Wiki Category: Characters

PLAYED BY: Tucker Burdick

NAME: Edric Haye

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 20

RACE: Human

HAIR: Blond

EYES: Blue 

OCCUPATION: Roaming mercenary before joining the Golden Hand

KNOWN SKILLS: Armor Proficiency, Two-Handed, Tough.

BIRTHPLACE: The small village of Penshaw outside of New Aldoria

RELATIONSHIPS: Penshaw, due to his failure with his previous mercenary group, he was shunned from the town.

BIO:

Edric Haye was born in a small settlement on the rugged continent of Mardrun called Penshaw a day’s travel from New Aldoria. The settlement was plagued by frequent raids from bandits and rare raids from Mordok. The land’s untamed wilderness and the constant threat of Mordok attacks shaped Edric from an early age. Edric’s father was a fairly renown mercenary in the area and with the popularity also came the consequence of living in a constant state of possible attack. Gilbert, Edric’s father, saw that this was very mentally taxing on them, and he deemed that this area was far too dangerous of an area to raise his family, and not an environment he could see his young son thriving in. He would ultimately make the decision to move to a small port town named Birchwood and retire from his life as arms for hire. 

At the ripe age of fifteen Edric was volunteered by his father, Gilbert Haye, to join a small band of mercenaries that had been contracted to protect Birchwood, as they didn’t encounter much danger and to keep the family tradition of working as arms for hire. Here Edric learned how to fight and become a mercenary. After one year Edic’s contract was completed and he decided to form his own mercenary band, with some minor retaliation and kickback from his dad, with other young fellow fighters in Birchwood that he had become very close with. His new group was called Blacklake. Blacklake’s first mission was to escort a pretentious up and coming elite whose first thought wasn’t to invest money into his escort rather to save a few coins after investing most of his trip’s money on clothes and hearty food. While this elite was in the town news spread quickly to neighboring criminal groups where plans for an ambush were quickly drawn up to attack the small caravan after its departure from Birchwood.

The night was cold and crisp, bundled with newly hand woven and sewn garments from the young mercenaries’ parents as a wish of good luck on their journey they departed with their newly acquired employer. As the night grew on the boys became tired so they decided to take shifts watching the caravan. As it came time for Edric’s turn to watch the sun had just barely graced the horizon and the birds had just begun to sing. The grass was covered in a half-frozen dew and a light crisp breeze graced his face as he poked his head out of the wagon. A large section of his watch went well, nothing out of the ordinary, everything was quiet, the only sound that emitted from the caravan was the sound of hooves on half frozen mud, creaky wagon axels, and the occasional cough from the wagon drivers. Before his watch Edric found it very hard to get to sleep out of his pure excitement that they were finally on their first detail, let alone a detail from a nobleman, he thought this was too good to be true. This left Edric waking up groggy and unfocused by the time his watch had come around. About fifty yards down the path a small trap lay where thieves built up a sizable force ready to attack the unsuspecting caravan. The trap was a small pit dugout with a blanket of foliage covering the top. By the time the caravan had reached the trap it was too late. The front left wagon wheel of the lead wagon fell in and suffered heavy damage. This was exactly what the band of thieves had hoped for. In one instance a flock of cloaked individuals with face shrouds darted from bushes and trees lunging at the lightly defended caravan. Edric, not completely knowing what was happening, drew his sword and clashed with one of the burglars. In the commotion the rest of the Blacklake mercenaries jumped from their wagon that they were resting in half awake and hastily equipped armor. The novice fighters were no match for the veteran thieves that were attacking. Before anyone truly got their sense the caravan was destroyed. Edric, finally fending off his attacker, he would turn, ready to face the rest of this attacking faction, would spin to his horror to see the rest of his band of brothers cut down. The sheer sight of seeing his close friends sent him into a panicked frenzy, ultimately deciding to drop his weapons and dart into the dark unknown woods. In freight of returning to his town and deemed a coward he chose a voluntary exile. Edric, being as young as he was, had no idea how to properly survive in the wilderness. For the next week he would wander aimlessly through the labyrinth of trees, forging whatever berries he was taught were safe to eat during his youth, he would eventually find himself starved. After succumbing to his malnutrition, he slumped over accepting his fate. But like a holy hand extending from the heavens a group marked with purple banners and a golden hand insignia came to his aid. They offered him food and shelter, and in return he signed a contract to work for the group as a personal bodyguard for the elites of the group. To this day he still remains a loyal and unwavering guard of the group that helped him when his world was stripped away from him.

PLAYED BY: Adom Juarez

CHARACTER NAME: Dahm

GENDER: Man

PRONOUNS: He/him

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 37

RACE: Human

HAIR: Dark blond

EYES: Gray 

OCCUPATION: Traveling merchant and trader

KNOWN SKILLS: Bartering, reading/writing, cooking, astronomy, herbalism, animal care, languages

BIRTHPLACE: A tiny seaside village somewhere in southeast Vandregon, year 235

APPEARANCE:  Plump, eyeglasses, clothing gravitates toward traditional May’Kar finery in what might be deliberately provocative toward other colonists

NOTABLE TRAITS: Always wears a silver-and-sodalite ring on his left middle finger–“it’s an enchanted ring, and its charm wards against drowning.”

RUMORS: It is said that he may have reagents for sale!

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Dahm was born in Faedrun, and spent the first nineteen years of his life there. His mother and father were both travelers–his mother, an herbalist, and his father, a merchant–who were staying in southern Vandregon for a season when his mother discovered she was pregnant. Rather than make the journey home to May’Kar, they opted to settle for a year or two in Vandregon, then return when it would be safer for mother and child to travel.

That decision saved the family’s lives, as, about two months after the baby was born, the May’Kar Dominion betrayed the world. Horrified at what their homeland had done, and not believing that their beloved king would ever cause so much death and suffering, the family opted to stay in Vandregon, turning all their efforts into producing and distributing medicines for the Vandregon armies. During this time, the family dropped their surname, to avoid the hostility they faced as May’Kar citizens.

When Vandregon fell, the family was once again lucky, and all three were able to get onto one of the ships fleeing Faedrun on account of the mother’s herbal skills and the family’s small cache of medicines.

Today, Dahm’s aged parents have settled just outside Newhope, where they continue their respective trades. As for Dahm, he has taken to the lifestyle his parents enjoyed, and spends most of his days traveling from one settlement to the next, trading goods with Syndar, Human, and Ulven alike. While he’s not as skilled as his mother, he has learned enough from her that he can craft simple remedies and cook well. From his father, he learned how to speak and read three different languages (with variable competency–he often embarasses himself in Syndarin), how to stitch a wound, and an appreciation for casual observation of the stars.

Having grown up without a connection to his own native culture, Dahm is exceptionally, sometimes defiantly, interested in anything May’Kar. (His dream is to one day keep his own camel!) This is not to say that he is nationalistic; Dahm, like his parents, struggles with the horror and shame of what the Dominion did, though the betrayal does not sting for him like it does his family. Nor is he xenophobic; Dahm grew up as a hated outsider, and so his mindset is that each person must be evaluated on their own actions and merits–he would even trade with the Mordok, in theory.

Dahm is quite fond of tea, cheese, and blackberries. He enjoys games of chance, cooking, and music from stringed instruments. He is not overly fond of peas.

PLAYED BY: Trinity Peckham

CHARACTER NAME: Asmund Adirchem

PRONOUN(S): She/Her

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 16

RACE: Human

HAIR: Dark brown with dyed tips, though it may vary.

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Asmund is working as a merchant, preparing to take over the family business.  Completely against her will, of course.

KNOWN SKILLS: Rolling her eyes, scoffing, and bullying people into buying her stock.

BIRTHPLACE: Asmund was born in New Aldoria, but her parents are from Regular Aldoria.

APPEARANCE: Asmund keeps her clothes neat and clean, they are the last shred of dignity she has left.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Asmund would really rather be anywhere else, is always chewing on something, and has a superiority complex.

RELATIONSHIPS: Asmund’s parents are dead (to her).  She used to travel with a Bard from Newhope named Ivis, and Hephorus, a Mercenary from Faedrun.

RUMORS: “Her parents had to drive her out of the house, literally kicking and screaming.  And biting.”

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

“-When I had fetched the water from the well, I crested the hill to see my monastery consumed by flames.  The heathens who did it rounded up the survivors and brutally executed them, then left the bodies to rot where they lay.  Over the next twenty years, I hunted down and slaughtered every one of the god-forsaken bastards who killed my family.  After I had spilled the last man’s blood, I didn’t know what to do.  I had been in the revenge business so long that I no longer knew any other way.  I tried to rejoin the brotherhood, but they would not take me back.  Having no other choice, I became a sellsword, indiscriminately killing the pure and the wicked alike so long as I was paid for my sin.  I have traveled every inch of Mardrun by now and I had covered half of Faedrun offering my terrible service.  That brings me to this fire tonight, sharing my life story with you all.  I hope my fate may be some cautionary tale for you, and you may learn from it.  I cannot escape this though.  My very existence has become punishment for my transgression.”  The warrior put his head down and wept.  I put down the fried donkey balls

“What a stupid idea, you idiot.  Why wouldn’t you just hire someone else to kill those guys?  Now you’re all- that.”  I gestured vaguely to all of him.  “Ew.”  The warrior raised his tear streaked face.

“Then what tale do you have? What trials have you faced, what fury hath the heavens wrought upon your poor life that you would mock me?”

“Obviously you know of the Adirchem Trading Company, stretching from Aldoria to the ends of Tielorrien, the beginnings of which go beyond any wise man’s earliest memory, blah, blah, blah.

My parents got the brilliant idea to force me to learn the crusty old trade.  They tried to convince me that it was my responsibility to take on the family business after their death.  They set me up as a manager in the local shop.  It sucked donkey balls.  Which were always sold out.  I had to get there sometime before lunch and make sure this crusty old dude did his job, and he just sat there.  These stupid kids kept coming in and running away with stuff.  I hate kids.

Over the next year, I had to sit in like, five different shops.  They all had crusty old men sitting at the counter and stupid kids running around.  It’s not my fault that the businesses lost all that silver.  It must have been those snot-nosed kids.

On my pony’s half-birthday, my parents did the worst thing ever.  They gave me a merchant cart “and your wits, like my father and his father and his father, and-” you get it.  They expected me to go out and sell junk. On my own. Like a dirty merchant-person.  Like my father and his father before him.

Oh yeah, and they gave me this stupid bird to send them monthly updates.  It’s like, a goose, or something.  Like I even want to talk to them anymore.

For the first few months, I didn’t want to write the stupid letters.  After a few Vandregonian Rangers sent by my parents showed up at my cart, I coincidentally decided that it would be good to practice my handwriting.

All of this was the fault of those bratty, snot-nosed, skid-mark of life, weasely, rat-toothed, scrawny, sickly, hobbled, wheezing orphans!”

PLAYED BY: Austin Bailey 

CHARACTER NAME: Alger Alacri

GENDER: Presents as Masculine 

CLASS: Warrior 

AGE: Early 20’s

RACE: Human

HAIR: Long blond hair

EYES: Hazel

OCCUPATION: A trained blacksmith with a passion for combat, preferably with polearms

BIRTHPLACE: Born in Vandergon, Grew up in New Aldoria 

APPEARANCE: Average Height and build,  rarely ever unprepared for a fight, evidenced by always wearing armor and carrying weapons.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Easily excitable, always itching for a fight. Strives to always be honorable, at least in intentions. Numerous old burn marks on hands and arms, evidence of working as a blacksmith 

RELATIONSHIPS: Broken Blade Company.

BIO / BACKGROUND 

Altha had always been fascinated with the art of blacksmithing, ever since she was a young girl watching her father work the forge. Her father, a respected blacksmith in Aldoria, had taught her the trade and she had quickly become a skilled apprentice under his tutelage.

But when the undead attacked Aldoria, everything changed. Her father was killed in the chaos and Altha found herself alone and scared. With nowhere to go, she fled to west to Vandergon as a refugee, seeking safety from the horrors that had befallen her homeland.

It was there that she met Alaric, a soldier in the Vandergon army. She watched him from afar, admiring his strength and prowess on the battlefield. She saw him wield his spear with deadly precision, not just to dispatch the undead and penitent, but to defend those who fought by his side.

But it wasn’t until one day, when Alaric came to her father’s forge to have his armor repaired, that they actually met. Altha was nervous and shy, but Alaric was kind and gentle with her. He asked her questions about her work, and they talked for hours about the art of blacksmithing.

As time went on, Altha and Alaric grew closer. They spent more and more time together, and it wasn’t long before they realized that they had fallen in love. Altha admired Alaric’s strength and bravery, while Alaric was fascinated by Altha’s skill with a hammer and her dedication to her craft, always going to her after the numerous battles he took part in, trusting her work with his life.

They were wed in 234, though it was a struggle to find time for romance, due to the rising difficulty of the war against the undead, both of their skills we’re needed if Vandergon were to survive.

The following year, The May’Kar Dominion betrayed it’s fellow kingdoms, and joined the penitent, marking a turning point in the war. 

Vandergon, knowing they wouldn’t survive survive if the May’Kar were left to build in strength and numbers, Split their numbers. Altha and Alaric were to go South.

The Southern half of the army focused on the enormous line between the heart of the Vandregon and the enemy. They could barely stand against the undead, but were trying to hold out long enough for the Northern army to join them when they conquered MayKar.

Despite all this chaos and death, Altha and Alaric always found time for each other, And Altha would become pregnant with their baby, who would later be known as Alger, and with him, hope for their future together. However, that hope would not last long.

When the undead decimated Aldoria, their numbers exploded because of new penitent joining their cause or the dead coming back to fill in the ranks. The undead army renewed its attack on Vandregon with tens of thousands of fresh undead troops, and it overwhelmed the Southern army.

Their army splintered, Altha, Alaric, and baby Alger fled to the sea to escape the continent in 254. 

When they finally reached the sea, having fought against the undead tooth and nail for every step, the penitent showed up in massive numbers, intent on letting no one escape from Faedrun.  

Making the most difficult decision of his life, Alaric and his fellow soldiers sacrificed themselves to let the ships escape. To him it was worth it, Altha and Alger, along with hundreds of refugees were able to set sail for Mardrun.

Their ship was originally intending to go to Newhope, but they were blown of course during their long voyage, and found land close to New Aldoria. Looking to rebuild her life best she could after the traumatic loss of her husband, to take care of the child they created together, Altha settled in New Aldoria, where she would find work as a blacksmith.

As Alger grew up, Altha kept him close, and as soon as he was old enough, had him help in the forge. Over the years Alger became a competent blacksmith, though he yearned to follow his Father’s footsteps, hearing stories about his bravery, and that of other Vandergon soldiers throughout his life.

Altha was somewhat hesitant at this development, not wanting to lose her son as well as her husband, and discouraged the youthful play fights young Alger would have, using wooden weapons with the other kids. Eventually, seeing he had the beginnings for real talent for it, she accepted his passion for combat.

As Alger grew into maturity, the city guard allowed him to take part in their training and drills, in exchange for doing minor repairs, like keeping training equipment in good repair.

In due time, as Alger developed his martial prowess, he’d occasionally take shifts in the watch, but spent most of his time either training or blacksmithing.

Altha would pass several years later from sickness.  Following her loss, Alger would take over her duties as a blacksmith. As he mourned, Alger yearned to find more meaning in his life. Though he as happy to help protect people from threats, those weren’t very common, and he was rather bored at his post. Hoping for more, he kept training and conditioning his body, and honing his skills with various weapons, though preferring polearms, all while crafting armor and weapons for both himself and anyone who commissions it.

As Prince Aylin decides to send a force to reinforce The Shield, to defend the realm from Mordok, Alger decides that this is exactly the opportunity he’s been looking for, and sets out to join the force.

PLAYED BY: Matthew Timmons

CHARACTER NAME: Barnaby Bucksley

GENDER:  Male

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 34

RACE: Human

HAIR: Dark brown almost black with a thicc beard

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: A bit of a tradesman. He knows a few things, but beyond occasionally helping others in mundane tasks, all he knows for sure is combat.

KNOWN SKILLS: Fighting and leading.

BIRTHPLACE: Unsure of where in Faedrun, he would have come over roughly around 260 at almost 18.

APPEARANCE: Tall and imposing. Clad in heavy plate mail, blackened with a tower shield and massive hammer.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Like above, the hammer is his most notable feature outwardly, beyond being completely head to go in armor. He has a thick “scottish” accent.

RELATIONSHIPS: He has encountered Brenna and Clanleader Hoskuld of Goldenfield and developed a friendship with both. He met Ragnar Riverhead in Onsallas and again in Shieldhaven.  He lived with an Ironmound family (Kinnith and his family) in Shattered Spear territory for almost a year, before traveling south and  meeting Kinnith’s grandfather, Milik, a notable blacksmith in Ironmound.

RUMORS: That Hammer Guy. A human with Ulven values.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

He felt both warm and cold… and wet, at the same time. Where was he? What day was it? With a heavy breath, and a great heave, he lurched himself forward, catching a knee and bracing himself against the morning ground. “Well”, he thought to himself. “It appears I’m in….wait. Where am I?”

“Wait…. What is my name”?

Looking around, he noticed an immense shield lying upon the ground near where he had awoken.  As he settled the shield against him, he noticed behind it a long, handled warhammer, deeply cracked in places, still in the grass. Leaning down once again, he grasped the handle and brought it to him. Having rung the hammer, he once again looked out into the vast field of grain, taking in the moment. Looking toward the sea,  he could see a small bay ahead. After a little less than an hour, he came to a bend in the road. Down this road, he spotted a distinct river bed that ran perpendicular and mostly up the hill a ways into some thick trees. The path ahead through the thickets seemed doable, and keeping the river to his right, he felt confident that he would inevitably reach what he thought would be a spring fed pool. After at least an hour of thick, rugged terrain, he emerged from the woods to a clearing with a beautiful pond fed by a cascading waterfall. Minutes later, he was in the middle of the body of water. After swimming for a while, moved back to dry land, stark naked, and turned his attention to his pile of armor. Holding his spaulders, he noticed that they, much like other pieces of his armor, bore years of dents and scrapes. As he rounded the top of the backplate, he caught something in the corner of the shoulder piece. Writing.

“Barnaby Bucksley y. 256”

“Barnaby Bucksley? What is that? Is that… me?” He thought to himself. He had never heard this name. “I’ve got nothing else. I guess that’s what I’ll call myself.”

“HEY! STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Looking up, he could see, across the waterfall and on the other side of the pool, several Ulven men armed with axes and shields. 

Barnaby could hear the sound of the waterfall further and further distancing itself in the background, as he was dragged and led slowly through the thick brambles of the forest. 

“So…” Barnaby started, pushing another thick branch out of his face, that the Ulven woman had neglected to move aside for him. “What do I call my tall, imposing female guard who… seems… to be leading me ever deeper in an unknown direction”. 

“You can call me Brenna. Warleader Brenna.” She said, then turning her attention back forward, she stooped under several branches that proceeded to smack Barnaby in the face.

————————————————

“Well, Warleader. It appears you’ve brought me a human.” 

“Chief” Brenna stated, holding her head low and a hand to her chest.“We found this man bathing naked in the Ancient Pool. What should we do with him?”

After pausing for several minutes, he replied. “I think… we put him through the Skolgarb”.

Minutes later, Barnaby stood silently nearby as Brenna and Clanleader Hoskuld discussed amongst themselves. Tables had hastily been set up nearby with a bustling of Ulven clamoring about to set up for the Skolgarb.

“He SHOULD be beaten and exiled!” Brenna was bristling with contempt at this moment for her captive.

“And he might yet be. But, better to send him on his way, beaten or not, having learned something about the culture he exploited, don’t you think? Is it not better for him to understand WHY what he did was bad, rather than just pain being a reminder of his crime?”

Brenna stood silent. She knew he was right.

“Besides…” The Clanleader added, “I don’t think he understands exactly what’s in store for him”.

The sound of birds chirping woke Barnaby in a confused haze. Several moments passed in what felt and eternity, as his hungover sense attempted to rationalize his surroundings. 

“Well, it appears that you lost, human.”

“What do you mean *ugh* I lost”, Barnaby responded with a frustrated groan. 

 “You passed out before Thorgud. He managed to hang on the mere second that your face collided, rather comically, I might add, with the table. Be grateful the Clanleader found you so entertaining”.

The next several days passed quickly in the Ulven clan, as Barnaby made friends with many locals and was escorted around by Brenna. Standing on the outside of the North gate of Goldenfield proper, the two stood staring into the morning sun.

“Where will you go, outsi…er… Barnaby” Brenna asked, not making eye contact. It had been many years since she connected with anyone on such a friendly level, let alone a human. 

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

Turning away from Barnaby, she looked back Northward. “Well, you best be on.”

“Brenna…” he stated, holding an arm outstretched in comfort.

“The day gets hottest at noon, so you’ll want to stay close to the trees to the West. We are near the border of Spiritclaw and north of them is Steinjotunn. They are mostly friendly but not like Goldenfield. You’ll want to…” She trailed off, as she could feel the arms of Barnaby wrap themselves around her. 

“I’ll come back, you know” Barnaby stated. He stood there for several seconds simply holding her, before he could feel her own arms wrap around his midsection.

“You better…” She stated quietly. 

————————————————

“State your business in Onsallas”. Do you have business here or beyond the Shield?”

“Not particularly. This is just the next stop on my journey.”

“Then stay the night, then be on your way. We don’t have time for interlopers”. Several moments later, the large gate opened, and Barnaby continued into Onsallas.

The atmosphere within the tavern was filled with tense glares and hushed tones. 

“You there. Human.” Whatever the Ulven wanted, he wasn’t interested. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” 

The table suddenly lurched away from Barnaby’s reach. “Tell us… “The man started looking both at Barnaby and at his surrounding Ulven. “Who won the honor duel?”

“The what now?” 

“Outside. Now”. The Ulven man let go of Barnaby and shoved him toward the door. The rain had begun to fall that evening, with the pittering of raindrops falling on his armor. Barnaby walked into a developing clearing of many people and after clearing the circle, he turned and faced his opponent. Standing there was the same man who had pinned him against the wall, but he carried no weapons.

“Umm.. I assume you’re wanting to fight, but I think you’re missing a few things” 

“Ragnar!” Behind the man and through several others standing in the perimeter of the circle, an even larger Ulven man with yellow eyes emerged from the group, into the clearing. He carried a large, circular shield, and had an axe at his side. 

“So,” Barnaby stated. “You must be Ragnar”. Barely a second later, the Ulven ran across the clearing in an unworldly feat of speed and smashed his axe into Barnaby’s shield, sending a piercing ringing across the circle of people.

“MORDOK!” Someone suddenly yelled loudly. However, no sooner had the two fighters collected their thoughts, than the Ulven man and Ragnar were tackled to the ground in front of him, with three dark figures rushing toward Barnaby. 

Barnaby stood in the cascading rain, the circle of people had broken and at his feet lay three broken and lifeless Mordok, all with skulls caved deep. Adjusting his vision before him, he saw the Ulven from the tavern, along with the man he had fought, laying in the mud, with a Mordok on each. Barnaby took no thought and barreled forward, launching himself through the air and collided with the two Mordok. Killing both quickly, he straightened up and turned toward the two Ulven. The man from the tavern had gotten to his feet, wiping clumps of dirt and sweat out of his eyes, while the other had barely made his way to his knees. Moving over, Barnaby outstretched his arm, looking into the bright yellow eyes of the Ulven who had now met his gaze. After a brief moment, the man took his arm and pulled himself to his feet, giving a heavy grunt as he did.

“Maybe next time, you..” Barnaby started, but before he could reply, the Ulven turned and hurled an axe past his head, into the skull of an approaching Mordok. “Well… I guess that makes us even?”

As the night slowly died down, the evening settled with just a few remaining people in the tavern. Ragnar and Barnaby were among, with them the Ulven men that had initiated the duel seated nearby and drinking.

“So… what does this mean? Are we still enemies?” Barnaby asked Ragnar. The Ulven man who had initially accosted Barnaby slowly walked over to where the two sat and dropped himself on the bench next to Ragnar. 

“You fought with honor and saved not only my life but Ragnar’s as well.” The man stated, grasping the jug of ale and pouring them all a fresh drink. “In doing so, you have satisfied your part in the duel.”

“But Ragnar saved my life, as well”

“Yes, and because he did, he has asserted his honor, as well. You are both deemed worthy in the eyes of the Great Wolf.”

“Well… great!” Barnaby said, lifting his mug into the air, the other Ulven in the tavern matched his actions, and all drank.

Barnaby hopped on the back of the wagon, and waved goodbye to his Ulven companions as the mules jerked the caravan down the dirt road. He had been told about Clan Shattered Spear and how they had helped Ragnar’s people. And as Barnaby had been told, perhaps they might help him find his purpose. So, with a promise to meet up with Ragnar once more, Barnaby left Southward.

————————————————

He had lived in Shattered Spear for nearly 11 months by this point, and having nothing but gratefulness to the Ironmound family that took him in and allowed him to stay, the oldest son Kinnith asked where Barnaby might go next.

“South again, I imagine. Maybe I’ll make a circle around the Great Forest and work my way towards Goldenfield”.

“I think that thing is beyond fixing,” Kinnit replied, gesturing to Barnaby’s hammer. “Remember, our family is among the best blacksmiths in Ironmound. I’m sure my grandfather Milik would be willing to help”. 

Waving goodbye and getting many, many hugs from his Ulven family and neighbors, he began his trek into the heart of Clan Ironmound. The long dirt road met with him with little to no encounters. Barnaby found the traveling to be quiet and remote. Leaving him alone with his thoughts. He had been within Clan Ironmound territory for a few nights, at this point, and several people had stopped him repeatedly asking him about his armor and his travels.  It wasn’t until someone literally pulled the hammer out of his belt ring that he snapped and yelled at the lot. “Get your hands off my stuff!”

“Look. I’m sorry.” Barnaby stated, holding his brow. “I shouldn’t have yelled”. 

“To hell with that, sonny” A voice rang out from the back of the group. “These folk are vermin. I’m surprised they didn’t jess steal yer armor. The name’s Milik, and you must be Barnbaby”.

Buildings became more dense as they traveled, replaced only by the occasional farm building and patch of grain here or there. By the time the sun had set, they approached a two story building near the heart of a larger town. 

“Grandfather is back!” Two little girls came running out into the road, hugging Milik.

“Yeh yeh, I’m back, tell yer mother to get the stew on, we have a guest” He replied, giving them a return hug and a pat on the head.

Moments later, Barnaby is eating the best stew he’s ever had.

“Easy, sweetie, you’ll choke if you eat any faster” The woman laughed, as Barnaby struggled to eat a piece of bread with a mouthful of stew.

“Sorry…” Barnaby apologized, embarrassed, as he finished his 5th and final bowl of dinner.  “That was the best stew I’ve ever had, ma’am. Thank you”.

“Well, don’t let my sister hear you say that. She’ll come right down here and force you to eat her own”. She replied, chuckling and taking the bowls and platters away from the table.

“Oh that’s right, you’re Kinniths…Mom’s… sister. Aunt. You’re Kinnith’s aunt”. 

“That Kinnith is a fine boy,” Milik stated, lighting a pipe. “If he and his mother say you’re good people, then you’re welcome in my home”.

“Thank you. Both of you.” Barnaby stated, bowing his head slightly. “The last year has been the only year I remember, but it has been nothing but amazing.” The two Ulven exchanged glances unsure of what this meant. Barnaby apologized and filled them in his story, beginning with waking in the glade. Milik and his daughter remained quiet. The girls had been ushered to bed long prior, as Barnaby warned that the story of Onsallas might be more than they could handle. 

Milik was finally the one to break the tension, as he tapped the ashen contents of his pipe out in a nearby mug. “That hammer has seen better days.” He said, gesturing with his eyes toward the hammer that Barnaby had left leaning against the door frame. 

“It has. Sadly, I do not remember those days.” Barnaby lamented staring at his hands. “As many times as that hammer has saved my life, it has ended more than I can count.”

“Is that something that bothers yeh?” Milik asked.

“Yes. I mean, no.. Well..” Barnaby stated, looking up almost expecting the question to have been a trap.

“It’s not a bad thing to have blood on your hands, human. Both mine and my wife’s, may she rest with the Great Wolf, had more than their share of blood on them. Both of my daughters have taken lives, my daughter here took the life of the man who killed my son-in-law.” Barnaby could see out of the corner of his eye the woman tense her shoulders and close her eyes. Barnaby sat and listened to Milik’s story with bated breath. He didn’t know what to say. Several minutes of silence passed by as the two sat at the lantern-lit table. 

“I’m… I’m sorry. “Barnaby stated, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t be. It weren’t yer fault. You weren’t there, you couldn’t have stopped it.” Milik stated.

“I know, but your daughter..”

“She did what she had to. If she hadn’t, all four of them would be dead, and a mad man would be out and about running around killin’ other people.” Milik said, stopping his pipe tamping activities to make the point. “You wanna know how you can make it up in this world?”

“Of..of course. I want my life to matter. I want to have purpose.” He stated sitting up straight.

“Then defend the people around you and get your hands dirty. Hands that ain’t covered in blood haven’t protected anyone.” Barnaby absorbed these words. As if struck by lightning, he felt them echo in his being and extend to the very tips of his fingers.

“Hand me yer hammer”

Barnaby jumped to his feet and grabbed the hammer leaning against the door frame, handing it to Milik. 

“This thing won’t last’cha much longer. You wanna make your life matter? I’ll make you a new one. But’cha gotta promise me somethin’.

Barnaby nearly stood up. “Of course, anything!”

“Use it to protect my kind. Obviously use it to save the lives of human an Syndar alike, but promise me if you ever meet an Ulven worth a damn, you’ll give your life for ‘em… and die tryin’”.

————————————————

The day had long since passed morning, as Barnaby, with a belly full of breakfast, stood at the edge of the town in which he had stayed for well over a month.

“You jest stay out of trouble now ya hear?” Milik said as he hoisted Barnaby’s immense shield onto his mule. “And if ya DO get into trouble, make sure you shed some blood along the way”.

“Thanks again, Milik. You’ve taught me a lot these last few weeks, and I’m grateful. Your family in Shattered Spear reflects with honor upon you. You should be proud.”

“I am, boy. I am. They’re good folk, who just chose a terrible place to live. I mean, who chooses sheep over steel?”

————————————————

As he neared the Great Forest, it had become midday. The mountains lay in the far distance, as the miles between took many nights to traverse. Coming to the top of an immense hill he could make out the shape of some large walls surrounding what appeared to be a small town. Descending the hill was quick, and with the aid of his mule, he was able to approach the Eastern side of the settlement. He could make out a few farm hands tending to the crops and livestock, while others seemed to almost stand guard. Edging his way along the outer wall, attempting to be both sneaky, but look inconspicuous, he did notice several farm hands watching his movements and gesturing to the guards that were standing by. From here, he could see the troops training better. They were more farmers. With pitchforks. Pretending to stab invisible foes, and rather poorly, at that. Whoever was training these men might have been a good leader, but they had their work cut out for them, as this militia was nothing more than simple farmers with pointed sticks. One of them, he could have sworn, was swinging around a loaf of bread as a sword. 

“Hello there!” Barnaby heard a voice cry out from his left, near the gate. Jumping at the voice, he turned quickly, placing his hand on his hammer.

“Oh, I don’t think that will do you any good. We’ve had archers trained on you from the moment you came down that hill”. The voice said, now showing itself to be a tall, Syndar man with knobbly ears and a navy blue vest. Coming out of the gate with him were two individuals both with bows drawn, pointed at Barnaby. “Did you really think sneaking around our gate was the best way to get in?”

“I wasn’t sure what this place was..”Barnaby stated. 

“Well, why didn’t you ask? We would glad have invited you in and given you food.” The man said, plucking his instrument a few times and glancing upward at Barnaby. 

“I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried sneaking”.

“That’s all I wanna hear!” The man shouted, ushering the two people beside him to lower their bows. “Now, let’s start again shall we?” The man said, smiling toward Barnaby.  “My name is Aladrin Greywood, a Bard.” 

“I’m Barnaby. Barnaby Bucksley. What is this place?”

“Why, it’s Shieldhaven!” Aladrin replied, smiling widely and swinging his arm around as if showing off a grand display.

“Shieldhaven? I’ve never heard of it.” Barnaby stated looking up and down the stretch of walls. “What territory is this?”

“Well, it used to be Riverhead. Or still is. I’m not sure. But, we’re here to protect it and keep it safe.”

“With farmers?”

“Hey, don’t let them fool you. Those guys will beat you silly. Except for that guy with the bread. I’m… not sure what he’s doing”. 

Before Barnaby could reply, he heard another voice come from behind the gate. 

“Is that who Ragnar think it is?” Seconds later, a large Ulven man with an immense shield and familiar yellow eyes emerged from the open gate.

“By the Great Wolf. Ragnar!” Barnaby exclaimed, rushing past Aladrin who was still talking to himself about stealing Barnaby’s story to make into a song. 

“Barnaby has been getting stronger”, Ragnar stated, giving Barnaby’s forearm a squeeze.

“I had to be in order to carry this hammer,” he replied, gesturing to the weapon at this side. “Oh, my friend, I have much to tell you”. Barnaby smiled deeply at his friend. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that he noticed Aladrin standing uncomfortably close.

“So…how do you two know eachother?” Aladrin asked.

“We met in Onsallas. We almost killed eachother”

“Ragnar will tell Aladrin full story. Barnaby must meet Garduk”. Ragnar added, beckoning inside.

Minutes later, Barnaby is taken before an elderly man who is hunched over a tall pitcher of water, with a hoe and shovel next to him. Garduk looks up and gives an eye roll at “another human” in Riverhead lands, saying as long as Barnaby doesn’t pester him too much, he can stay “or whatever”. Barnaby asks about the history of Clan Riverhead, as he hadn’t heard much other than rumors and what Ragnar had told him back in Onsallas. Ragnar and Garduk share a quiet glance, as Garduk tells Barnaby to sit down and shut up. Over the hour, both Garduk and Ragner would tell Barnaby the story of Riverhead and the dark, horribly history that had befallen their people.After talking for nearly an hour Garduk took a long swig, eyeballing the immense hammer that Barnaby had at his side. “Where did you get that?” He asked, almost in an accusatory manner.

“It was a gift from a friend in Ironmound,” he replied. “It was made for me by Milik, the grandfather of Kinnith in Shattered Spear territory. I lived with their family for almost a year before traveling to Ironmound.” 

“Milik and I go way back. Back to when we were kids” Garduk said finally after Barnaby had finished. “He was always so uppity about ‘protect our traditions’ and how the Ulven people have ‘stick together”.  Barnaby chuckled.

“Yeah he mentioned something about that.” Barnaby replied, giving Garduk a smile.

“Did he now…”

“He said in exchange for his hammer, I must swear my life to defending people, and helping Ulven kind.” Barnaby replied, glancing down at his hammer and resting his hand upon it. “I’m not sure exactly what that means, but I’ll try my best”.

“Barnaby should help retake Riverhead land”. Ragnar stated, matter of factly, after having sat silent for several minutes.

“Well, now ain’t that just a twist of fate…” Garduk chuckled to himself, standing.

“Barnaby should stay with Guardians and help retake Ulven land”. Ragnar repeated, also standing. All around him, Barnaby noticed all of the Ulven beginning to stand. One by one, they got to their feet.

“It seems like destiny has brought you here. You made a promise, young man. It sounds like it’s time to fulfill your purpose.”

Something inside Barnaby lept. His heart, his stomach, he didn’t know what. But the word “purpose” resonated within him like an echoing drum. “What do I need to do?” He asked, staring resolutely at Garduk and Ragnar. 

“I think you gotta talk to that guy”, he heard a voice from behind. Aladrin was standing, again, uncomfortably close. Following his gesture, Barnaby directed his gaze toward the direction Aladrin was pointing, and there, as if carved in stone and marbled after a great on himself, stood a tall man with a massive sword and shield. 

Guardians are weird about this, I’ll leave them to it. “ Garduk said as he and the other Ulven grabbed their tools and went back to work. 

“Who are you?” Barnaby asked, barely able to hold his composure after the emotional moment only seconds earlier. 

“I am Stanley Lorden. Leader of the Guardians of the Wall and protector of these Riverhead lands and Shieldhaven.” The voice bellowed with an unearthly echo, shaking the very core of Barnaby’s being.

“What must I do to fulfill my purpose?” He asked again, this time feeling all the same emotions welling up one more. 

“Swear your loyalty to the Guardians of the Wall, defend these lands and the people within, with your life. Do you swear?”

“I … I do…I swear it!” He almost shouted, unable to control his voice.

“Then kneel…” Barnaby collapsed to the ground, one hand on his hammer and the other on the ground, barely able to hold his pose, his knees shook with anticipation. Stanley drew his massive sword and pointed it at Barnaby, Stanley addressed the man once more.

“Do you swear upon your life and honor to defend those unable to defend themselves and those you call family?”

“I do”.

“Do you swear to uphold the sacred oath of the Guardians and always act with honor in their name?”“I do.” Barnaby could feel his very soul begin to quake.

“And do you promise, above all else, to treat those around you, those you love, as family, swearing to them and your gods, your life.”

“I… I do!” Barnaby shouted at the ground, clenching a handful of dirt. He could feel the tip of the sword press into his shoulder gently, one then the other.

“Then rise, Barnaby. And fulfill your purpose with honor.”

A chorus of shouting erupted around him. Aladrin played joyously on his lute a merry tune as Barnaby looked up and to even more people standing above him. Jumping and dancing amongst themselves, they celebrated yet another member being added to their family, as the Ulvens around them gave weird looks. Barnaby found himself that evening, as the Guardians continued to drink and celebrate their newest member of their family, surrounded by a familiar feeling. These people had defended these lands, constructed an, albeit makeshift, settlement and risked their lives just so the Riverhead people might retake their land. These were the people he had searched for this last year, and he didn’t even realize it. That sense of purpose he had driven himself hundreds of miles over a dozen months just to find, and it lay here in Riverhead territory, under a settlement of mismatched friends and allies. Within this group of strangely allied and yet welcoming family, he found his purpose. The one he had searched for for so long. Tomorrow, he would begin his life anew as a Guardian of the Wall.

A Guardian, with purpose.