending the letter to him, but pulled back as he reached out to grasp it. “Then prove it. This is not for your eyes. It is not for Morty’s eyes. This is for the highest ranking official in New Aldoria with whom you can speak. Understood?”
Confusion was written as clearly on his face as the nervousness previously had. He was intrigued, wanting to tear open the letter then and there to read its contents, although he knew Anne’s blades were never far away, and to do so would be suicide. Instead he simply nodded.
“Good. It’s a long trip to take alone. You should stock up and get going soon. Head down to the warehouse. The workers are expecting you.” She turned and walked back to her desk but remained standing.
“Anne, what’s going on? Is everything okay?” The boy prodded, hoping to sate some of his curiosity. “Why can’t the Captain know? Why am I being sent? Why can’t you go? What’s in this letter?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions when you should be leaving. Like I said, you have a long road ahead of you. The sooner you begin, the sooner you finish.”
“I trust you, Anne. I really do. You’re the only officer who doesn’t always treat me like I’m worthless. But I can’t do this. Not without a few answers first,” he took a step closer, urging his now shaking voice to sound soothing. This was clearly important to the First Mate, but why couldn’t she tell him anything?
“I suppose you’ve been doing well recently. You’ve put up with a lot from us and have become a man because of-no-despite us. I’ll try to explain. Stop me if you have any questions.” Anne turned to face the boy, her face as solemn as her tone. A mix of pride, fear, and determination flashed in her eyes before she began to speak again. “I wasn’t always a pirate. Long ago, I was actually a Lieutenant in Aldoria’s Royal Navy. My Captain, crew and I scoured the seas for people like what I have become. I left because I disagreed with an order. I still know in my heart that doing so was the right move. What was the mistake, however, was throwing my lot in with Morty and his band. That was ten years ago. I was young, and they promised me adventure and silver. They weren’t wrong, but I am starting to believe that I was. I should have stayed behind in Oarsmeet and died fighting the Undead. I should have stayed a prisoner of my old crew and started a new life in the new world. I should have done something, ANYthing, except what I did. I realize this now, but I fear it may be too late.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Morty has been actively working to keep me out of the loop on many decisions. His demeanor has changed over the last few months, and now it seems that his son is following in his footsteps. I don’t know what has come over them, but I do know that I don’t like it and want no part of it. That’s what the letter is. It’s a chance at a new life. Actually, it may be a chance at my old life. I’m hoping to communicate with New Aldoria to reenlist myself and any from New Oarsmeet who wish to join me in the Aldorian Navy. Morty cannot know, because I would hate to see his reaction; I can only assume it would be violent. This is why I cannot go. If I were to suddenly take a trip to New Aldoria, Morty would become suspicious. You avoid his notice most times, and others he would be glad to be rid of you. You have given me no reason to distrust you so far, and I need you to continue to do so. Take this letter, and give me an opportunity to redeem myself for the crimes I have committed this past decade. You are free to make your own decision regarding my departure, but in a few months’ time, one way or another, I will be leaving the crew. Stay, go, or come with me, the choice is yours. I wish only that it didn’t have to be the case.”
“You’re serious? You’re leaving the crew? What will become of the town? Of the ship?” The boy pressed, awestruck by the words he had just heard.
“Dead serious. The town is under my protection. I will remain here and lead the people if I can, or encourage them to come with me if I cannot. The people are resourceful. I’m sure they can find some way to make their homes elsewhere,” Anne explained. Her eyes started to dart around the room, clearly anxious that this conversation was still continuing. “As for the ship, that belongs to Morty. He may sail it wherever he wishes, but will know that he is no longer welcome in the Port of New Oarsmeet.”
“I’m coming with you. This life is clearly not for me, and the crew doesn’t care about me. I’m a joke to them, and I’m sick of it. Hell, just look at the name they gave me! We could leave tonight! They wouldn’t be able to stop us until we were long gone!” The boy was getting excited by the idea of freedom from the crew.
“No, I can’t. I have a responsibility to the people here, and have other matters to which I must attend. You must leave now, though. The sooner that letter reaches Prince Aylin or one of his officers, the sooner we can put this whole matter behind us,” Anne said, sitting down at her desk once again. She glanced up at the boy. “Oh, and Artyom, thank you. It is nice to know that I’m not in this alone.” The boy was struck once again by her words and stood, staring at the First Mate. “Everything okay?” Anne asked him, taken aback by his response.
“You…you’ve never called me that before…” The young mage began before trailing off.
“Would you prefer to go back to being ‘Swabby’?”
“No! No. Thank you. I’ll be back as quickly as I can with a response.”