A quiet settles over the valley.

It is dawn, and the first hints of the morning sun is peaking between the branches of the high forest overlooking the valley. Creeping in the morning shadows is a large man. He hair hangs loose, and grey streaks that and his beard. His eyes dart from side-to-side searching for something.

Hunting beside him is a wolf cub. Not yet two winters old, he is the heir to the lore of his mother. Young, and still learning, the cub is quickly learning the way of the hunt with his human. His name is Turgon, and it is a name, Børæn told the cub, is a name of honor.

The two stalk.

Wolf smells the air, and the man tightens his grip on a bow. The bow is massive in his hands, and the man carries it with purpose.

Turgon stops. His body grows tense. Børæn smiles.

Suddenly Børæn turns, and let’s fly a arrow. It strikes a orc in the neck, killing it instantly. Just as quick as his first strike, Børæn turns again, killing another orc, as well as an other behind it, charging at the man. More orcs come, and Børæn drops his bow, draws his sword and smiled. The smile is one which unnerves even the orcs.

Børæn strikes, and Turgon joins.

Sword dismembers.

Bite cripples.

The orcs try to overwhelm, but the man and wolf is too much. The fight is over before it even started. 12 orcs have died.

Turgon looks at Børæn quizzically.

“You did good little one. We leave them. These bastards will not think about entering the valley again.”

The two make their way down from the high forest, and Børæn and Turgon come to a stone overlook that has been named “Børæn Thorne.” It is here were he comes to think, and look over the valley of his people. It is here, where the man can be alone.

Børæn sits, and Turgon follows. The cub looks at the man, and whines.

Without looking, Børæn digs into a bag and tosses the wolf a hunk of last nights venison. The wolf happy, wags his tail.

Finished, the wolf curls up to Børæn who softly pets his head.

“Your name is a name of a great man. A man who I was lucky to meet. Lucky to learn from. Lucky to fight besides. Lucky to call friend.”

“I gave you his name, because it is a name that should be remembered. If it was not for him, my path would have never led me back to my people. Never would have led us to the valleys.”

“We set out for Meesha’s shrine. It was myself, Turgon, Belaldur, Balto, Fergus and their two henchmen. Also with us was a tracker named Golub, I think. Regardless, this would be the start of the hunt. Turgon was sad because the worshipers were gone. I told my friend simply: ‘We will have our vengeance, and we will bring our people home.’”

“I am no Merkitä Muistiin, so the how we found our people is not important. We traveled north, following a trail of our prey. It was a dark sight when we came upon the body of one of our people. Turgon was sad, but his sadness was the fuel for anger. Slicing my hand I swore the blood oath, as did you mother, as so too Turgon. He was apprehensive at first, but he realized the significance of this.”

“After some more travel, we came upon some littlelings. Balto was surprised and happy to see his people and they provided us aid.”

“We learned we hunted the People of the Skull. Turgon mediated to Me’sha, as did I, and the vision he received our people were held south of Yew.”

“It was dusk that we made our way to the shrine. As we approached we saw lighting strike from the sky. This was magic, foul magic, and though Turgon looked worried, the worry was soon replaced by determination. That night, we crept up on the shrine, thunderbolts of chaos churned in the sky overhead. As we got closer we saw an orc and a human in the middle of a summoning. I wanted to strike, by Belaldur put a hand on me and told me to wait. When their ritual was ended, a flash of light and booming sound introduced a purple column shooting from the ground. We then heard the voice. The voice that mocked us at the monastery.”

“That was it, we attacked.”

“While the others charged, and harassed the spell slingers, I ran and leapt into the air. The spell slingers did not know of this, and I took them by surprise. With a roar of “Me’sha, I fell into their midst. The human was surprised, and even more so, when my sword sliced the orc in half, and his body fell like a split log.”

“Your mother was thick into the battle, and she was there tearing at her enemies and aiding those who needed it. Your mother was a thing of beauty Turgon, she was a blur of grey death, using the shadows to her advantage, and harassed our enemies.”

“It was then that your namesake discovered the blessings of our goddess. Vines emerged to capture our enemies, and his club became a force of energy that struck many.”

Børæn looks at the Turgon, and the young wolf stares in understanding the story his human tells.

“The rest of the tale is simple: we heard the voice from he monastery; a tinkled creature of chaos emerged; we destroyed the summoning circle, shattered the shard; freed our people.”

Børæn sighs, it a sigh that speaks of remembrance, of age, or the weariness of fighting the battles he fought. Sensing the growing gloomy mood, the cub barks, stretches and places his front paws on his human shoulder, and licks his face. As fast as the gloomy thoughts come, they retread as Børæn laughs at the cubs playfulness.

“You’re right. Your mother would bite me if she was here. Come little one, let’s get down into the valley, see my wife and thank Me’sha for her continued guidance and grace she brings to us.”

The two, man and cub, begin the descent from the mountains and make their way into the peaceful valley.