1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

A Cold Dish

A COLD DISH

Fall 271

“Are you sure you don’t want semi-permanent ink?” asked the tattoo artist.

“This one is sure. It will need to last a long time, as this one has much work to do.”

Through a swollen eye from a recent beating, Nairesh looked at the crumpled parchment in his hand as the artist’s needle began to poke the magically infused ink onto his skin. He winced in pain, not only from the artist’s needle but also from the numerous wounds sustained in battle against the City-State task force sent to detain Celestial Arragones that had not yet healed. The fact that he was alive at all was a small miracle. After the fines were paid for the charges levied against him for “obstructing justice” and “intending harm on City-State citizens” and the promised community service in exchange for clemency, the coin handed over to the tattoo artist was literally the last that he had.

Nairesh focused on the words on the list of the first page.

Vaels of the Broken Blade Company…

Celestine Neidre…

Harkov of the Order of Starkhaven…

Ozric of the Ravens…

There were other names on the list, along with notes and descriptions of some of the groups involved during the attack on Celestial Arragones’ estate, but these names stood out more than the others at this time. Nairesh painfully remembered being bound, knocked unconscious several times, and being berated and belittled. Of how Nairesh, so sure of his imminent death in the moment, gave in fully to the emotion and the anger of the moment. Years of practice to not allow emotions to rule him utterly evaporated in seconds as he bled from multiple wounds in the dirt. The pain and sorrow of casting his life’s work into the fire in an act of defiance while watching his friends and fellow scholars bleeding and wounded or laying cold and dead from the City-State’s assault. But Nairesh did not feel one particular emotion; there was no regret for his part in destroying these invaluable things with fire. He was bitter and glad to play his part in the Celestial’s show of defiance; of denying the aggressors what they so desperately wanted that day. They brought their banners and marched on the Celestial’s holdings but the prize they sought was reduced to nothing more than ash.

The beginnings of a solid line from brow to chin sanctifying the Rahd Noc, the Syndar mark of vengeance to those wronged, had officially begun. Vision blurred through emotional anger and the pain of the tattooing, Nairesh squinted and stared at three names in particular, burning them into his mind in this moment as permanently as the tattoo needle set the ink into his flesh.

Researcher Martha…

Noemi…

Zeke Ravana…

END

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Reunion

Fall, 268

After the Ulven treaty was finished, with his mate Fritha Stormjarl being instrumental in getting some sort of peace established between Clan Stormjarl and Clan Grimward, Thrand took some time to travel home.

The lands that his birth-family had lived on near the coast was in a territory that was conquered and then controlled by Clan Grimward for a long time. He suspected his family had been captured and taken as thralls to Grimward, expected to work the fields and tend to the settlement of the conquerors. With the treaty, Clan Stormjarl thralls were to be released back to their Clan should they wish to be. Fritha had been busy overseeing Stormjarl representatives making sure that all kept thralls were given the chance to return home and were not forced to stay under coercion or duress. While the treaty officially released all Stormjarl captives that wished to leave, it officially yielded the disputed Stormjarl territory known as “Haygreth’s Scar” to become Clan Grimward lands.

It was a painful journey; the remnants of settlements yet to be rebuilt from the conquest of Clan Grimward during the Ulven Civil War were visible along the way. Yet life carries on; with new settlements being built and considerable defensive positions being established on the Stormjarl-Grimward border.

It had been years since he had seen them, since he was honor-bound to be sent to Pack Longfang for service at Onsallas Outpost far north near the Dirge Swamp. Thrand arrived at the village and went to work finding his birth-family in an attempt to reconnect with them and tell them of his journeys, his stories of expeditions in the swamp, of standing against Clan Grimward, of conquering new lands for the Stormjarl people on the Stormborn Coast. He had many stories to share.

One story in particular was very recent and involved the treaty.

——–

“You can’t afford this fight.” says Thrand Stormjarl to Haygreth Grimward, Clanleader of Clan Grimward.

Taken aback, the Clanleader focuses in and gives his full attention to the Ulven before him. His recent comments were haughty; depicting Grimward as superior and that Stormjarl was “lucky” for this outcome.

“You really think we wouldn’t win if this fight continues?” says Haygreth in an inquisitive and condescending tone. His interest was peaked that someone would dare speak up to him like this.

“I didn’t say we would win. I said you can’t afford this fight” repeats Thrand confidently, before continuing.

“Your Clan may be larger and have more warriors, supplies, and land, but a fight to the end with my Clan would be the end of yours. You can’t conquer our people, you can barely hold what you’ve already taken, and Clan Stormjarl’s tenacity would cost you so dearly that you would be no match for any other Clan in the future and you would never recover. You would kill the cornered wolf… and then die from losing too much blood.”

Haygreth takes in these words for a moment, locking eyes with Thrand and sizing him up.

“Then I guess it’s for the best of both our Clans that we came to an agreement and a treaty this day” finally says the Clanleader deliberately.

“I guess it is then, for the best, so both our Clans have a chance at a future” replies Thrand before he turns and walks away.

———

“You should have seen the look on his face, father. I think he was at a loss for words that someone would question him and say something like that. Luckily, he didn’t notice how terrified I was!” laughs Thrand.

“Mother, you always taught me to look for the good in others and give them a chance. Some of my experiences have made that difficult. Ulven fighting Ulven, Colonists overstepping their bounds… it makes the world a complex place. But I promise I will try.”

“And Brother, I fondly remember the times we spent running the woods and learning to shoot bow and arrow and run along the grasslands watching the ships sail by the coastline. Who would have ever thought I would run with Pack Longfang, let alone train their warriors for battle.”

Thrand reaches out and touches the stone with reverence. On it, contain the carved names of over two dozen Clan Stormjarl Ulven. The large stone, and the smaller ones around it, is a small memorial honoring those that died in defense of the settlement during the Clan Grimward invasion. The memorial was all that was left of the village, the decaying lumber of burned buildings peeking through the overgrown grass.

“I will remember you all, of your bravery in defending our Clan’s home and the lessons you all taught me” says Thrand as he removes his hand from the memorial stone and turns to look North.

In the distance, barely visible, are the border flags marking the territory between Clan Stormjarl and Clan Grimward, the lands beyond now known as Haygreth’s Scar.

“Honor demands retribution.” says Thrand deliberately as he turns and walks away, heading South further into Clan Stormjarl lands.

END

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Cowards!

After watching the mace fell the proud Branthur Nightriver, leader of Clan Nightriver, the feeling of rage, betrayal, shock and fear rose amongst the assembly… I, among them. Apparently I was unable to hide my anger as the New Aldorian representative felt the need to remind me not to make the first strike, to stand down and only defend myself if necessary. The fool… I knew what needed to be done, I knew what it would look like if a human struck first but of course with tension already high I bit my tongue.

The grimward taunted us, offering a chance to surrender or death and while no one knew what would happen if we did surrender everyone had a feeling it wouldn’t end well if you were a colonist… Thankfully no one tested that theory though there were a few that looked tempted to save themselves and as time slowly passed a glimmer of hope was discreetly passed around, a note informing us that Branthur’s Warpack was moving to the settlement. A choice was made within mere moments of receiving this news, we needed to buy time and wait for the warpack to strike to make our escape. Bryech went around seeing who would stay behind to hold the grimward back as those who could not fight fled. I chose to stay behind and stand with the few others that made such choices as well, though as I looked back at those who CHOSE not to… Able bodied, armed, some even armored or capable of using magic.

Self proclaimed Guardians…

Supposed do-gooders Golden Hand…

And many more faces though unrecognizable to me, hiding behind the few brave enough to stay behind.

Pathetic… Cowards all of them!

I will remember their faces, and the faces of those who stood with me as the horns blew and Grimward attacked. Seymour and Voltaire of the Blades of Sol, Vaels of the Broken Blades and the Bryech and Toralf of clan Stormjarl. As soon as the Grimward attacked everything happened so quickly, we had to fall back but we made sure to make them struggle for every inch. Slowly losing people as the fight drew on… First it was Voltaire needing to retreat, then Vaels, Seymour… Then me at the very frequent command of Runeseer Aslaug.

As I turned to retreat I overheard the rage filled battlecries of Toralf ring out. I’ve heard these sort of battlecries before… Usually right before the person flies into a rage to stave off death just long enough to take others out with them. Cursing the Runeseer under my breath I continued my retreat, eventually meeting up with the retreating assembly and was immediately questioned by the ulven accompanying Vaels “Where’s Vaels?”

“What do you mean? He should have arrived before me.” I scanned the group and he was nowhere to be found, and as quickly as I caught up to the group I left to search for Vaels only to come within eyeshot of him being finished off by a Grimward Warrior, the same one who taunted us… Once again I returned to the assembly, unable to face the ulven’s question I prepared myself to face the attackers once more as they drew closer. Taking another look at the cowards who chose not to fight, curse them… If we had more willing to stand and fight no one would have had to die!

As the final clash happened and the remaining assembly fled, I found myself squaring off with the one who announced the coming of the stonetooth. If it was any other situation I would have thrown myself at her in an effort to cut her down but my primary goal was to hold and buy time so I just held and made sure to keep her spear at bay until finally it was my time to flee.

I left that battle angry… I am still angry as I carve my way to Clan Stormjarl now in hopes of offering aid.

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Pack Ironhide

Pack Ironhide

Clan: None (Formerly Ironmound)

Estimated Size: Small (200-300)

Insignia: Grey wolf head.

Pack Leader: Drakkon Ironhide

High Priestess: Stáli Ironhide

Pack Ironhide lies beyond what is now known as the Shield of Mardrun along the Seafang Cliffs. They’re a smaller clanless pack but it wasn’t always like this. Long ago they were part of Clan Ironnmound, this bond was forged on mutual respect of their craft but over time that bond would deteriorate due to differing beliefs. While Ironmound beliefs lean more heavily towards the Great Wolf, Ironhide views Iron and Stone as gifts from Gaia therefore leaning more heavily towards Gaia herself which led to the pack having more Daughters of Gaia.

This difference in beliefs led to a rift forming between the leaders and eventually causing pack Ironhide to go their own way. It took much convincing of the pack, but eventually they all would agree to risk the dangers and go beyond where most clanless dwell for a place they could call their own. The Leader at the time, Halldór Ironhide would lead them to the mountain range known as the Seafang Cliffs where they would begin to settle, but the journey was not without loss. Many of the pack did not make it to the mountains, frequent skirmishes with Mordok would dwindle their numbers down but within these losses there was a lesson to be learned.

With the loss of his kin weighing on his mind Halldór would adopt the custom of using metal armor from their old clan Ironnmound. At first the idea unsettled many due to the rift that formed between the pack and the clan but to justify this the phrase “We arm ourselves with the strength of Gaia, we protect ourselves with her gift” would be born. Now with the strength of metal protecting them they would begin to hold their own. With time the pack would establish a village fortified with iron and stone. As months turned into years, Pack Ironhide became more stable, confident even.

Eventually warriors wishing to prove themselves to achieve a higher status within the pack would head towards the outskirts of the Dirge Swamp; those who returned often brought trophies to prove their conquest. Wishing to keep their borders safe Halldór would implement the Trial of Iron pushing warriors old and young to go out, slay Mordok and bring back proof of their kills.

With the land secured the Ironhide would focus their efforts on producing a safe trade route along the western coast to the south packs/clans and reestablishing connections while remaining vigilant as the world around them is always changing.

Timeline Events and the Pack

  • Year 160: Split from Clan Ironmound and made their way north to form a new village known as Járnúlfur.
  • Year 165: Trade route to the south is finished
  • Year 170: Halldór succeeded by his eldest son, Sigurður, as the new Pack Leader only to pass in his sleep a few years later.
  • Year 220: News of what happened to Pack Blackwing spreads to the Ironhide. In response scouts are sent to bring in any survivors and to recover any bodies found so they may be put to the pyre properly.
  • Year 245: Sigurður is succeeded by his only son Drakkon as the new Pack Leader.
  • Year 250: News of the colonists first landing was slow to reach the pack but this did not stop them from sending warriors to defend their home from the humans and syndar. With this said the moment a truce was made pack Ironhide respected it and returned to their home.
  • Year 261: News of the civil war caused unrest within the pack though they refused to participate in the killing of their own kind they made their disgust which such acts known.
  • Year 264: Pack Ironhide would send supplies to the Shield of Mardrun in hopes to help rebuild and make their support known to the Longfang.
  • Year 267: The Mordok would put the Ironhide on the defensive, their losses forcing them to focus more on defending their home.

Rumors revolving around the pack

  • Their eyes reflect their craft, a steely gray.
  • Their daughters are also skilled in blacksmithing, blessing the armor itself.
  • Their daughters use the Mordok trophies the warriors bring back in the making of their metal gear giving it a darker finish.
  • The more heavily armored an Ironhide is, the higher their kill count.
  • Those who still carry trophies of Mordok claim they’re from an alpha or a shaman.
  • The current High Priestess and mate of the Pack Leader is said to be a Bloodfang, one of the last few survivors of the civil war though she did not participate like the rest of the Ironhide pack.
  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Drekar Stormhowl

Player Name : Nicholas Knight

Character Name : Drekar Stormhowl

Gender : Male

Preferred Pronouns : He/Him

Class : Warrior

Age : Born in the spring of 245

Race : Ulven

Hair : Brown.

Eyes : Silver

Birthplace : Járnúlfur

Appearance : Silver eyed and fangless, Drekar can usually be seen sporting his pack colors if he isn’t in his chain.

Relationships: Son of Drakkon Ironhide and Stali Ironhide (formerly Stali Bloodfang), older sister Dreki Ironhide.

Rumors : – Has a silver tongue to match his silver eyes.

Backstory

My first memory is of the name “Stormhowl” being bestowed upon me. My mother claims the name came to her from Gaia, as my first cries resonated with the storm’s thunderous roars.

“Stormhowl, now that’s a name that’ll strike fear into the enemies!” A loud, booming voice rang out, followed quickly by a hearty laugh. This voice I would quickly come to learn belonged to my father. So began the high expectations placed on me by my father.

As soon as I was able to stand on my own, it was as if my father was preparing me for the training to come. At first, it started out as simple play fighting—giving me a toy sword and having me chase him—but the older I grew, the more it became like actual training. My father didn’t give me special treatment either; I don’t believe he held back a single moment. Many times I would return with a missing fang, though as they grew back, they became much more blunted, and eventually my “fangs” were no longer fangs. It wasn’t long after that that I made sure to avoid anything near my head, fearing what else I might lose.

Thankfully, I took to combat quite well, though my father would say that’s to be expected, being his son. Most of my time spent with my father was spent training or shadowing him in his day-to-day duties as pack leader, though there were times when I was left with my mother. My time spent with her was much different than with my father. To compare them would be to compare a storm to a gentle breeze. It was through her that I learned the love that I have for my pack, my craft, and Gaia.

One morning, as I was getting ready to see my father for more training, my mother beckoned me to her as she stood in the entryway of our home, looking down upon the village of Járnúlfur. “Come, child, look around you and tell me what it is you see.” Their voice was barely above a whisper. Quiet and withheld. Not unsure, but gentle like the dew on the morning grass.

Unsure how to answer, I couldn’t help but sheepishly say the first thing that came to mind: “Uhh, people?”

Where my father’s laugh is loud, thunderous, and typically draws all attention to him. My mother’s is much more tame. “Family, our people, our home… Do you know why I am reminding you of this?”

“To remind me what I’m fighting for?” I began to squint, trying to read her face, as this felt like odd timing for such a conversation.

“Yes, I want you to always remember your home… I will never forget mine, and I hope you never will either. May it give you strength in the days and trials to come.” Her tone when referring to home always felt sorrowful, but I couldn’t help but wonder why she chose now to talk about this. “Go on, pup; I’ve held you for long enough, and your father is waiting for you.”

As I made my way to my father, I couldn’t help but look back out of confusion and concern until finally I came upon my father and many other young ulven. I’ve seen this before. It all makes sense now—the worry of my mother and why she reminded me of our values. I, along with these other ulven, am unblooded and yet to prove ourselves. I’ve seen my father send many groups of unblooded warriors out with a veteran warrior to look after them. Now it was my turn.

As we all stood in line before my father, he began to walk down the line, eyeing each and every one of us. “Unblooded, a title given to those who have chosen the path of the wolf, the warrior… But they have not yet proven themselves in real combat. It’s time for you to shed this title like a winter coat and prove yourself to be worthy,” he paused, stopping dead center of the line before continuing with his usual speech, or so I thought. “Normally, we would send you out with a veteran, one who has claimed many trophies, an Iron Wolf… But this year my son will be accompanying you, and thus you need no Iron Wolf to guide you pups!”

Immediately all eyes were on me; the pressure was immense, and I couldn’t help but go wide-eyed in shock. He’s leaving these unblooded to me; who is also unblooded? Is this some sort of test? “Fa-” before I could speak, another voice expressed their concern. “Is that really okay? Even with a veteran, I’ve heard tales of sometimes not everyone making it back.”

My father smirked as if he were fully confident in me. I have no idea why he would be so confident; I’ve never done anything even remotely close to leading a hunting party! “That’s exactly why it’s okay, because all of you will return with trophies in hand! Now, you have until sunset to return… May her gift protect you.” And with that, he walked away, leaving us with our own thoughts. Though it wasn’t long before someone spoke,. “So, what’s the plan?”

I looked around, eyeing up what we had in terms of weapons. Varik with the dane axe, Luufi with a bow, Denal with two swords, then myself, and Astrid with shields. Not the worst combination, though I would have preferred another shield. Before I could complete my thought, another piped up, “I heard that if we don’t bring back a trophy, we get sent to Onsallas.”

“None of us are going to fail.” I interrupted. “Look, I’ll stay with Varik and Denal up front and hold their attention. Astrid, I want you to be with me, but as soon as you see anything eyeing up, Luufi splits off and protects them. Luufi, aim for the legs. A downed mordok should be easier to handle than a standing one. Varik you break their shields; open them up to Luufi.” A moment of silence fell on the group as I surprised even myself, but then again, all plans are easier said than done.

After some last-minute preparations, we headed out, looking at where the sun would be due to the cloud coverage. It was about midday, which left only a few hours left. It wasn’t long after leaving the Ironhide lands that we encountered some straggling Mordok, though for some reason they didn’t engage and rather fled. Though it wasn’t long after that, we discovered why, as a storm suddenly rolled in, and with it, the light of day seemed to almost vanish. We were now a hunting party of unblooded warriors looking to gather trophies in the dark and the rain, making the ground we walk on as unreliable as the Mardrun weather.

It wasn’t long until those same stragglers appeared again, but this time it wasn’t just two; we were now outnumbered six to five. The battle quickly ensued, and thankfully they had no archers, but sadly, everyone forgot the plan as soon as it started.

“ASTRID COVER LUUFI AND DAMMIT LUUFI, I SAID SHOOT THEIR LEGS!” I shouted, fighting the sound of the rain and thunder, as I felt my shield breaking at the mordok’s assault. Varik and Denal were struggling against one who slipped past me, but that’s when I heard it, almost as if they were cutting through the sound of the storm itself. Luufi’s arrows struck rapidly, though not quite true, but it was enough of a distraction to give us an opening.

The battle was over in a few moments, but those moments felt like ages as my shield arm began to grow numb from the assault. Four down, two more to go—the mordok. The original stragglers knew that if they stayed, they would have fallen, so they fled. “Luufi, stop them!” I shouted, turning to look at him, and that’s when I noticed he was out of arrows. Four bodies, five unblooded, and with the storm getting heavier, we needed to head back now, which leaves us with an issue.

“Who gets left out?” breaking the silence amongst us, Denal questioned. We were all questioning it, but before I could even respond, they began to argue. “I cut this one clean in half!”; “You wouldn’t have done it without my arrows stopping it from doing the same to you!”; “Yeah, well, you would’ve been minced meat if it wasn’t for my shield!”

I could feel my anger rising—how quickly they were ready to argue amongst themselves when we needed to get back to the village. Finally, the anger boiled over, and I shouted against the rain and the storm itself, “ENOUGH! I will go without! Now grab your damn trophies before I knock your fucking fangs out! WE ARE MOVING!” And with that, I began to walk back before anyone could say anything else. It was a long, quiet walk back. There were a few times Astrid attempted to speak to me, but I couldn’t have noticed. I was worried about what might happen now that I was returning empty-handed.

The day slowly turned into night as we reached the gates of Járnúlfur. It would seem we barely made it back. I took a moment to look at everyone who was already holding their trophies proudly. I wanted to say good job; I wanted to encourage them; I wanted to do something—anything a true leader would do—but all I could feel was shame that I returned with nothing. Slowly, the gates opened, revealing my father.

With arms stretched out as if preparing to hug us all, my father loudly shouts, “And so the unblooded return, or perhaps Járnúlfur new wolves… Turn in your trophies, and tomorrow we will have one of the daughters forge you your first armament, marking you as one of the Wolves of Járnúlfur and no longer unblooded.” We formed a line to do exactly that, and I decided to remain in the back in hopes that my disappointment would be handled in private.

“You should tell him the truth.” A faint whisper came from ahead of me, Astrid. “If it wasn’t for you yelling at the start of the fight, one of us, if not more, wouldn’t be here.”

“No… I should have pushed harder. Focused more on attacking than defending.”

“If you would’ve done that, who’s to say we all still would’ve made it?” Her response was stern and, surprisingly, cut deep. My failure allowed others to succeed.

Astrid stepped up to my father, holding her trophy aloft. The look of surprise and curiosity all at once appeared on my father’s face. It took him a moment before he collected his thoughts and spoke, “Astrid, we don’t normally take more than an ear or something small, so it may not encumber us, but depending on your answer, I may find bringing a whole arm back acceptable.”

“Well, I figured with how hard he was hitting my shield, it would be better to put those arms to my own use than to leave them there to rot.” Her words took me off guard, and I struggled not to laugh, and judging by his reaction, my father was the same.

“Good answer! Now go get yourself some rest!” He let out a hearty laugh as I approached. There was a moment of silence as I held on to nothing. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes until, finally, the silence broke with a sigh.

“You’ve brought back nothing to show; what’s the reason for this?” His gaze felt like arrows trained on me, and his tone was that of disappointment.

“I didn’t fight hard enough; I hid behind my shield while everyone else did everything.” The silence fell once more. What will happen? I’ve never heard of someone returning with nothing. My mind began to race at all the possible things that could happen.

“Drekar, you claimed to have hid while others fought… You were sent in place of an Iron Wolf to assure their safety while also claiming your own trophy, not to hide behind others. For your failure, you will accompany the next shipment of materials to Onsallas, and there you will find your own path until you have proven yourself to Gaia and the Great Wolf. If I recall Stanrick owes me a favor, I’ll have him teach you a lesson in my stead.” And with that, he turned his back on me. Not that I can blame him in his eyes; I failed entirely, and even now I’m lying to him to save the others from such a punishment.

That night, it seemed even sleep turned its back on me, as I couldn’t get a wink of it. Perhaps because come morning I’d have to face them once more before being sent away. What a dreadful thought to fall asleep to; no wonder I couldn’t. Eventually I grew restless and gathered my things in preparation for my departure, finishing just as sunlight poured through the window and with it the sound of footsteps approaching my door.

“Drekar, the sun rises, and we must meet it, my son.” My father’s voice carried through the door. I wasn’t ready to face him, but I must.

My father and I went towards the gate, my mother and sister choosing to stay behind, feigning sickness instead of watching me be sent off. There, ready for departure, sat the next shipment and my punishment. “I already sent a hawk ahead to inform Stanrick of your coming; you should be put to work the moment you get there… I’m sure he’ll beat the fear out of you within a week’s time.”

This was it. As I boarded the shipment, I couldn’t help but look up the hill at my home. It was then that I saw my mother and sister standing outside watching, and I remembered her words, “Remember your home.” One day, I will return… And with that, I left without saying a word. For the next few days, everything was quiet as we made our way along the safe passage my great-grandfather created with the first of the Ironhide. Upon my arrival, it was discovered that the one I was originally appointed to, Stanrick Longfang, had gone missing, and the hawk sent by my father had never arrived. And with that, I was simply treated like a new recruit, someone to put to work, and put to work I was.

I saw the daily struggle the Longfang went through, the constant battle that many go through their lives not knowing, and I was thrown into the thick of it. For the next five years, I stood with them. Though I never truly stood out, nor did I ever feel like I was proving myself to Gaia and the Great Wolf… In fact, I forgot all about doing such; my only goal was to make sure no one standing beside me fell, though many times I failed to do so. With each battle fought and won, I found myself standing more proudly on the line, but eventually I began to worry if I was ever going to return to Járnúlfur. With this worry growing and eating up my thoughts every chance it gets, I went to Runeseer Aslaug for guidance.

“Runeseer… “Before I could finish my sentence, I was interrupted by the raising of a hand. “I know why you’re here, Drekar; your face says it all, and I will do my best to answer it, but I will not answer more than that.” She let out a sigh before continuing. “When you first came here, it was quite confusing, though you adjusted well, you listened, and you’re not stupid. Stupid gets you killed here, and obviously you’re not dead, so that says something. As for the reason you were sent here, I believe you are a fine warrior, but whether or not you’ve proven yourself to the gods isn’t my say. Your mother sent a message asking how you fare, and I told her the minimum: you live.”

“And my fa-,” the hand raises once more. “You already know the answer to that, but first let me speak. I believe you must feel yourself worthy to return, and with that, I believe you must leave and find your own path. In fact, I’m telling you to go, but know this: you are always welcomed amongst the Longfang; here you are one of us; here you are Drekar Longfang. Now, go before I change my mind and have you sit at the front gate for a week!” She pushed me out as she spoke; if anything, this led to more questions. What does she mean by my own path? Where do I even start? I guess anywhere is as good as any. I looked around at Onsallas; this place grew to feel like a second home. Perhaps one day I will return here as well.

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Keeper Tristan

PLAYED BY: Xak Hawkins

CHARACTER NAME: Keeper Tristan

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: Late-30s

RACE: Human

HAIR: Black

EYES: Blue/Green

OCCUPATION: Battle Cleric of Nythara and North Seat for Knights of the Ebon Veil

KNOWN SKILLS: Keeping secrets.

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

APPEARANCE: Black on Black on Black

NOTABLE TRAITS:

RELATIONSHIPS: unknown

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Tristan’s early years were suffocated by the zealous devotion of his parents to Arnath. Every corner of their household reverberated with the deity’s teachings, paving a pre-ordained path for Tristan as an unwavering cleric of the faith. Yet, as the world outside their home began to unravel, Tristan’s yearning for freedom intensified.

The undead scourge on Faedrun was a nightmarish reality that no one could escape. The once-vibrant cities and towns lay in ruin, and a shadow of fear blanketed the land. As the undead horde advanced, swallowing everything in its path, the Fist of Arnath began to teeter in its resolve. Despite his parents’ rigid beliefs, they recognized the looming threat and made the heart-wrenching decision to leave everything behind and board a battle barge to the new lands which the Fist promised to hold their salvation.

This mass exodus was a defining moment for Tristan. He watched the familiar shores of Faedrun fade away, replaced by the uncertainty of a new land.  By now, the Fist had established the fortress city of Starkhaven, and it was here that he and his parents settled in.  There was a frantic push for the training of new clerics to replace the fallen in Faedrun and bolster ranks against the Ulven threat on Mardrun.  There was no time for processing what all had happened – every waking moment was spent in the library studying Arnath’s glory.  It was pressure that placed another crack in his already crumbling convictions about his god’s efficacy.  If Arnath was so powerful and just – why would he let this happen to them?

Here, amidst the chronicles of old and new worlds, he chanced upon a hidden treasure—an obscured book that would reshape his destiny. Nestled amongst scriptures venerating Arnath in an unassuming leather tome was the alluring tale of Nythara, a seemingly forgotten Goddess of Secrets, Darkness, and the Unknown. Tristan had never heard of this religion before but he quickly felt enraptured by Nythara’s enigma.

Where Arnath’s teachings felt confining, Nythara’s words danced with freedom, self-reliance, and the power of secrets withheld.  As Tristan embraced this newfound faith, he secretly began to worship Nythara, finding solace in her teachings and becoming obsessed with every aspect of her.  He was suddenly a rising star among the clerical ranks, but secretly – it was Nythara’s name he whispered in prayer, not Arnath’s.

Secrets however,  have a way of emerging from the shadows if they are not closely guarded. When his father discovered his hidden shrine to Nythara, it sparked a confrontation not just between father and son, but between two clashing ideologies. Tristan returned home one day to find his father in a rage – the Nytharran tome in one hand and parchments of “art” Tristan had drawn of Nythara in the other – many of which lacked clothing.  The resulting tussle ended with his father bleeding and unconscious and Tristan standing over him, a bloody statuette of Arnath clutched in his hand.

Tristan left that night and never returned.  He wanted to be as far from Starkhaven as possible and resolved that it was time for him to finally shake free from Arnath’s stifling embrace.  Nythara was his true and only love.  She was his true and only future.

He prayed for many nights to her seeking guidance, but he knew an answer would never come.  Nythara respected self-reliance and a true prayer to her would be Tristan forging his own way forward.  He drew upon the only resource he now possessed – Strength.

Strength of will.  Strength of mind. Strength of Conviction.

The following years are not something Tristan speaks of lightly.  He ended up in the settlement of Oarsmeet working at a tavern named “The Longpig”.  When Oarsmeet burned down and was eventually rebuilt as the town of Haven, Tristan was known to frequent it.  He considers this time period to be his “secondary education”, but when asked about this portion of his life, he usually becomes quiet in reflection.   He now spends his days proselytizing Nythara’s tenets to lost souls who need her.

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Dúrnir Stonegut

PLAYED BY: Jared Levine

CHARACTER NAME: Dúrnir Stonegut

GENDER: Man

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 31

RACE: Ulven

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Most recently, Dúrnir has been acting as a shiphand and militia fighter. Previously, he was a farmhand.

KNOWN SKILLS: Combat training, navigation, knot-tying, fishing, basic armor and weapon maintenance, agriculture.

BIRTHPLACE: Originally, a large fishing village along the southern coast of Stormjarl territory

APPEARANCE: Dúrnir has long hair, often kept tied in a ponytail, as well as a full, bushy beard.

NOTABLE TRAITS: None to the eye, though he would come across as unusually good-natured for an Ulven man.

RELATIONSHIPS:

  • Saga Elinsdottir – Wife
  • Mæva— Infant daughter. Missing, presumed dead.
  • Joni Thoginsson – Employer

RUMORS: The people from Dúrnir’s original village might cast aspersions on him as ‘the son of a fool’, while those that knew him during his time in the militia may blame him for the death of his first wife.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Dúrnir’s story begins before his birth. His father, Ráðgeirr Stonegut, was possessed of great convictions of the nature and destiny of the Ulven. He believed that the Great Wolf demanded independence and self-sufficiency, and that an over-reliance on clan and community was a stain of weakness upon the soul. While living in one such community, a large fishing village that stank of that weakness, he schemed, disappearing for days at a time, occasionally weeks. Over the years he built himself not just a family, but also a homestead, which sat along the river nearly half a day’s walk from the place he had begrudgingly lived in for over a decade. With his new home deemed fit to live in, he took his family there in the night, without a word to any of the people who had mistakenly called him friend.

Dúrnir himself was one of many, a pair of hands created so that family could do the work that most would expect of community. He was paradoxically raised from a young age to believe in the same independence of his father, and also in an unending obligation to his parents; to keep their home strong and thriving, no matter the cost. These beliefs pulled Dúrnir in opposite directions, and he resolved the contradiction in a way only a child could- falling ill and failing in both regards, requiring constant aid and attention while being unable to attend to his family’s well-being in any way.

Ráðgeirr was unreasonable, but not insurmountably so. When his son’s life appeared to be in genuine danger, he returned to their prior place of living and fetched a healer. A terse visit and exchange of coin alleviated the worst of the boy’s symptoms, for a time. The second time the spectre of death came to visit, Ráðgeirr delayed a touch longer than he ought to before making the journey once-more. When it returned for the third time, the man hardened his heart and waited for nature to take its course.

But through some miracle of circumstance or upbringing, the boy did not die. Rather, he gradually recovered, and when vigor finally returned to his body, he was set back to work, a sense of duty to the family that had so graciously kept him alive weighing down doubly upon him. It took several more years for him to realize the position he was in and the treatment he received in it, and for the small ember of resentment to develop from that realization.

His life continued in isolation, the only people he knew being his family, and the fever-hazed memory of the healer who had attended to him. He didn’t even know where the village he was born in was, having moved so early in his life that the memory of it had all but evaporated. When a Stormjarl warrior appeared at the edge of their homestead, having been told of its location by the healer, speaking of a civil war and a need for soldiers, Dúrnir could only manage to fear her as he would a wild animal, despite having reached young adulthood.

Ráðgeirr was unreasonable, but not insurmountably so. With war on the horizon, he accepted that one man alone could not face all of clan Grimward, and set off to join the army, so that violence would never fall upon the sanctuary that he and he alone had built. He never returned, and in less than a year of his absence, his family was forced by starvation and helplessness to return to the fishing village. By all accounts, they had instilled within them the skills they needed to survive, but without their patriarch, the cohesion forced upon them had dissolved.

Dúrnir found community to be frightening and confusing. He had been denied decades of socialization and education. He had nothing to his name, not even the means or words to ask for help. He was a native outsider, having only been trained on his father’s particular strain of faith and culture. It would take him years to make up what had been denied to him.

Luckily, he found a home in the Stormjarl militia. The Ulven Civil War had not yet abated, and time working on the farm and hunting in the woods had equipped him with the basic motor coordination needed to wield a weapon. The militia provided him with a softened form of the hierarchy and structure that he was used to, and offered food and lodging, so long as he kept his blood in and his enemies’ out. The next few years were a whirlwind. He fell in love with one of his fellow soldiers, Lopthæna Stormjarl, though lacked the experience to recognize it for what it was. Luckily, she didn’t, and pulled him, as an equal, into marriage. When she fell in battle next to him, the grief and rage he felt came much more naturally.

When the Civil War ended, Dúrnir found himself without purpose, but now enough wits to know that he needed one. He did odd work where he could, and eventually found himself a hand on a whaling ship, serving under a man by the name of Joni Thoginsson. Joni was something of a brute and a scoundrel, but the two of them developed a genuine friendship over their first few months at sea together, bonding over the mutual hardship each had withstood in their youths.

After a particularly bountiful and perilous voyage, he returned to port, finding it full of new faces, many of them refugees. With Joni’s ship too damaged to set back out any time soon, he settled down, no longer the outsider, and stained his soul with the weakness of community. He made friends, and even some healthy rivalries. With one of those friends, Saga Elinsdottir, he found the movements and stirrings of love, which he now had the words and motions for, and found himself bound once more in marriage, embodied in their child, Mæva.

It was a good life, for a time. But the war that had broken his first family had not died, merely slept, and in its waking thrashings, it tried to break his new one. A raid, carried out by clan Grimward, descended upon their village in the night. By all accounts, Dúrnir, having served in the militia before, should have been one of the Ulven ready to defend his home with grit and steel. But when he imagined violence crashing upon his wife and daughter, panic overtook training, and he tried in desperation to get the three of them to the docks and out onto safe waters.

They were waylaid briefly, as Saga looked for her sister and parents in the chaos. Having found none of them, they turned instead to try and make their way to the docks. It was overstuffed with countless others who had the same idea, forming a solid wall of flesh and bone that pressed in on all sides as they attempted to push their way through. Dúrnir clung to his wife tightly, and she to their daughter. Among the cacophony of shrieking and movement, he heard Saga scream, and by the time he turned to look at her, their daughter was gone. They pushed back, trying to find her, but the tidal wave of Ulven dragged them, almost in punishment, towards the docks.

They did not find safety there. Raiders set upon them. Dúrnir, in his unwillingness to simply stop looking in hopes of seeing his daughter somewhere among the crowd, allowed an attacker to sink a blade into his back. Saga set upon the Grimward soldier with arcane magic and dragged her husband away to safety, as shock consumed him.

They fell upon a boat, lacking the time or wherewithal to find its proper owner, and cast themselves out upon the sea. It was a marginal vessel, not made for long voyages, but it seemed to be fueled by the rage inside of them, and so they sailed for the Fire Isle. As days passed, and the island was nowhere to be seen, they realized that they had traveled too far east. Rather than turn around, though, Dúrnir took this as a sign. During his time in the militia, he had come to know one of the Stormjarl Einherjar. He knew of their deeds, and their mettle, and knew they would not leave this aggression unanswered. The two continued eastward, fire in their hearts, eager to lend their blades in the name of vengeance and justice.

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Saga Elinsdottir

PLAYED BY: Marisa Considine

CHARACTER NAME: Saga Elinsdottir

GENDER: Woman

PRONOUN(S): She/Her

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 27

RACE: Ulven

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Ex-farmer, refugee, and healer

KNOWN SKILLS: Some magic, ritual magic, healing skills, very basic combat training, knowledge of herbs and plants.

BIRTHPLACE: A small farming village in what is now Grimward territory but was at the time Stormjarl territory.

APPEARANCE: Wears a blue apron dress over top of an underdress. Fur is draped over her shoulders.

RELATIONSHIPS:

● Elin Geirdísdottir—Mother, Daughter of Gaia, and Teacher. Missing.

● Bertil Agnarrsson—Father, Farmer. Missing.

● Ottar Elinson–Older Brother. Missing, presumed Dead.

● Dalla Elinsdottir–Younger Sister. Missing.

● Mæva— Infant daughter. Missing, presumed dead.

● Dúrnir Stonegut—Husband

RUMORS: People in the town she and her family fled to probably gossip about how her family lost everything to the Civil War. Some might wonder how they survived.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Saga was never meant to know battle. Born in a small farming village in central Stormjarl territory in the year 246, her father, who had lost both a leg and an arm fighting the Mordok in the north and her mother, a Daughter of Gaia, had hoped that settling in such a well protected and remote area would give their children the life of peace that they themselves did not grow up with. One in which training and joining war efforts could be a conscious choice rather than a necessity.

For the most part, they were right. Though news of colonists or refugees (depending on who you asked) landing on the shores of Mardrun certainly reached the village, and though this was discussed in length amongst the adults, Saga never saw them. Mordok were relatively far away, and the village was too poor in coin to be of value to bandits or other ne’er-do wells. Saga’ childhood was idyllic. Her days were spent helping her parents tend to their fields, studying magic with her mother, and playing with other children of the village, especially her older brother Ottar and younger sister Dalla.

Saga’ parents couldn’t have predicted that the perfect life they had planned for their children would be shattered by the Ulven Civil war. Saga was just 16 when it began. The people of her village had heard of fighting in far off places before, but this was different. This was Ulven fighting Ulven, this was a war close to the border of Stormjarl territory, not too far from their home. Saga returned home one day from helping another family fix their barn after a storm to find her Father and Ottar in the midst of a heated argument. Ottar wanted to fight. It was a manner of honor for him. Bodies were needed on the front to fight against clan Grimward, he needed to go. Saga’ father refused. Ottar knew nothing of war, had barely trained with a sword, had never seen a Mordok or faced another Ulven in battle. Ottar left that very day. Saga never saw him again.

The attack came at dawn. As the light of the sun peaked out from behind the horizon clan Grimward came with swords and spears and torches. Fields were set ablaze. Those who tried to fight back were killed or captured. It would be nice to say that Saga was heroic, that she stood and fought back against the throngs of Grimward warriors, but she wasn’t. She and her family hid in the cellar with a few other members of her pack praying they wouldn’t be found. They listened to the screams of their pack mates being slaughtered above them. What could they do? When the sounds of fighting faded they emerged, frightened, but safe. They ran. Fled back behind the new Stormjarl lines. After weeks of hiding from Grimward warriors, living off the land, sleeping little, and walking for most of the day, the realization that she and her pack had successfully made it back to Stormjarl territory was the greatest joy she had experienced up to that moment. Unfortunately, that was the last time Saga saw her home. When the treaty was signed her village remained part of Grimward territory. But they had each other and that is what mattered.

Saga and her family resettled in a port village near Haygreth’s Scar on the easternmost coast of Stormjarl territory. With a new home came new friends and new opportunities. Trade coming in from Syndar and Human colonies nearby granted the ability to meet others and learn from them. It was there she met Dúrnir. They quickly fell in love. Their wedding was a joyous day for both families. A daughter, Mæva, came quickly after.

The raid came at night. The village was unprepared for war, its leaders having not yet received news of what had happened at the Moot that very day. Few guards were on patrol, few people remained awake. Saga awoke to the blowing of horns and the great sound of the alarm bell ringing out. The scent of smoke filled the air. Was something burning? The screams soon betrayed the truth, the port itself was under attack by warriors under Clan Grimward banners. Images of what happened to her people the last time Grimward attacked played in her mind. Where was the baby? Safe, thankfully. Screaming, terrified, with big fat tears rolling down her

little chubby face, but safe. Saga grabbed Mæva’ blanket and began the difficult task of swaddling her. If Grimward was attacking then nowhere in western Stormjarl territory could be safe. There just wasn’t enough land to be lost. Any colonies would be likely to come under attack. She knew of a Stormjarl settlement on The Fire Isle. They’d need to make it to the ships by running straight past Grimward soldiers to the docks and pray that at least one boat had been spared. First she’d need to find her pack.

Stepping outside the house Saga was met with crowds of panicked individuals running to get away from the flames and the fighting. People were screaming. Fire leapt from the docks to the straw thatched roof of a house. By the time Saga made it to Dalla’s house she found it empty. Fire blocked the path to where her parents lived. Worse yet, they were running out of time to make it safely to the remaining boats. A decision was made. They’d have to hope that Saga’s family found a way to survive on their own. By now though the fire and fighting had caused the panicked villagers to be herded into one small alleyway between two large buildings. Groups of people trying to run away from the docks and those running towards the boats pressed up against each other. There wasn’t an obvious way around. With one hand holding Dúrnir’s and the other clutching Mæva tightly they dove into the throng of people.

It was a mistake. With enough people in one area it becomes impossible to decide where and how you move. Fire jumped to the building on Saga’ left. The crowd panicked more, Ulven, Human, and Syndar all pushing against one another trying to get away. Saga clung tightly to DúrnirS’s hand, tried to pull Mæva in towards her chest but in one violent motion Saga was flung forward in the crowd, her arm twisted behind her, and Mæva disappeared. She screamed, cried out for her infant, but she physically couldn’t get back to where her baby was lost and in the darkness and confusion no one could have helped her.

When they emerged from the crowd on the other side Saga insisted on going back in. She had lost everything. Again. Her family may survive without her, but Mæva was helpless. Even if Mæva had been crushed under the throngs of people in the crowd, so long as she was alive Saga knew she and Dúrnir could save her. She had to save her. Mourning and denial was interrupted by a Grimward soldier attacking Dúrnir from behind. Saga was facing away and only felt the spray of blood on her back and heard her husband’s cry. She spun, cast flare on the attacker, grabbed her husband and ran. She was not losing another member of her family today.

At the docks she found a small ship that had been spared. A small sailboat designed only for short trips. Whoever owned it had left some moderate provisions inside and a map. With Dúrnir busy working on patching himself up to the best of his ability Saga pushed the boat away from the docks.

Saga did not grow up on the shores of Stormjarl territory, so she was not the best sailor and it was very dark at night. It became clear the next day that Saga had lost track of where exactly they were. Saga and Dúrnir used the sun to guide them. After a few days of travel when The Fire Isle never showed up on the horizon they realized that they must have overshot it. Then came the question of what to do next. Saga felt empty and lost. Everything and everyone was gone. She didn’t know what to do. It was Dúrnir who came up with the answer. During his time training in the militia at Haygreth’s Scar he met members of the Stormjarl Einherjar. Saga immediately knew what she wanted to do. She was done running.

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Nyko Wolfgang III

CHARACTER NAME: Nyko Wolfgang III

PLAYED BY: Alex Robinson

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: ??

RACE: Human

You can call me Nyko III only a select few know what that name entails.  I trust you have no relation with them.  I am very much not like my grandfather.

Like any other story amongst humans, I was born during the Undead war.  It is a tale that most people of my kind have told.  Parents were executed by Undead and Penitent.  Father told me stories of his past.  I had the fortunate luck that on my father’s death bed he told me his story.  Where he came from.  I will tell that story in due time.  He did teach me what he knew about herbs and alchemic formula.  I took what I learned and smoked it, literally.

For now, after the death of my father I left.  I sought refuge in Vandregon as many others did before me.  I wanted to be on the first of many ships out of town, but I had no relatable skills to be part of the first wave.  I was left to struggle with the monsters of the night.  However, I did take a certain solace to the darkness.  It was very peaceful.  The town is generally quiet, and it can allow me to think.  Over time, I grew to be nocturnal only coming out of my doors at night.  I will say, the nightlife is a very welcome change once you get to know it.

I began to learn how to cultivate my herbs and mix different things together to harbor a very hallucinogenic effect.  So, I began to sell my mixtures to the local populace to ease tension.  It was a fantastic way to make money.  So much so, that I became more or a Drug Baron.   It was fun being known for that.  That’s when things took a dark turn.  The Undead pushed back hard and it was time to get on the last boat.  Most of my clientele did not make it.  A shame.

Once I arrived in Mardrun it was refreshing to be able to start anew.  However, old habits die hard.  It was back to the herbs for me.  I made a trek to a town where I can do my work with ease in the settlement known as Haven.  I made refuge there for quite a time.  I even amassed a following of those who wish to serve me.  I then heard tavern stories of this man named Artemis and how he is son of Talonflame.  Talonflame, that name rings some bells, that means my father may have spoke the truth.  I hear he is trying to make a New Home…again.  I should introduce myself.

  1. Home
  2. /
  3. Wiki Pages
  4. /
  5. Page 9

Prove Yourself

Settling into her tent in the days following the disaster of a Moot Cenarae couldn’t shake the feeling of being hunted. Since those traitors had turned everything upside down she couldn’t help but continuously look over her shoulder in paranoia. She always knew fighting wasn’t her calling yet fights seems to be drawn to her. As she settled down to meditate she thought on this fact, starting her contemplations with a lighting of incense and getting comfortable on her bedroll.

First breath, it started back on Faerun, when the undead chased her family from their homes and onto the ships. She was too young to understand what that had ment then but she did now, it drove her to divine magic to cleanse the rot from the world.

Second breath, Then the raid on the tent city. What the undead hadn’t destroyed the masked men and women had. Stripping her of everything and forcing her to be forged by fire and water. She had given herself to the ocean’s mercy.

Third breath, Gaia had taken her in, pulling her from the sea to the safety of land. Providing food and drawing her adoptive father’s hunting pack to find her. Gaia gave her a new start within the clan and though she would have to fight for her place it was hers.

Fourth breath, The Great wolf baying at their backs as the clans turned to civil war. The knowledge that she could have ignored the call to arms, but that she had insisted instead. Healing is how she would find her place.

Fifth breath, Taking a place among the political leaders to ack and an intermediate. A human on behalf of the ulven, a human raised ulven for the clans. She knew her contributions did little in the long term, her voice too quiet. But she was present, and she was sturdy behind her friends and allies. A different kind of fighting.

Sixth breath, Stepping away to resume her studies with the daughter of Gaia, returning to her roots to find a new home. Joining the Einherjar and having to fight for her place amongst old friends and allies once more.

Seventh and eighth breath, the ones that shook, instead as they came out of her lungs. Her hands trembled in her lap as she went over the Moot. The way grimward so proudly went against their treaties, the way they killed the Nightriver chieftain. A chill ran down her spine remembering the sounds. The snarls and voice calling out around her before chaos erupted.

Ninth breath, “You cant flee forever my child” the soft motherly tone that was rustling leaves and the clap of a thunderstorm. She grit her teeth, she knew it. She had been running from the Great Wolf since she could fight. Now with this second war she wasn’t being given a choice to run.

Falling into the meditative state she wandered in the dark forests in her mind, the sounds of the sea rolling in the distance. This wasn’t right, these trees were normally verdant green with summer and Gaia’s grace when she communed. Realization struck as that feeling of being hunted struck a moment too late she was sent backwards into one of the trees by a mighty blow. Gaining her bearings and looking for her foe she froze and felt herself begin to freeze in utter fear. Long white fur, long yellowed teeth, Yellow eyes burning with rage. His snarl shook her and demanded all of her attention. The great god of her adoptive people towered over her staring into her soul.

“You claim to be one of mine” His voice was deep and grating, the baying of the hunt and the roar of battle. “Yet you run like prey, fighting only once you are cornered.”

She couldn’t dispute that fact, she didn’t have the ulven desire for battle in her veins.

He stalked closer till she could feel his hot breath on her. “My mate favors you child, so i will give you one more chance.” He paused to make sure she was starting him in the eye.

“If you claim to be one of my children… Show Your Fangs!”

She snapped out of her trance in a cold sweat, eyes wide staring at the walls of her tent. She felt the god’s breath on her neck and felt Gaia’s fire in her veins. Getting up she set her mind to it, Her pack needed her, her friends needed her. Not only as a spiritual guide and healer, but to not have a liability on the field. She had spoken during the moot that she wasn’t a fighter, but things had changed. Leaving her tent with a new determination she found Jarl Bryech, “Jarl Bryech, I have a request.” Giving pause for his acknowledgement she continued, “Teach me to fight”