Jorann, I have much to tell you! This adventure is proving to be quite a learning experience. After the big battle with the were beast, it seems that Boraen was cursed with some strange anger issues. It is difficult to explain, but his reactions are stranger than ever. I tried to cure disease on him, which is how I know that it is a curse and not a disease. The reaction when I tried to cure him is of importance here as I myself was almost overcome by a divine force which seemed somehow familiar. When I had some time later, I prayed to Tangadorin for guidance. He revealed to me that this was a curse by a follower of the Dark God Mal???. He was an enemy of Tangadorin, and he warned me that if he learned of my existence, he would certainly destroy me.

We heard strange noises which turned out to be the cries of a caged Hippogriff. We fought the bandits who appeared about to do it harm, and freed it from the cage. Just then, a huge Wyrm crawled over the ridge and attacked us. It was a mighty battle, and Fergus gave it a mighty strike which killed the beast. Even the Hippogriff bowed to him before it flew off.

After we continued on our way, we met a group of men which escorted us to a camp. We were enjoying our rest when a group of froggers came to the leader and accused us of stealing their gold. Their leader asked us to answer these charges, whereupon we all claimed innocence. Their leader told us he would sleep on it and pass judgement in the morning.

Soon after a blind woman came stumbling into camp. She had been blinded and her ma had been taken. I summoned the power of Tangadorin to release her from this affliction. The guards and camp followers were greatly impressed with the power of Tangadorin, and the woman was overcome with emotion. I spent the remainder of the night telling her and anyone else who was interested about the glory and power of Tangadorin.

The camp leader was so impressed that he released us and gave Pyria a token to show that she had sworn that she was no enemy of the Southron Duchy.

We determined that the woman’s home was in the direction we were travelling and decided to accompany her home.

I produced the receipt showing the amount of gold we’d spent for the soup and jerky, so Mosby paid up. The frog farmers were glad to have their loss recompensed and they went their way and we went ours after a pleasant shared breakfast. Our road took us west along the road, paralleling the river as it ran across the grasslands my folk once travelled in their hordes. We took our lunch in a pleasant grove of trees, one of many that dotted the plains as the woods to the north faded out.

Midafternoon, the sharper-eared of us heard an eagle’s cry, and we made our way north toward the sound. Nann and Talvi scouted ahead, the rest of us cautiously following. Halfway to the woods, Nann hobbled her horse and went ahead on foot. As we came up, we also dismounted and hobbled our horses.

Nann and Talvi came back to tell us that several bandits had a hippogriff caged and were trying to move that cage to a cart. Anguished cries from the hippogriff (answered by an unnerving low bass rumble) convinced us to charge in and free the noble beast – Wikton and I were particularly keen to do this, but everyone agreed. Tasso and Luna stayed back with the horses (and Hollin) as the rest of us made our move.

Nann and Beth drew first blood, but Beth was hit herself. I went to her side to aid her as Boraen jumped at the bandits. Talvi ran to join him. Pyrea put a stop to the battle when she cast sleep on all the surviving bandits. Wikton began battering at the lock; Boraen tried to bend the bars of the cage to free the hippogriff. I helped Beth to her feet.

But then, clambering over the slope came a great green scaled beast. This was a fearsome beast, easily 50 feet long if it were an inch! Boaraen and the wyrm charged at each other, and the wyrm belched out a sickening green gas cloud. Boraen went down, and Grel and Wikton – who’d just smashed off the cage’s lock- reeled, retching. I cast faerie fire on the beast and prepared to charge in with my cudgel.And Fergus coolly stepped forward and shot an arrow into the wyrm’s craw, and straight through to its brain. The beast convulsed and rolled and perished. Boraen was too hurt to skin it.

This was an older wyrm, clearly, from its size, and the choking gas it blew out at its enemies over time weakened the bone structure around its nasal gas chamber. A well-placed arrow or spear could pierce the roof of the mouth and push through the cavity to paralyze or kill. Fergus’ arrow had hit perfectly. Even the hippogriff flew back to honor Fergus, wyrmslayer, before launching off with a screech to meet her mate.

As Wikton and Grel and Boraen got their strength back (with the help of some potent potables), Tasso, Luna and I took the arms, armor, outerwear, and scant treasure of the magically sleeping guards. Pyrea indicated they’d sleep until awakened, so Josef and Willie carefully carried them into the cage and locked them in. Josef, Willie, Luna, Tasso, and Hollin began to set up camp for the night.

And then it was time to investigate the lair. We found several gems, an ivory scroll case, a leather scroll case, a small gurgling flask, a headband, a gold seal, a primitive gold idol, a chain, and a chalice, as well as a great hoard of gold and silver. Perhaps a third of the gold pieces were from many centuries past, and it took us more than two hours to get the treasure out of the lair and up the narrow, stinking passage to the camp above.

Grel opened the leather scroll case to find a map, showing Southbridge and a set of ruins to the northeast. These ruins, a note said, contained the fabled Black Giant’s Eye. Wikton suggested that the idol may be bestial-made, possibly of an evil god. Pyrea looked at the scroll in the ivory case and determined it was a spell of confusion, which she kept. The potion, though, she could not identify, other than to say it was an oil. Beth sipped from it and then nearly bit her tongue off, which allowed us to realize this was an oil of sharpening, and Fergus asked to have it as his prize.

As we were settled for the evening, over dinner we discussed the further division of our spoils. A full share of the wealth was 75 gold pieces, 128 silver pieces, and 8 royals. Tasso and Luna were not in line for shares, but I gave each 25 gold pieces. We divided the jewelry – headband to Boraen, idol to Wikton, chalice to Beth, the seal to Grel, and the chain to me, and each of us took a gem. I got a huge topaz.

The next day dawned bright and warm, though the bandits still slept in their smallclothes in the cage. We decided to camp a few days, though Hollin fretted, to heal up our wounded. Pyrea put Boraen to sleep so we could treat him without interference from his dark side. Grel was able to bring him some comfort. I tended to Wikton, laying my hands on him twice to bring him the healing powers of the land.

The 19th day of autumn, as I returned from my solitary meditation, Nann pointed out to me a great winged black panther. It seemed to smell the skin of its kind, and was growling. I offered it dried sausage but was rebuffed with a snarl. I summoned the power to talk with animals, and asked it to explain. Old, long-dead, smoky meat – it would only eat that if it was half dead from hunger. Which it was not, so it would hunt its own fresh kill.

The panther demanded to know why we had the skin of one of its kind, why would we take the pelt? I explained that we had no fur – to stay warm or keep off the sun or fend off insects, we needed to make clothes. It lost interest and turned to go, as it was summoned – but I forestalled it. “Why,” I asked, “do your kind answer the summoner?” It looked at me queerly and said, “She calls, and I respond,” and It flew off to the northwest. I picked up the sausage, dusted it off, and enjoyed the snack

Wikton, Grel, and I together worked to heal Boraen. I think my ministrations made the difference, and the next day I tended his wounds again. On the 21st day of autumn, we woke Boraen and broke camp.

I could no longer hear the sounds of battle. Still webbed in among these odd birds, I resigned myself to the idea that Beth would loot the corpses. Only the Death Dealer seemed likely to have any treasure, at any rate. Luna and Tasso quickly dispatched the creatures in the web with me, then set to cutting me out.

Boraen was fairly torn up, but he was more concerned about his wolf. Talvi had mostly shaken off the poison from the blade, with some help from Nann and an antidote Boraen supplied.

Grel walked over and tried to cast remove curse on Boraen, who briefly looked enraged. Boraen told us there were two Boraens fighting in him, now, the result of the werewolf’s dying curse, and warned us to be wary casting healing spells upon him. As Boraen went to skin the winged panther, Grel confided to us that he had felt a dark force within Boraen.

I looked at the werewolf’s body as we stripped him of his arms, armor, clothes, and treasure. This man looked very like the ones Boraen had killed as they lay in magical sleep – and Nann recognized his tattoos and weapons as tribal-made. A symbol was carved into his chest, but wounds and bruises obscured its meaning.

On the road from the east then came a company of soldiers. We quickly slipped into our travelling alter-egos – Lady Arrington with her best friend Beth, me as her father’s trusted advisor Grigo, bodyguards and friends and fellow travelers. Grel was annoyed with the subterfuge, but he kept quiet as the force drew up ahead of us.

Their captain hailed us. We answered with our cover story, and Boraen spoke up to say we had been fighting wildmen and their pets. The captain came forward to see the bodies, and she recognized the creatures as from the mountains (save the birds – those she’d never seen) but shecould not explain why wildmen would be attacking us on the road, unless they were bandits.

Pyrea/Lady Arrington caught the leader’s eye, and the captain declared we must all go to see Lord Mosby, her liege. We’d run afoul of a new regulation – all elves needed a badge to prove their provenance. Apparently, elves had recently attacked the Southron Duchy! And while we’d come from the opposite direction as the attack, no one knew who those elves were or why they’d struck. Boraen was in such a weak state, though, that the troop elected to camp with us a few days as he regained strength.

And so we settled in, recuperating from the battle. I called up nature’s balm and soothed the injuries of my comrades. Boraen brooded as he recovered, cast aside his hammer and began to hone again his broadsword. We stayed in character the whole time and a couple of Mosby’s men came to be good friends of Fergus, Willie, and Josef. It had been many years since my people had come through here, so Tasso, Luna, and I were made much of, as well.

On the 16th day of Autumn, we pulled up stakes and proceeded east. Midday, we came to a small camp of perhaps three dozen soldiers, and a couple of more permanent structures going up. We dismounted and left our horses to be corralled and cared for, and Pyrea and Wikton walked with the captain to Lord Mosby’s tent.

Boraen asked about and found a spot on the camps outskirts to set up camp. Asking, too, about local legends of lycanthropy, he was referred to a priest – or possibly Lord Mosby. Pyrea, just out from her interview and in receipt of a wooden badge, went back to Mosby’s tent and learned that charms or potions could be used to invoke such a transformation. Wildmen, the Southron Duchy’s bulwark against the orcs, used tattoos and scars in rituals, some dating back to the time of the Dark Ones – and perhaps the scars on the Wildman we’d killed were some such symbol. Pyrea was told to seek the Wildmen leader Bearman for more information.

I asked Lord Mosby’s guards about security, acting concerned for the safety of Lady Arrington and of our horses and goods. I learned their patrol routes and schedules, some details about local hamlets, where to beware bandits. Wikton, meanwhile, helped out at the forge, but he made no converts.

Early evening, striding towards Mosby’s tent, came a couple of the froggers. Mosby emerged to talk with them, and then came to our cookfire with two guards. The frog farmers accused us of starting a brawl and, worse, of stealing all the camp’s money! Beth admitted she could not hold her liquor and apologized, but swore we did not steal the coins. Pyrea as Lady Arrington acted offended by the accusations; still Mosby persevered and asked each of us in turn about the accusation of theft.

I was the last to be questioned. I denied guilt and cast aspersions both on the bookkeeping and the security at the frogger camp. I pointed out that everyone had been watching the fight, if not trying to break it up. I asked why we littlelings were always the first suspects – there’d been other travelers, that night, too, but wasn’t it convenient to have the three of us to blame? A good bluff can pass for innocence, I thought, and really the evidence was purely circumstantial – I’d made sure of that!

Mosby sighed and said he would render a decision in the morning, and left the two guards to make sure we didn’t leave. We ate dinner and sat around the fire, as I tried to figure out a way to further cover my trail.

Early in the first watch, before I’d even fallen asleep, Fergus and Josef spied a young woman, clothes in tatters and apparently blind, stumbling along the road from the east. Fergus, Talvi, and one of our guards went out to meet her; Josef and the other guard woke the camp.

The woman – Hollin her name – sobbed out that she just wanted to go home, back to Kenneburton – a village some 5 days west. The last thing Hollin had seen was a beautiful dryad who had stolen her husband, Jacques. As she came into the camp and settled by our fire, Grel came up and offered to cure her blindness. The cure worked, and Hollin stuck close to Grel as she settled in for the night.

Early the next morning, I asked if I could leave the camp to meditate in nature. I was allowed, but warned to stay in plain sight. So much for my thought of burying the evidence – not a great plan, anyhow, as I’d have had to go back before we left to retrieve it. So I meditated by the woods, Wikton by the forge, and Grel prayed near our cookfire and wandered through the camp talking of Tangadorin (to no avail).

Mosby walked over to give his decision. We were clearly good folk, he said, as shown by our care for Hollin. Mosby would repay the frog farmers, if they could give a proper accounting of their loss, and we were free to go.

As Luna and Tasso prepared breakfast, Grel said Tangadorin had told him that another deity, Malachai, had cursed Boraen – and a level 5 cleric would be needed to lift the curse. Wikton told us of his meditation, in which he saw a cage and heard an eagle screech – and his god hates cages, so perhaps it was a sign to release captives. He also told us his offer to bless the forge was rebuffed. Fergus mused about the feathers we had seen, pulled his out to show some of the guards, who were astonished how long it was. One guard remembered stories of hippogriffs, with feathers this large, mating in the forest before flying back to the mountains, and shared a bit of folk wisdom– “if you hear the call of eagles, marriage is in the cards!”

A half hour’s ride south of the frog farmers, we set watches. I was more worried about them discovering they were missing a few coins than I was about the flaming arrows. Humans always look first to littlelings if they suspect theft, and three of us had been in their camp.

So I muddied the trail a bit more when I got up for second watch. I put 10 gold pieces in Beth’s pouch, for after all, I’d never have gotten to the coins had she not raised such a ruckus! I divided my gold between several pouches, burying the remaining Southron Duchy coins deep below some smoked fish.

Perhaps an hour into my watch, the sky turned a sullen purple and a hard rain began. This was the storm I’d been sensing, and it felt unnatural, and unnaturally long. It was a miserable night and following day – if you stood by a horse’s head, you could not see the tail! The ground we’d though fine for pitching tents turned soft, and the stakes pulled free. And when the storm had whipped past at dusk, insects swarmed in to plague us. We wrung ourselves out and rode south through the gathering dark.

After a few hours ride, we were beat – none more so than Wikton or Boraen, of course. Pyrea called to us that she was nearly falling from her steed in exhaustion. We’d passed the path of the storm and the ground was solid, so we made a hasty camp and rested.

Late in the third watch, Wikton noticed Tasso staring at him, but when Wikton moved to talk with him, Tasso scurried away. Wikton walked the perimeter, thought he saw movement to the northwest – and a flaming arrow flew up and hit him in the chest. Nann moved over by him, rousing me as she went. We saw the arrow, but Wikton insisted the it was but an illusion. Then came the familiar howl to wake the rest of the camp. If anyone slept through that, Boraen howled back. And there was another howl in reply! Boarean started walking to the northwest, Pyrea followed him.

I cast detect magic on the arrow to find it had clearly been ensorcelled – but it was a real arrow, so I told Wikton we were not fighting an illusionist, and I cured his very real wounds. Then came the full attack!

A small black winged cat dropped from the sky to attack Boraen. Pyrea saw this but also heard something big approaching. She called out a warning, and then another as a Death Dealer and a woman stepped out of the gloaming.

Boraen snapped the neck of the winged cat, dedicating its death to Meesha and his clan and tribe. But he gained a mortal enemy in the Death Dealer, whose brother the cat had been! The Death Dealer charged at Boraen, who leapt to meet him.

A huge stony-sided lizard came rushing out of the grass. Fergus, Wikton, Wilhelm, and Josef intercepted it, I think Fergus nicked it with his sword, but Wikton was thrown down. The beast was eventually overcome, but I didn’t see the fight, being otherwise occupied.

Tasso, Luna, and I charged at the woman, who snapped off a spell and Tasso and Luna dropped – just sleeping, but I didn’t know that at the time. I slung a rock at her; it hit as did an arrow from Nann’s bow. The spellcaster – perhaps the one who’d been such a thorn in the side of the Irecian forces? – chanted and waved, and 6 beakless birds with long spiky tails appeared and flew at me. Surrounded by the birds, I could not get another shot off at the woman. Soon, the birds covered me in sticky slime and I was completely out of the battle. Pyrea sent magic missiles at the woman, and was counterspelled, then turned to web all the birds together to end their attacks on me.

I could see Boraen exchanging blows with the Death Dealer. The Death Dealer’s skin rippled with every hit Boraen landed. Boraen struck the axe from the Death Dealer, knocked away his helmet, too, and I could see Boraen’s opponent shifting to wolf shape. Beth slipped in and slammed her dagger into the wolf’s neck, but not before Boraen had taken some bite wounds.

I saw Talvi running at the woman; from the screams, I think she bit the spellslinger. But Talvi yelped, too, slashed by a dagger. Talvi shook her head, unsteady, and vomited. The woman ran away, and Nann ran up to tend to Talvi.

Over breakfast on the twelfth day of Autumn, we talked about our best path through the Southron Duchy. Beyond a couple of game trails, we were in an untraveled area – I wondered if Ogre would be able to do much cargo ferrying. But the area along the riverbank was fairly clear so perhaps some enterprising folk might make use of him to avoid the toll bridges.

Still, the riverbank was steep enough to give us concern for the horses and ponies and wagon, and we knew we’d only a short way to go through the South Dale Woods to get to the road, then east to Fort Jaxon, so off through the forest we rode. Wikton grumbled that he’d had a poor rest; and Boraen, too, had tossed all night. Tasso – and Talvi, too! – stayed away from them both, no doubt figuring they were harsh enough at the best of times – without sleep, who knows what would make them snap!

The land became wetter – not quite a bog, but many small trickles and sloughs, leading to a small creek. Looking about, I could see this creek was flowing through a channel cut by a mighty river and I wondered how the river had dwindled so. Across the creek was a long stone bridge, with a collapsed building on the other side. There were well carved stone faces on the bridge supports, and as we came up on the building we saw it had been a small keep, with a single fallen tower towards the back. It had been long abandoned, but poking around, Beth and Fergus found a couple of huge feathers.

Pyrea felt we were being watched. We saw no one, but as we headed south again, I felt as if a storm was gathering to the northwest. Boaren suddenly burst out, “I angered Meesha! I must atone!” Wikton hurried over and as they conversed, it came out that his god also was angry with him. Without rest, neither would be able to replace the spells they used. Tasso, Luna, and I agreed that it was their guilty consciences keeping them from rest. But then, however they thought they got spells, losing two casters able to heal injured our party. Perhaps I could encourage them to meditate and gain back some peace – but then, I did not want them to repeat their brutality. A few sleepless nights might be just what they need.

Suddenly, we heard a great howl of rage from the northwest. Talvi whined and looked to Nan (not Boraen?); Lee cowered behind Beth. I suggested we make camp, cook our suppers, and prepare for an attack. Nan nodded at me, but said we should look for a more defensible spot. We found a hollow tucked into a hillside and set up camp there, with the slight cliff at our backs. Boggy ground to the south would also keep that flank secure against a charge. We made a fast meal, put away some of the food for later, and set watches.

On the third watch, a flaming arrow flew out of the darkness and buried itself in Beth’s back. Tasso quickly put out the flames as Wikton bellowed an alarm. Boraen and Pyrea leapt up – neither’d been sleeping well. Another howl ripped the dawn sky, chasing the laggards out of their bedrolls. But no enemies or other attacks came our way, so we made a quick breakfast. Beth and I climbed tall trees to see if the forest was coming to an end, but nothing but trees and migrating butterflies as far as we could see. Nann told us when we came down that the arrow was tribal-made but not quite of the style of her people.

To speed our way through the woods, we abandoned the wagon and split our supplies among our steeds. Gypsy gave me a long-suffering look when I loaded her up, but I fed her an apple and she soon accustomed herself to the added weight.

Midday, we came out into a small clearing – it was so peaceful, with birds singing and rabbits nibbling on the remains of a garden. In the middle of the glade stood a small cabin, a bit worse for wear. It looked a wonderful spot for lunch. Borean, Beth and Lee went up to the cabin to see if anyone was home- there was no smoke from the chimney, but then it was a warm day. Beth knocked and the door swung open. And two Damned came out of the house, and more rose out of the long grass around the building.

Our party leapt into action – Pyrea cast sleep to no effect. Boraen tried turning them, but they kept coming. Beth slashed around her with her daggers, but still was bitten and clawed. Tasso, Luna, and I slung stones and Nann shot arrows. Wikton hurled hammers. Some of the missiles hit, but there were so many of these unnatural creatures! I cast entangle on the surviving Damned and Pyrea followed up with a web. Beth lobbed a wicked pot of oil at the mass of them and smiled as they burned, then followed up with a pot of oil on the cabin.

Once the cabin had burned out, Josef poked around in the ashes and found a metal box. I opened it and showed everyone a ring with a small emerald, and Josef spotted a finely wrought chain with a pendant in the box as well. Seemed to me the chain and pendant were worth a bit, the ring not so much. Beth tried both on and rode off, but Boraen had a chat with her and Pyrea ended up with the pendant.

Wikton and Fergus felt something was pacing the party, and as dusk fell, we heard another howl of rage, from due north this time. We made camp and I made dinner. Pyrea cast identify on the chain and pendant, found nothing magical, so she put it away but declared it was treasure of the company.

Again we set watches, and again an attack came just before dawn. Nann was hit, and Tasso yelled to alert the camp as again he put out a flaming arrow. Beth had seen the weapon arc in from the west, and shouted this to me as she ran to defend Nann and Tasso. I cut to the northwest and Luna went southwest, thinking we might circle behind the archer, and I saw Fergus, Josef, and Wilhelm running naked but well-armed to the west. Another howl tore at our ears, and Boraen howled back, then walked to the west. None of us found a foe. Once everyone was back in camp, Beth shot the arrow back west – it was a beautiful shot, but a waste of an arrow.

Again Beth and I climbed trees, and we saw the end of the forest! Today’s ride would be take us out of the forest. We dropped from the trees and jubilantly shared this with the others over a hot meal. Wikton, Boraen, and Pyrea had had another bad night, and the news did not quite dispel their dourness. Wikton had spent a restless night asking his god for guidance; Boarean had talked at Meesha on how he would ask for nothing until he atoned and proved himself. Meesha, he indicated, was exasperated and disappointed in him for making this declaration. Maybe another day or so and I’ll teach them to meditate and clear their minds.

About midday, we came out of the woods. We headed east, skirting the edge of the woods, and shortly the ground became boggy and we had to pick our way carefully. Massive swarms of insects rose up and bothered us; Tasso, Luna, and I had the sense to put kerchiefs over our faces but our ponies still suffered, as did the horses and the rest of the party. We found soft but dry land to make camp and discussed our options; as evening came and the winds picked up, the insects went away.

We decided to head east one more day. We could not find dry wood anywhere so we made a cold supper and bedded down. Happily, this night passed without any attacks. In the morning, another cold meal, then we picked our way through the bog. The insects were back, but a light breeze made them less a nuisance than the day before. I felt we were being followed, but each time I looked back I saw nothing. The frogs were so loud, they would have drowned out any sound of pursuit!

In the afternoon, we saw smoke rising on the horizon, and we saw a camp of frog farmers a little before dusk. Racks of drying jerky to one side, sealed barrels stacked up on the other, and fires with great cauldrons of soup and sticks of seasoned frog kebabs in the middle. Behind the fires were rough tables and a sea of tents. We assumed our alter egos.

As we approached, the cooks waved. Out of the large tent in the middle came the campmaster, who introduced himself as Gerald. His wife, Shayna, came up from the cookfires, wiping her hands on an apron. Gerald quickly gives us directions to the road we sought, and Shayna promised us the soup was the best we would ever eat. We added some frog jerky to our supplies, then sat at the tables to sample the soup and kebabs. Beth tossed her money to Gerald and asked him to bring some drink.

The brandy was strong but sour. Beth didn’t mind – as most of us sipped, she drank deeply. And she turned out tobe a mean drunk. Beth sneered at Shayna, “Did you piss yourself, or is that just the smell of your soup?” Against the outraged murmur from the froggers, Beth drew herself up and challenged “ all you drunken bitches to fight!” Boraen reached for her, tried to pull her away from Shayna, but Beth slipped away and smacked Shayna. Insults and punches, Shayna gave back as much as she got. The whole camp rushed in, some to watch the fight, others to join in, and a few trying to break it up.

Well, I’d noted where the money was being kept: Three bags, one each of gold, silver, and copper, and a ledger on the side that tallied each day’s commerce. I emptied the bag of gold, and tossed my few silver and copper pieces into the appropriate bags. They’d have a very hard time making the books balance tonight!

I slipped back and saw the fight was over. Cooler heads had prevailed after Beth passed out. Pyrea suggested we leave; Gerald, sporting a bloody nose as he dragged Shayna away, angrily agreed. Certainly I was amenable, and so we rode away.

The fourth day of Autumn dawned cloudy and cool. Shortly after we left Roehm’s men behind, a heavy rain started. We slogged forward through the mud. I heard a commotion from the rear guard, and turned to see that Fergus had been pulled from his saddle! Willie was throwing off a rope, and men popped up around us demanding we stop in the name of Dame Orielt.

We tried to talk our way through, but they would not let us pass without swearing service to their crusade. We’d a mission of our own, thank you very much, and tempers flared. One of their bowmen shot Willie as his horse shied, and that was all it took. In quick succession, Pyrea put the three in front to sleep, I entangled one off to the side, Talvi went on the hunt, Beth shot down one bowman that I had slowed for her. Wikton hammered away but kept calling on the foe to surrender.

And the battle was pretty much over. Boraen slit the throat of the three sleeping tribesmen, a bit profligate with his subjects if you ask me, and certainly ignoring the good advice of Marshall Roehm. Ah well, dead men cannot raise the hue and cry. As I saw Beth looting the man she’d killed with my help, I decided to show Tasso and Luna how to check the bodies of the slain for treasure.

As the entanglement subsided, the remaining tribesman tore free, only to stare down Wikton and his hammer. Wikton encouraged him with the help of some rope to stay and answer questions, commanding him in turn to talk (nothing useful) and to betray (which only confused the captive).

Boraen came over to help with the questioning. The man worked for Ulfamark, the Bearman. Ulfamark was determined to avenge himself on the corrupt and cruel tribesmen who had betrayed him in the rite of adulthood.
Determined to force more from the man, Wikton and Boraen began breaking limbs. Wikton chillingly promised to injure and heal until the man complied or went mad. This only increased his defiance – Boraen was unworthy to be king, but how like the others he was! Boraen’s face suffused in anger but he called on Meesha to heal this man. His heart wasn’t in it, though – the man was left with a broken foot. I looked back at him, thinking to heal him myself, but he’d already gotten one hand free enough to make rude gestures.

Tasso was appalled, as in truth so was I. Meditation might help my turmoil, but this trip was certainly not doing it! We had a long whispered talk. Tasso was distressed I had not stopped Boraen from killing the helpless, or torturing a bound prisoner. He knew of war – had fought at Yew, in fact, a battle I had missed. But there were right and wrong ways to fight. Far from fighting chaos, we were creating it! I confided I had the same thoughts, but was not sure how to stop the humans from their cruelty. And I had done a poor job protecting Tasso or Luna from their violence, as well. We pledged to keep each other honest, and I suggested his path may lead him to a druidic circle, not a thieve’s guild. I gave him 3 gold pieces to reward him for awakening me to my complacency and complicity.

We left the main road for a farm to market track a bit north of Steltin. As we headed west/southwest, we saw in the evening gloaming a wagon of travelers coming our way. It was a troupe of very bad musicians – so bad that it crossed my mind they might be spies or rogues. They gave no notice of my signs, though, as they chatted with us convivially about the lands around Steltin. Boraen and I sent them to plague Winright and they kept on up the road. Luna suggested that they were such bad musicians, maybe that was how they made a living, and her guess was confirmed by the innkeeper when we stopped for the night.

We’d disguised ourselves as travelling merchants. Pyrea became Lady Arrington, I her father’s most trusted business advisor, Sen Orgrego. The Sens were a large and prosperous clan, so my name would not cause suspicion. And of course merchants would need to know of troops or tolls ahead, so our questions would seem natural.

On the evening of the eighth day of autumn, we saw the Dale Woods in the distance. We’d skirted Riverton, certainly, but in so doing, had gotten turned around. The Dale woods were north, a small group of buildings to the south.
As we approached the buildings, a clamor of barking started. I cast speak to animals on myself, but what the two dogs were saying was, “They are going to kill us! Hey! Get away from here! Masters, make them leave!” I told them, we are merchants, no one is going to kill you!” Human heads peeped out at us, and a large man called off the dogs. “Yes, yes, you will not let them kill us,” barked the younger dog.

Ogre was the man’s name, and he had some wildmen in his family, it appeared. Pyrea assured him we were just merchants trying to get across the river, without having their horses or goods taken to support the war effort. We all decided to be civilized, and Ogre’s four sons, crossbows carried but uncocked.

We ask Ogre to build a raft to get us across. We’ll pay good money, and leave him with a ferry that could compete with the toll bridges. Meanwhile, I fish and forage with Tasso and Luna, who thaw slightly towards me. Beth gets on with the dogs famously, and goes out hunting with them. Nan, too hunts, and she brings down a deer.

And in the evening of the final day, I talk to the three other remaining members of the Enonia Falcons. We all were distressed by the torture – it reminded us of what orcs did. And Fergus had been troubled in his sleep for many nights after killing helpless captives in our fight against the Black Brotherhood. Here was his chance to make amends for that.

The Falcons would be a force that stood for something. We would protect the helpless, starting with our vow to prevent the slaughter or abuse of prisoners. The druid in me exulted in this –my mission is not the protection of the woods, but preserving the flock against predators.

And strategically, this made sense, too – everyone would be needed to drive back the orcs, and the more unity we could achieve, the stronger our forces would be. No need to make more enemies, we had enough!

The eleventh day of autumn, we rafted over to the Southron Duchy. This is the first time I have set foot outside the Duchy of Irecia, but any musings on that were interrupted by a bittersweet parting between mother and son: the younger dog, Lee, refused to leave Beth, and his dam was both wistful and eager to see him make his way in the world. Ogre might have raised a fuss, but, “His ma’s been mated with another fine watchdog. I’ll keep the best of the litter,” he confided to me.

Tasso, Luna, and I came down from my room to find Fergus, Josef, and Willie already sitting at breakfast. The three humans had worked up almost as much an appetite as we three littlelings, so we took another table and called for our own food. Tasso and Luna aren’t as comfortable around humans as I am, so this helped them relax and enjoy the meal while still getting used to our companions. I mentioned to Luna that she’d have liked Belaldur – and it struck me, with Belaldur and Ja’Kar dead, there were only 4 of us Falcons left. Perhaps it was time to begin recruiting again – maybe that ranger, Harris, with whom I’d shared cider two days past? I’d have to remember to look him up once we returned from our journey.

After the rest of our company – Boraen, Nann, and Talvi; Beth, Pyrea, and Wikton— trooped down to the common room, Josef and Willie went to gather our horses and get the cart loaded. The rest of us reviewed again our goal.
The three swords of Boraen’s vision were spread out – some folk who’d adventured from here before had a broken sword, but it might be reforged. Another was somewhere in the city of Irecia. The last sword seemed to us likely to be in the mountains to the Southeast, where tribes known to Boraen dwelled. We’d gathered supplies and prepared to set on a great journey to see if these tribes would recognize his kingship and relinquish the sword. Not the same as the clans rolling across the plains of Irecia, but still it thrilled me – surely the open road would open my mind to possibility!

I felt ill at ease and hemmed in by the towns and the walls. I had wrested control of a druid’s circle from one who had allowed it to be twisted from its true course by a tricky, predatory plant. That felt good, but my obligations made me hand it back to members of that circle with admonitions to clean and reconsecrate the grove. Fighting the anti-life creatures of chaos also felt good – rescuing the goblyns with Ja’Kar’s help was the first time I’d really felt I’d made a difference! – and defending folk of all sizes from the depredations of the orders of orcs was even better. But with no real place or mission yet I felt a bit adrift.

Along the way South, Luna taught me more of her knotwork – and Tasso was a good sport at letting us bind him to a horse and then work his way out. I tried to teach them some simple skills of stealth – Luna took to this, but Tasso was almost as clumsy as a human. Maybe his strengths lie elsewhere. They certainly don’t lie with pickpocketing or diplomacy!

As we approached Lord Winwright’s land, I exchanged rueful glances with Wikton. Perhaps I had done him a disservice, handing him over to Winright’s justice. Surely we could have had a marvelous adventure, and Winright was practically a Lightbringer anyhow. A huge armed camp flew Marshall Roehm’s flags, byon either side of the road west of Winright’s tower. While most of us went to check the camp out and hoped to see the Marshall, Tasso stayed behind to tend the horses with Nann and Josef and Willie.

We spoke to Shelly, a captain guarding the entrance to the camp. Boraen introduced himself as our leader and declared we needed to ride south to save the land. All very grandiose, and as I exchanged glances with Fergus, he mouthed, “I thought we were more an autonomous collective.” Shelly welcomed us and told us we must speak to the Marshall Roehm. The rest of our party came up, and to my dismay, I saw Tasso knocked out and thrown over his saddle, nearly dead. Boarean quickly gave first aid. I hadn’t time to get to the bottom of this before Shelly returned to escort us to the tower.

Shelly took us past Mongo, the wildman guard of Lord Winwright. Mongo was bellowing at servants from the tower as they struggled to load up Winwright’s belongings onto a wagon. He took the time to greet Wikton, I saw.
In the Great Hall, Marshall Roehm stood before a table of maps with his new second, in a heated discussion with Lord Winright. Throwing his hands in the air, Winright walked over to a pile of boxes and chests, glowered at Wikton and glanced at me. He pointedly checked a few locks before storming out of the room.

Roehm was delighted to see us, and he greeted me with great courtesy. He looked with interest at our new companions, as we explained we needed to go South and East ton a mission to push back the chaos. We had found signs that the Lightbringers, the rebellion and invasion, the Black Riders, the orcs, the Master of Chaos, Irecia were interconnected.

Roehm’s troops held the road here, after havng their siege of Steltin broken by a force from the Southron Duchy – irregulars and tribesmen, as well as Kevlin’s men and the Lightbringers. Roehm didn’t want to storm and pillage Steltin. The town was part of the Duchy of Irecia, and he needed unity to push back the orcs.

The Southrons were all led by tribal chiefs from the mountains to which we were headed. Four captains, led by a short “Bearman.” Boraen explained that he, not the Bearman, was rightful king over these men and would command their obedience. Marshall Roehm raised an eyebrow at this but nodded politely, and went on.

The Southron forces had also brought a mage able to summon and control gorillas, flying cats, and stone golems. He knew a flaming brands spell, too. He and a guerilla force of Southron irregulars struck with no pattern Roehm could discern save that they stayed away from the main camps of the Southrons.

Winright then swept back into the room with servants and hubbub, removed the last of his chests and boxes. Wikton offered casually to remove Winright from the list of Marshall Roehm’s concerns. Roehm considered it, but ruefully declined. No, we must avoid spilling innocent blood. Even the Southrons, invaders though they were, would be needed if he was to drive out the orcs.

Tasso had come to by the time we got back to the horses. He was woozy and weak, and I performed a healing spell and asked what had happened. I got the story from Tasso, with Josef and Willie and Nann chipping in details.

Tasso had thought it would be wise to practice his pilfering on Josef – but Josef caught him at it and knocked Tasso out with a single blow. Nann stopped Josef from slitting Tasso’s throat, but it was a near thing nonetheless. I told Tasso to give one gold piece to Josef for attempting to lift his pouch – one doesn’t do that to a comrade-in-arms! – and one to Nann for saving his life. He complained but complied. I told Josef that Luna and Tasso were my charges, to leave discipline to me. Appeased by the gold piece, he agreed, and apologized for his temper.

Tasso was hurt and confused and quite distressed to lose so much money. I told him again to not steal from his companions, and explained how that sort of thing gave us a bad name among all the bigfolk. But I’d told him to practice his skills, he protested weakly, and these noisy, stupid humans were little better than thugs. Beth then leaned down and broke his nose, reminding him not to steal from the company, or assume littleling speech was unknown outside our race.

Humiliated and angry, Tasso spat out, “Now I see the violence inherent in the system! How can you be friends with this bunch?” It made for a cold night: Tasso slept next to Luna, both a bit away from me, as I lay awake, alone, and troubled.

The two littlelings from Carbaugh’s Keep are Tasso and Luna. They are very close and comfortable with each other but not, as I had first understood, brother and sister. They both are newly Followers of Orlando, and aspire to be warriors in that order. Carbaugh asked me to train and season them for a season or two before sending them back – but I wonder if he sent them because he sensed the great journey that lies ahead.

My friends – Boraen and Talvi and Einar, Fergus and Josef and Willie, Grel, and Wikton – rode up from Enonia on their way to see the Sisters. Tasso, Luna , and I had just finished lunch as the party came to Jakar’s Rest. Twyla, a dark and lovely dark human woman who’d been training me in dance fighting, asked to join us on the trip to Old Fawn. Twyla is an illusionist, just starting out and a bit naïve. If Belaldur still lives, surely her beauty and grace will draw him back.

In the waning days of Summer, then, we made our way to Old Fawn. Boraen greeted Nina and Grenwe, and he, Einar, Wikton, and Twyla went inside to inform them of Belaldur’s death, our quest, and our need for knowledge. Fergus, Josef, and Willie grazed the horses out front. We three littlelings went around back to view their garden, filled with unusual sculptures, to give them (and us) some privacy. Even though we’d shared my tent and bedroll on the way up, Tasso, Luna, and I had only just begun to get comfortable with each other. But over a jug of cider that afternoon, we made real progress!

Boarean and Twyla came out of the house, but Einar had stayed behind to learn from the Sisters. We’d need to wait in town for a few days to give Ninan and Grenwe the time to research the Dark Ones, the Swords, the letter and the Devils. Boraen allowed, too, that he was King of the Wolf Tribe, but he didn’t put on any airs.

We didn’t stay at the best inn – I’m wary of drawing too much attention. But the one we stayed at had a fine buffet for breakfast, free sandwiches for lunch, and a hearty dinner. We could make our other meals by snaring some rolls and fruit at breakfast, and sandwiches at lunch, so at least we would not go hungry on this silly human “three squares a day!”

Four days on, late in the afternoon, as I sat quietly drinking my cider and wondering what was in store for dinner, I heard a commotion in the street. I hopped from my booster seat – another reason to like this inn, booster seats! – and ran along the bench to the doorway, thinking there might be some opportunity in the confusion. And then I heard Twyla cry out in pain and alarm! Well, a new companion she might be, but still I would protect her!

Two men fought over Twyla, one snatching at her while the other cruelly gripped her arm. As I tried to slip through the crowd, I could see the malice in the eyes of both men. I remembered the pretty ladies who would come to my uncle’s shop, finding slightly frayed gowns and chipped jewels they could make into finery good enough to pass in the dim light of the evening. And the hard-faced pimps that would stop in the store, too, demanding their cut of the night’s take, scoffing at the bits of lace and velvet their girls were buying. And my uncle, oily and smarmy to the pimps and condescending to the ladies. Well, this was not going to be Twyla’s fate!

I leapt for the bully who held Twyla, figuring to distract him with a knife at his throat. And Wikton and Boraen, too, came to her aid. Wikton let his hammer fly and it smashed into the pimp’s skull just as my dagger touched his neck. The dagger slid between his sixth and seventh vertebrae – a mercy, really, as he’d have had a massive headache from the hammer. With one punch, Boraen had dispatched the other pimp. I checked their pouches for any signs of who these two were, then noticed a large ring on the finger of Twyla’s captor. The town guard showed up before I could cut it loose, though. Grel took Twyla back inside the inn; Wikton, Boraen, and I went to the town jail.

I shared out the sandwiches I had in my pouch, and Wikton amused us with tales of his earlier imprisonment and declared us to be comrades of the cellblock. The next morning, the town council fined us for the two murders, but set aside the fine to thank us for stopping Twyla’s kidnapping. Our companions welcomed us back, and we headed back to see the Sisters.

Ninan and Granwe told us of the Swords of Legend – one broken that needs special magic to repair, one lost in the Southron Duchy, one held in the Duchy of Elphast. These three swords must come together to defeat the Dark Ones. They told us, too, that the Demons and the Dark Ones are not the same – in fact, there are tales of demons helping a tribe break free from the domination of the Dark Ones, though this meant exchanging one set of masters for another. After much deliberation, our company decided to seek the sword in the Southron Duchy first , and we spent a day equipping ourselves as best we could. I found ponies for Tasso and Luna.

We reached Trubaugh the last day of Summer. This was where we’d rescued and restored some of the Damned, though there was still a field full of them, fenced in and the field abandoned. Mazlor had had some success curing the Damned here, and I’d thought his temple might have sent someone to continue his work. But not only are the Damned still afield, a new horror has blocked the villagers from tending their crops.

These beasts were like great leather bags, with a poisonous bite and claws. There were five, one much larger than the others. Grel called his magic steed to him, and rode high above the fields, looking for them. All five floated above the same field; as Grel hovered over them, the four smaller ones rose to meet him. Grel fired arrows at them but the wind kept him from hitting his targets. And they were on him!

Grel would have been in a bad state had he not turned to flee. As it is, one of the beasts ripped his shield off his back, and another bit his horse. Borean brought down the bag that had harried Grel’s horse; Luna and I bracketed the one gnashing on Grel’s shield. Beth took out another, and Josef and Fergus targeted the last of the small bags. Beth followed up with another arrow at long range, killing that final small monster.

Willie dropped his bow and scrambled for another weapon as he saw the boss bag burst from the wheat, scattering chaff and straw ahead of it. Josef went down with some in his eye. Twyla stepped forward then, and began undulating as she called forth dancing lights, in the form of a great glowing figure shaking its hips at the monster. The distraction worked – instead of attacking Willie and Josef, the great bag lunged for the illusion. I quickly cast entangle, tied it up in fast-growing wheat, and Wikton blinded the beast with a blast of light. A flurry of arrows and stones killed it quickly. Grel landed, and Boraen healed his horse.

The villagers were repulsed by the other-worldly creatures we had dispatched, and sang our praises as the conquerors of chaos. All a bit much, if you ask me, but they gleefully flung the carcasses into the field of the Damned, then prepared us a simple but filling dinner.

The first day of Autumn found us on the road again. In the afternoon, we passed by the ruined tower of Lady Emily, near Chendale, but we pressed on to reach the Abbey by evening. We called up to the Abbey, and Dame Heather sent us water and invited us to camp outside the Abbey walls.

We lunched at Ulichton the next day, and bought up what supplies we could. I picked up a couple of daggers, thinking to instruct Tasso and Luna in their use. We rode for Ennonia, and caught the tail end of the day’s market. We dropped quite a lot of coin there, and I made sure to get a good meal and a room for we three littlelings at the Militiaman and Bawd.

Riding out in the morning, we reached Draycott right at lunchtime and settled in to rest the horses before the long trek ahead. We had a good couple of meals and welcome. Willie and Josef’s kin made much of Fergus, and the talk of the town was how he’d made men out of a couple of ne’er-do-wells. I’ll get our tent set up, share out these berries I found in the bushes by the clearing, and go to bed with Tasso on one side and Luna on the other.

The bards sign their songs and tell of news that they’ve heard from around the region and lands. This is what they’re singing of currently:

Littleling city of Cheddon experiences a Night of Terror

A horror has befallen the littleling city of Cheddon, which lies to the north of the Duchy of Irecia. Black Brotherhood troublemakers brought cages of Damned into the city in the dead of night to the city cemetery. They unleashed these horrors on an unsuspecting population and a Night of Terror broke out. Many littlelings succumbed to the affliction, and parts of the city were burned from the chaos. Indeed, far worse might have happened, had it not been for a brave band of adventurers who secured the docks from an attack of Crab-Men and fixed the water pumps so that fire crews could extinguish the flames. Many ships in the harbor were lost to the Crab-Men and town officials are worried that the Black Brotherhood may have stirred them up.

The Rebellion to the South Takes a Turn

The Duke of Irecia is facing rebellion and an outside threat! His commander, Marshal Roehm, marched a regiment of militia and mercenaries to the southern reaches of the Duchy, to confront the rebellious Dame Oriolt and Marshal Kevlin. Both fled to their respective demesnes and it looked as if a siege was to begin. The surprise came in the form of several regiments of partisan Southron soldiers!

It seems that the Duke-in-waiting Heber Felix (son of King Julian Felix, may the Light keep him safe) is angry at his father for having the Church of the Light annul his marriage to a common woman. Seeing the split between the Church and rebellious Lightbringers, Heber has sent men to support Oriolt and Kevlin! The Marshal has retreated to a line just north of Steltin and is said to be raising militias and calling for more mercenaries to launch a full scale war.

Marshal Ynivax has an old problem come anew to his fledgling holds. He has summoned militias and mercenaries to guard against Notchland Keep. It had been relatively deserted in the Spring and early Summer but in the past ten-days, Orcs have come there in force once again to fortify the old keep. So far, they have not attacked further, but Ynivax fears raids and a renewed assault.

Strange Creatures Arise

All across the lands and Duchies, strange creatures of myth and legend have suddenly appeared! Wyrms, Wyverns, strange monstrous things, Stirges, Winged creatures of great size and more have been seen, or have attacked! What were once safe roads and peaceful fields have become places of fear and worry. The nobles, clergy and rulers have been gathering in discussion with little to say. Elders and sages are wagging their tongues that this can’t be a coincidence when it has occurred right after the Day of Darkness.

Pagan Feast in Ulichton

The leader of a cult worshiping the pagan goddess known as Meesha has declared a day of celebration and feast on the 58th day of Summer, right before the Harvest Feast of the first day of Autumn. It will be held in the town of Steltin. It is said that Kjeld, the priest of the cult of Vanir will also be attending. There will be food, song, dancing and prayers to the pagan gods for help and protection from the strange things that have been happening recently.

Beláldur sits alone at a table, the room lit only by the lamp light resting on top of it. Near at hand is a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a small bottle of ink. The elf stares at the parchment for some time, then picks up the quill and begins to write:

To my companions,

He stops, quickly scratches out the words, and begins again:

_My friends,

I’ll be leaving at dawn, to head East towards Irecia.

I know the dangers are great, but the danger of what may be coming from there, and not knowing about it or being prepared for it are much, much greater. Even some small scrap of information that I may be able to bring back by scouting the enemy may wind up meaning the difference between victory or disaster. I must take the chance.

I will go alone, both because I cannot burden anyone else with this risk, and because my odds of moving about undetected are better by myself. A lone fish escapes the net where the whole school gets trapped in it.

Among my people, it is customary for a seaman to write a Sailor’s Will when he is about to head out on a voyage he may not return from. So now, my head being clear of clouds, I write this testament:

To Ragar, I leave my Legionnaires’ bow and Legionnaires’ dagger. A good hunter requires good tools, and in Ragar’s hands I believe they will be put to good use.

To Pyria, I leave the last of my gems. She may have them fashioned into jewelry of course, to compliment her amazing outfits, but I suspect she’ll trade them for components for plying her craft. If there’s one thing I know about wizards, it’s that the supplies needed to do magic are expensive. I hope these will help.

To Fergus, I leave my prized pipe and special leaf from Parabellum’s shop. I know Fergus is very serious when it comes to fighting, but the times I’ve enjoyed with him the most have been when he’s joking around, not taking the world, or himself, quite so seriously. I leave these to him as a reminder that sometimes you have to relax and enjoy the voyage.

To Mazlor, I leave my gold and brown cloak. I had a dream that is shared by some of the others, that there would one day be a group of riders willing to patrol these lands, keeping people safe and giving swift warning when new dangers arose. I know Mazlor has a dream too, that one day the followers of the Light will unite to defeat the darkness. I leave the Enonian Falcon cloak to him as a reminder that some dreams are worth fighting for to the end, no matter how much the odds are stacked against you. Gold is the color of the rising sun, Mazlor.

To Balto, I leave a map to a certain well that I’m certain he also remembers. He’s free to go back there and find more treasures, but I also leave him this suggestion, that he take the map to a certain friend of ours we’ve met a few times at the Militiaman and Bawd. In exchange for that map, I believe that his prestige will rise highly within a certain organization. There are more ways to grow than how the plants do it, my friend… just be sure to ask for a percentage of the profits, too.

To Borean, I leave instructions on how to find where I have buried a box containing a couple of items. I ask that he deliver one of them to one of the Sisters in Old Fawn. The other, he is free to keep until he finds someone that he deems worthy of it, someone fit to rule. I trust the warrior of the north’s judgment best of all in this, and he’ll know which item goes to whom. Be sure to send my love to Nannon as well, Borean.

To Grel, I leave my letter of credit, on the condition that he swears an oath to one day ride north and deliver half of it to the most needy of the elven ships that he finds there. I know that once his word is given, nothing in the world will make him break it. And also to Grel, I leave my leather headband, which I wore at times to honor our fallen friend Ja’Kar. Perhaps he will be good enough to take it to Jorann, as a reminder to both of them that sometimes sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.

That rest of my worldly possessions I leave to the captain of this fort, who was good enough to store and guard these items for me.

May the wind always fill your sails, and your ship always carry you home.

Beláldur
_
When the ink has dried, Beláldur rolls up the parchment and seals it in a scroll case. He stands, looks at it for a moment with a content expression, then leans over and blows out the lamp.

“To me Wolves, too me!” Yells Børæn as he leaves the tent.

Reluctant eyes turn and upon seeing Móðir Mother) and the Merkitä Muistiin emerge behind the large warrior, the mood shifts. This is the Wolf Tribe’s King. Though young, it is by his actions that he showed all he is not his father.

“My brothers and sisters of the Wolf, the time for celebration must be put on hold…”

The crowd mutters, but when the Móðir raises her hand, all go silent.

“Evil is afoot. Some will call it Chaos. Some will call it the inevitable destiny of not just the Wolf, and the Northern Tribes, but of all of us, to be consumed by this darkness. I do not care, this blackness has infected everything we hold dear.” Børæn pauses as his words wash over his tribe. Tribesmen look to each other in worry, confusion, but more look angry. They sense a war is brewing, and the death of the Shadow is just the start of something that will be a time of challenge. “The Clan of No Name is but one example. The Shadow is just another as well. This evil, if left unchecked, will destroy not only what we hold dear, but this entire world.”

The crowd goes silent. Børæn has given word too what many have felt.

“I have fought this evil first hand. My sword and axe have cut a bloody swath through it. Talvi and I have hunted it, and have worked to protect who we can. Yet, despite this, the evil grows.”

Hearing her name Talvi appears at Børæn’s side. Seeing her, many realize that the tribe has changef. The Shadow King is dead, and a new light has appeared.

She looks at the man she sees as her cub, and Børæn feels her eyes upon him. The two look at each other, and Børæn feels through their shared bond her pride. As quick as the feeling came, it is quickly replaced with annoyance. “Get on with it cub,” she seems to scold Børæn. Stifling a laugh Børæn looks out at the crowd.

“I have been to the lands of the South. The evil infects everything. An ancient city is now a kingdom of Orcs…”

Hearing that, many yell curses, offer their swords to fight, and mutter vows to fulfill honor debts.

Børæn raises his hand and the gathering goes silent.

“There will come a day when we will ride as one and remove that rot, but today is not that day. We must be strong, stronger than we are now.”

Torpo, who has watched in silence nods his head toward Móðir (Mother). They share a glance. They know now, without any doubt, the true Wolf King is here.

“My friends, I know I have arrived, but I have much to do in the South…”

Hearing this, the crowd grows uneasy. Again Børæn raises his hand and all go silent.

“My path takes me from my people. I must fight battles that are my own. The Wolf is not ready for what is to come. We have been weakened by a poison that has just begun to be drained from this tribe.”

Looking at the crowd, Børæn feels something deep within him change. He feels humble. He feels pride. He feels as if the missing parts of him have been found. He also feels the familiar touch of his goddess and he smiles.

“I must go,” the crowd murmurs and again Børæn silences them. “I must go to fight. A fight I must do alone. If I do not do this, I will not be worthy of being your King.”

Hearing this a cheer begins, and oaths are sworn. There is a joy to this, and there is pride in this. What was once a dying wolf, has now found a new life.

“While I am gone, the Wolf will be cared for. Móðir and the Merkitä Muistiin will watch over you, and together they will help you heal.”

Hearing this, the crowd bows their heads to the two, and soon the crowd chants “Sinun sanasi on laki! (Your word is law.)”

The chant grows louder, it rings through the valley, it fills the tribe with hope. It pierces the blackness which smothered it for so long. Even Torpo and Mother chant this.

Raising his hand again, a hush goes over the crowd.

“I ride South, but I will not ride alone. What good is a wolf without his pack? Who will ride with your King?”

The crowd shifts and murmurs. All think about what this choice means. Suddenly a woman steps forward. Short of stature, hair long and brown, and a patch covering her right eye, she commands respect (and perhaps some fear). She stands proud and she stands as if she knows this moment has been her destiny. She knows that here, right now, her Lore has begun.

“I am Nanna One Eye, warrior of the Rabbit Clan. I will ride with you my King,’ she says in a strong voice.

“I am honored to ride with you Nanna of the Rabbit.”

Hearing this a cheer goes up among the gathered Rabbit Clan. For so long they have suffered under the yoke of the past. Now, however, they know that the tribe has truly changed.

As if a dam burst, others begin yelling out and pushing to step forward. Suddenly two emerge from the crowd. One, a woman, hair of gold, dressed in furs, and wearing the markings of a Druid. The other is but a boy, perhaps no more than 16.

“I am Tófa of the Horse Clan, and I have a calling my path follows yours. I have had visions of a wolf, whose Lore is destined to entwine with mine. I will gladly stand by your side my King and aid you in your fight. That is if you will have me?”

Børæn smiles, “Thunder is your name, yet you wear the trappings of a Druid?”

“I hear a calling,” Tófa responsefs solemnly. “It is a tug. No? A growing wind that pushes me. I must do this.”

“Mesha,” Børæn says. “In all things I honor you. Step forward Tófa I am blessed by Mesha to have you by my side.” As she stands at her King’s side, the Horse Clan cheers in pride. As a breaking storm it fills the valley, and all who hear it, know the Horse once again roam the land.

“Do not be a fool boy,” yells Torpo. “You do not know what you are doing!”

Børæn looks to his old friend. “Why are you, angry old friend?”

“He is Einarr my grandson. Useless with the Lore; unskilled in the skills of his people; nothing more than a dreamer too busy to learn,” snaps Torpo.

Looking at the boy, Børæn smiles. He was Einarr’s age when he set off on his path. He looks in the eyes of the youth and sees a strength there. A smoldering spark that will bloom into a raging fire. This strength will not be found here, with Wolf. He will find it with Børæn and when the boy returns all will see his strength.

“Your name fits you Einarr, you are a lone warrior. Do you have the strength to stand at my side?” Børæn says simply.

Einarr looks into Børæn’s eyes and stands as tall as he can.

He tries to look solemn.

He fails.

He tries to look serious.

He fails.

None of those expressions are right for the youth.

Instead, he smiles.

“My King I am ready. I will not waver. I will not flee. I will show courage when racing into battle. I will be your shield. I am a wolf, and I know my duty as one. I will not fail you.”

Torpo begins to yell, and Børæn glares at his old friend. It is a harsh look, filled with anger and rage. It is a look a King gives to a warrior who has failed to uphold his oaths. Taken aback by this, Torpo goes quite.

“Your clan boy?” Børæn asks.

“I am Einarr of the Eagle Clan!”

Hearing this the gathered Eagles cheer with pride.

“Einarr of the Eagle Clan I will be proud to have you at my side,” Børæn says loudly so all know that the weak are able to be strong when they hear the call.

Horses are brought, and each member of the company huddle with their clans. Oaths are sworn, blessings are given, and together they bask in the joy of what is to come. All know that because of this, their clans have changed, and have changed for the better.

“What in the Hells are you thinking boy!” Torpo snaps at Børæn. “My grandson is not strong, he is weak. He will fail you during the first battle he has. Do not bring him…”

Børæn spins, and his anger flares. Talvi growls, and in that growl there is anger. Torpo swallows what he was about to say. He looks at the boy, now a man, and for the first time knows fear.

“If anyone else said what you said, I would draw my axe and end their life where they stand,” growls Børæn. “It is only because I see you as a father that I do not do that now. Einarr is as old as I was when I fled the Wolf. There is a strength there and you dishonor him by your words and deeds.”

The two stare at each other and the old man looks away, bowing his head in shame.

“This old friend is the only time I will forgive you. Though you watch the Wolf while I go south, I am your King. My word is my honor. I will not have you question my honor. Do. You. Understand?”

Bowing deeply Torpo responds “I am sorry my King. I bring myself dishonor in this, and I dishonored you. I am sorry Børæn, truly.”

As quick as the anger came, it leaves, and Børæn smiles, placing his hand on Torpo’s shoulder.

“All is forgiven, old friend. I know you speak from love, and not malice. I know you worry about the boy. He will be fine, I swear it. Mesha guides me, and Mesha’s Will protects. Einarr will return, and he will make you proud.”

As the goodbyes are finished and the supplies are packed each member gathers around Børæn. Talvi seeing these new people looks at each as if she is appraising them. This does not go unnoticed by the three, and in truth, unnerves them.

“Pay her no mind, Talvi is the mother wolf, she sees me as her cub,” Børæn chuckles. In response, Talvi looks at Børæn and glares as if scolding him. For a second, the two look into each other’s eyes. Suddenly Børæn laughs, and Talvi barks and wags her tail, happily. The three look at each other. They know this is the Wolf King.

Drawing Lohikäärme Hammas, Børæn slices it across his right palm. Handing the ancient dagger to each of his new companions, they too draw the dagger across their right palm.

Holding his hand out, and each one clasps their hands with each other.

“Are you ready? You face a long path, are you sure in your choice?”

“Yes, my King,” Tofa speaks. Her voice is hard but sure. Her face is grim.

“Kunnia Kunnialla. Elämä elämästä. Pysyn teidän kanssanne ja taistelen teidän kanssanne. Olemme sidoksissa.”

(“Blood for blood. Lore with lore. Honor with honor. Life for life. I stand with you and I fight with you. We are bonded.”)

Each state, solemnly. They know now, without any doubt, this is their path.

With that Børæn smiles.

“We ride as one. Mesha guides us. Though Mesha is a fickle one, she has faith in me. I have faith in her. What we do is for her and for this tribe. We will be tested. We will shed blood. We will see things that make weak warriors run in fear.”

The three look at their king in wonder. They hang on each word. Tofa’s eyes go wide when she hears Mesha’s name.

“No matter what happens remember this: we are the Wolf. We strike with no fear. We hunt as one. We kill as one. We watch out for each other. It is a good omen that Horse, Rabbit, Eagle, Axe, and Sword are joined. Now let’s ride.”

As they leave the valley, Einarr rides close to Børæn.

“My King.”

“It is Børæn Einarr. I am not your King right now. I am Børæn.”

“Yes my… Børæn.” Einarr responds. “What should I call us?”

Chuckling, the response is simple “Just like your grandfather, heh? You are keeping the Lore Einarr, you decide.”

Riding back, his two companions look at him and smile.

“The Four Warriors.” Nanna simply responds.

“No, ‘The Wild’s Warriors’, sounds right,” Tófa answers.

“No those do not feel right. They are good, mind you, but not right,” answers Einarr.

Suddenly Einarr sits upright as inspiration strikes. “The Wolf’s Guardians!”

The others look at the Einarr and smile.

“‘The Four’,” Børæn states simply.

The three look at each other, and Einarr looks sad.

“You are not a Merkitä Muistiin yet, Einarr. Do not pout. You will have many opportunities to become one,” laughs Nanna and smiles at her new companion.

“Yes, Nanna is right. Just make sure you get our names right,” chuckles Tófa and winks at the boy.

Joining his two friends in the joking the three laugh.

As they ride, Børæn smiles. He is happy. He is proud. He is grateful. He whispers a prayer of thanks to Mesha and lets the rhythm of the ride take over. He listens to the three talk, boast, and laugh. It is a sound that pleases him.

“You do not know what you ride toward,” he thinks to himself. “You do not know what you will face. Yet, you are strong, stronger then you think you are. At the end of this, we will be more than Companions. More than a Pack. We will be of Blood.”

The four ride on.

Dark times have come to the land of men!
It all started out fairly ordinary. We decided to go take a look around Irecia to see what the Dark Ones might be up to. We decided to head out on foot so we could be less conspicuous. Immediately after we left the woods, we saw the remains of the orc camp. We decided to look around. almost immediately we were set upon by a hail of arrows. The Goblins hiding in the grass were impossible to find, let alone fight. Eventually, they ran off and we resumed our search. We found some truly gruesome remains in the shaman’s tent. We decided to burn it all and resume our journey.
Almost immediately we were beset by the same goblins! They were too fast and mobile to fight. We decided we needed to return and get our horses.
Mounted, we were able to ride through the ambush with only minor injuries. We continued on and saw smoke and signs of habitation in the hamlets off the road. We decided to take a look. The hamlets were all occupied by the Orcs! They were settling!
We continued on and made it to the wayfarers’ inn. We spied a wagon of orcs with chained humans and decided to engage.
The beasts dared to fire upon Arion!!! I was forced to leap in front of the arrows to ensure his safety. I will not be bringing him into battle again until his barding is ready! We took care of them and tried to free the humans, but they were townsfolk from Kolwith. It has been overrun. Their families are held hostage and they would not leave them. We were forced to let them go.
The next morning, There was an awful darkness and an explosion and suddenly, I was cut off from Tangadorin completely!! I am certain a Dark one has entered into our realm! We saw the light and darkness centered over Irecia, and a smaller one off to the south of the woods.
who have lived my life without fear, quaked in my boots. With the dDark Ones free, and Tangadorin cut off from his worshippers, there was no hope. I felt completely lost.
We decided to return to Enonia, we were not yet ready for this new darkness…..

TAP.

TAP.

TAP.

All eyes turn to the door of the hall as the winter’s wind ushers in the old man.

Orpo.

There is another name he is known for. Though he is the Merkitä Muistiin, it is a title he wears uncomfortably.

He is Orpo.

The man, despite his age, is still as resilient as he was as a youth. Scars cross his body, and each one is a reminder that at one time this man was a warrior. Though his days of roaming and fighting are long past, no one doubts that if need be Orpo would be the first in battle with the axe in hand.

The old man walks, the hall is not crowded. It is still day, despite the fact it is Long Night. Making his way to the front, those in the hall bow in respect to Orpo. Though he does not think himself as a Merkitä Muistiin, the tribe does, and respect is given.

Sitting at the far end of the hall are two thrones. One is large, imposing, and covered in the pelts of creatures killed. One would think that the throne is not beautiful, but that would be wrong. The throne is carved and resembles a flowering tree. The branches weave and entwine forming the throne from which Børæn has ruled.

Next to this throne is a delicate one, smaller in size, but whose beauty is only out shown by the woman who sits upon.

Fríđr.

Peacebringer.

Queen of the Wolf.

Chuckling to himself, Orpo reflects that it took one whose name means peace, to sooth the moody Børæn.

“I am happy that oaf of a boy put pride aside,” Orpo chuckles to himself.

“Something funny old friend?” Fríđr asks simply.

Her voice is of the spring, soft, gentle, and musical. It is a voice of a woman who seeks to understand and offers comfort. It is the counter to Børæn’s voice of rage. Together these two voices have weaved a song that has brought much to the People of the Wolf.

“Only your husband my dear. I still am not sure how you did not laugh when he fumbledthe words of his love to you,” Orpo laughs.

‘’If I wanted to marry a poet, I would have. Instead I married a man honest with who he is,” the queen looks at the old man and smiles..

“You asked to see me, my Queen. I am here,” Orpo simply states.

“Yes, dear friend. Come sit with me.”

Standing the queen walks to a table and sits, as she does a servant brings two mugs of spiced wine. Orpo, sitting across from his queen, and with an audible sigh, rests.

Without any pretense, Fríđr speaks.

“I know today is an important day in this tribe’s lore. It is the day that Børæn returned and avenged the wrongs. It is the day that he became king, and it is the day that set forth the path that would bring my headstrong, fierce, but loving wolf into my life.”

“You speak truly my Queen. This is the day,” Orpo says simply.

“Børæn has told me that this day marks something else, something that truly changed him, and set him on his path of being a warrior-priest. He told me for that on this day he saw his true path, and accepted his rôle in this life.”

“Yes my Queen, this is that day,” Orpo answers knowing what is to be asked next.

“But what was this event? Børæn tries to tell me, but in his typical way. ‘I met Móðir, I drank from a cup, and I saw a vision.’ What is that? That is not a story, it is a list of chores!”

Composing herself, and laughing Fríđr sighs. “Not even in the room and that man makes me raise my voice.”

Silence fills the room as Orpo looks at his Queen. His thoughts race with memories of that time. He knows that was a time of great darkness. It was a time that no one was left unchanged. It was a time of evil and darkness.

Yet, it was a time when heroes, answering the call of the Old Gods, joined together to save the world.

“My Queen,” whispers Orpo. “The event that truly set the course Børæn now walks was a vision. It was a vision given to him by the Móðir…”

“Móðir?”

“In your language my Queen she is Mother.”

“Your husband received a vision. It was a terrible vision…”

—

Slowly, my vision begins to collapse in a haze and narrows to a tunnel. I see Mother walk back to her chair and sit. I feel Orpo guide me next to her, and I am placed in a chair as well. She places her hand on my arm.

It feels as solid as rock and as heavy as a mountain.

“Walk with me…” she says in a commanding voice. The sound echoes in my ears as if I am hearing her speak at the mouth of a cave and you are deep within it. Now, even the small tunnel of vision, the fire, the surrounding vista, it all narrows into blurred vision.

“Walk with me…” I hear and I feel as heavy as stone, yet as light as a feather. A blink feels like a thousand heartbeats and when I open my eyes, I can see clearly… into Hell.

The ground beneath me is mud, blasted earth, a pile of stench and garbage. Pitiful creatures, bound in chains, walk towards a huge, dark pit. It is the size of a village. The sides of this pit resemble an inside-out corkscrew. These thin, hunched over creatures walk to the edge and down the corkscrew trail. Others are climbing out, hold stones or pulling carts with them. Short, stocky figures, dressed in leather and metal, crack whips, swing clubs and truncheons, or use boots to push the creatures onwards.

“Behold… our past.” says Mother and indeed, those pitiful creatures are human! I see in the distance, small huts that resemble the huts and tents of my people, but these huts are not suitable for even the lowest of any of the tribes. Small figures, children, are tied to those huts, much like we would tie a cur. I see women, their ribs sticking out of their skin, tending to the children and small fires before the huts. It looks as if they are preparing the lowest of meals.

I move then, suddenly, over the pit and it spirals down into the darkness. Just barely within sight, I see an edifice built into the side of the pit, seeming to vanish into the ground. As I get closer, I realize that it is built into the ground, that I am an exposed portion of an underground structure. There are obscene creatures and figures standing there, some of which send a chill through my body, almost as if I recognize them… I move past them, into the tunnels of the structure… tunnels whose walls seem to undulate. The humans, and elves that I see, and even many littlelings, all show fear!

I exit the tunnels into a huge chamber, whose center is dominated by a hulking structure that screams of its alien nature. It is an affront to my eyes and yet I cannot look away. There are smaller structures surrounding the center, and within, humans and others are screaming in pain. Their bodies are lashed to what look like altars and their life-blood is spilled out into troughs that lead to a crystal that shines a purple-green light. This crystal reflects a beam into the center structure. I see more beams from many more surrounding altars.

“The blood sacrifices. This is where they draw their power and how they used us.” Mother intones and I fly on… closer to the center.

There are areas of darkness moving around the center and the wrongness of them shakes me, threatening to break the vision. I feel the heavy grip of Mother tighten and you slowly rise away from them and to a vantage where I see into the center of the structure, where an enormous crystal collects the various beams and shapes it into one central shaft of light that casts downwards. Below, beneath the beam. I see THEM! The Dark Ones – a similar sight to what I saw in the strange places beneath the ruined monastery where I found myself as a youth.

“Always in three, they come and they work their power. One alone is strong, two together are immense, but three… it is in three that they find their expression of powerfully realized.” Mother says.

“They are not from here, Børæn. They are invaders, come to plunder our lands. The power you see is how they come and go from the place they are birthed from. They take from this place to their own place. They suck us dry so that they might be powerful in their own place. Their anchors, their links of chain through the power they steal from our lives, that is the manner of their domination. That is how they bring the abominations and strange kind to our lands, and they take our treasure to their land, for their war that they fight there.”

I begin to rise now. I see the leather and metal clad ones scurrying about, working to expand the top of the central structure.

“The Dwarfs, they were the servants of the Dark Ones, created by those creatures to serve. The Dwarfs, they paid a terrible price for their own freedom and ours.” Mother’s voice intones.

I rise faster and faster now.

“The sacrifices we made, with the Elves from places far away, with the small ones, with the Dwarfs, they freed us from the shackles, but they did not defeat the Dark Ones. Always plotting, always planning, always looking to regain their grip on this place, and now the time has come again that we must fight them!”

I rise up out of the ground now, rising faster and faster through the sky and clouds.

I look at Mother and simply say: “Show me more so I can understand.”

“The Dark Ones … where there is one, there will be a second. Where there are two, there will be a third.” Mother replies. “Their names, we do not know.”

I cannot see her, but I feel her hand on my arm. As I pray to Meesha, I get the feeling Mother is looking at me again, appraising.

“The one you pray to, She is not of us or our ways, but I feel Her presence in you. Perhaps you are the one to be the bridge. Perhaps you will be able to make them understand.”

“For their cities and walls, their armies and knowledge, all of that will be as leaves in the wind before the Dark Ones unless we regain the ways of old.”

I am higher now, and the land spreads before you. I see the glint of water to the north and south, to the east and west. It is as if the entirety of the lands lie before you.

“When we overthrew the Dark Ones ages ago, with the elves, the littlelings, the Dwarfs, and others that legends speak of, humankind strode forth and took to the lands. They built, they grew, they… forgot. We, we did not. We knew that time would move on, that the door would reopen, that they would return.”

I am beginning to fly back towards the ground now, slowly, slowly, but speeding up.

“Age moved us much as it moves river and hill, rock and tree. I do not know all of the stories. I do not have all of the answers. I am but one Mother. The clans. The tribes. They have others. They must be called. They must share the knowledge. Their pieces will add to the whole.”

Faster and faster I fall, flying through clouds. The wind does not whip my face, but I know that I have great speed, faster than a diving hunting bird.

“You must seek our brothers and sisters. Go south. Go to the east of the Shining City that is soon to be wreathed in Darkness. Go to the mountains there and find our kin.”

Features on the ground start to resolve themselves. There is snow on the ground, on the hills and trees. A white blanket.

“Go south to the lands of swamp and forest, to the hills there and find our kin.”

I realize that a part of the ground looks like a village, a winter home… your tribe’s winter home!

“You will find more pieces there. We know that the Dark Ones are coming. We know that we once held the power, forged by Elf and Littleling, guided by Dwarf, to destroy the Dark Ones. Many warriors, women, men, shamen, mages – they all died, but the doors were closed. We made mistakes in forging that power, so the legends say, but we found the way and were able to throw off the shackles.”

I see that I am heading towards what looks like a bonfire, with figures standing or sitting around it… I see myself from above… I am falling very quickly towards them!

“This is what you will need to become, as our King… the wanderer who finds the ways of Old. Will you succeed? Only your heart and muscle, sinew and will, can decide that.”

—

Silence fills the hall. Those who are there stare unblinkingly at the Queen and Orpo. No one dared to move while Orpo shared the lore.

Reaching for her mug with a shaking hand, she quickly takes a deep drink. Calmer now, she places the mug down and grabs Orpo’s hand.

“How did my husband react to this? How did he handle the visions he received?” She questions quickly.

Orpo sighs, and looks at his Queen and smiles.

“My child you know the answers. Børæn picked himself off the ground and looked at me and the Mother not with fright, not with arrogance, but with strength. His first thought was the care of his tribe. His second thought was to gather hunters — which he did — so that he could ride into battle to slay what he saw.”

“Børæn, even though he did not know it then, became our king. Yes, he had a long path to follow, but at that moment, when a lesser man would have fleed from that tent, after seeing what he saw, Børæn stood, grabbed his weapons and smiled! ‘Well, then, if I am too be King, I must war. If I must war, then I need a pack. My faith in Meesha will guide me, the wolf will aid me, and my weapons… My weapons will kill my enemies.’”

“It was that moment my Queen, that I knew the boy had become a man. He left us so that he could be forged into something new, and when he returned he pulled us from the darkness,” Orpo says with pride.

“Børæn is not as complicated as many think he is. He is guided by three things. One, his devotion to Meesha. Two, the well being of his tribe. Three, his love for you.”

Standing up slowly, Orpo bows to Fríđr.

“Now my child, you know the lore. The lore is yours, and the lore lives within you.”

“Thank you,” Fríđr whispers.

“Bah! It is just lore. Important, yes, but just lore. Do not let it weigh on you. If you do, you will be walking hunched over like I do,” laughs Orpo as he turns to leave.

Fríđr drinks from her mug again reflecting on what she has learned.

Seeing the door open once more, she smiles as Børæn walks in.

Deep winter.

In the north, it is the time of the forever night.

It is the time that the fruit of the labor of spring, summer, and fall is enjoyed.

It is the time of reflection, boasts, and rest.

Warriors who during the warmer months roam the mountain valleys protecting the Valley of the Wolf, spend their time carving, crafting, and even weaving.

“I’ve asked this question many times, but no one answers me,” states a small boy sitting next to his father by the fire. The boy is learning how to carve, but is more interested in listening to the stories his father tells.

“Child, if you spend more time listening your carving of a tree would look like a tree and not a snake,” the father says with a chuckle.

Before he can ask again, a large man approaches the fire. Padding next to him is the large black wolf that never leaves his side.

The boy looks up in awe. Here is the king.

Børæn at the age of 50, still is imposing. His thick muscles show no sign of age, and other than the streaks of grey in his hair and beard, Børæn still looks the same as he did so many year ago.

Sitting near the fire, Børæn looks to the child.

“Ask your question little one, and I will answer them,” Børæn.

The lodge grows quiet and wait to hear their king.

“I am not a Merkitä Muistiin, but I can tell you the lore…”

After Meesha’s words, I saw the goddess was true to her word, the rest of the journey passes quickly.

Within days I reached the winter home of the Wolf Tribe. Instead of the normal look of the tents, the animals gathered around the perimeter, the puffs of smoke rising from the warming fires — that wass all here, but so to were banners hanging from the tents, from poles and cord strung between them. All of them covered in symbols used by the medicine folk, shamans and witches. A great fire burned in the center of the camp, and I saw a ring of people surrounding the fire, meditating. Also in this circle was my mother and father.

I stopped my horse short, and dismounted. I led her back down the hill and told her to wait.

I looked at Talvi, and the bond we shared had her know what would come next: destiny.

We snuck to the top of the hill, and laid flat. Together we laid there, using the tall grass to hide us.

My axe wAs in my hand, and I remember feeling my manger simmer.

Feeling it, Talvi licked my hand as if to tell me, keep things in check. Whatever comes next, she and I will face it.

The chant was unlike anything I ever heard from the various shamen, witches and wise folk that I once interacted with.

The flame dimmed, and suddenly burst with a strange white and green color. The eldest shaman stood, turns and begins intoning to the circle.

One by one, the elders stood, steeping forward and thrust both arms into the fire! As they withdraw their arms, the strange fire remained on their skin, dancing and flickering until they sit back down.

Each shaman and witch did this , and then came my father and step-mother. With defiance they thrust their arms in, and backing away, the flames remained on their arms growing intensit!

The shamen, witches and elders watched impassively at the two writhing on the ground. The flames spread across their bodies, burning their clothes. The two rolled around on the ground, trying to beat the unnatural fire off. This lasted for a few moments and then the flames suddenly disappeared.

The oldest elder, the wise woman stands and pointed at your parents. She said a word and it echoed among the tents… “SATEESE” At that, others echo her word.

“SATEESE”

“Your old ways don’t interest me!” My father spits at them. “Your trickery won’t change anything, nor take away what is MINE! This tribe is MINE and I say NO. We will NOT join the Increpaytone!”

Seeing the scene below, I am a mix of emotions.

I am angry because I want to be the one to kill my father and step-mother.

I wanted to punish them for their evil.

I am confused because this was something I had not prepared myself for.

I look at Talvi, and we lock eyes. I feel her reassurance and her determination pass into me with that look. 

“Come, Talvi, we have a task to face. Blade and claw. Tooth and fist. Together we face what is to come with Meesha’s name upon our lips, and her words within our hearts.”

I stand.

Instead of my ax or my sword, I draw Lohikäärme Hammas. With this action, my life will be changed forever more.

I walk slowly into the village. I walk with confidence. I walk with purpose. I walk with my faith in Meesha.

As I enter the village I see those who I grew up with. Those who I hunted with. Those who I once had grudges with, but then became fast friends. I look at the ones who I considered my brothers and sisters, only to have them betray me in my moments of need.

As I walk closer to the fire I stand taller. The realization comes to me in a flash: whatever is to come will not be my end. It will be the end of the current path my people are on.

I smile. 

Now is the time I will show my goddess my faith in her, and my love for her.

With dagger in hand, I grip it tightly.

The crowd whispers my name, and my father’s eyes grow wide. Instead of anger in there is only fear.

I look to the viper whose actions poisoned my people. She glares in malevolence as if she wants nothing more than kill me.

I turn looking at the tribe. I speak:

“I am Børæn of the Wolf Tribe.”

“I am Børæn of the Axe.” 

“I am Børæn of the Sword.”

“I am Meesha’s Rage.” 

“I am Meesha’s Warrior.”

I am Meesha’s priest.

With each statement my voice grows louder; stronger. It reverberates around the tribe, and no one speaks."

I raise Lohikäärme Hammas above my head.

“This is Lohikäärme Hammas. This is the dagger of Aapo, the dagger of Elias, the dagger of Aku, the dagger of Jere, the  dagger of Sakarias, the dagger of Valthjof, and now the dagger of Børæn.”

“This is the dagger that has been passed down from one chieftain’s eldest to the next. This is the dagger Aapo used to unite the Wolf Tribe, and it is this dagger which sealed the bonds of leadership and family, and cemented that his line would lead the Wolf till the sun is snuffed out, and the stars are no more.”

Not a sound is heard as I speak. Even the fire seems to have gone silent.

“This marks my claim. This marks my heritage. This marks my lore. Though my clan ties mark my birth, Lohikäärme Hammas marks my right.”

“You are weak and a coward. You are no son of mine. You stole Lohikäärme Hammas because you are nothing more than a thief!” Yells my father.

I spin, with dagger in hand, and plunge Lohikäärme Hammas into my father’s chest. In one swift motion, I remove his heart and hold it in my hand showing it to my father.

“You are not worthy of this tribe. You failed this tribe when you allowed the viper to corrupt you and our tribe. When you killed my mother…” 

Hearing that, the death of his mother and his father’s responsibility for it, the tribe gasps.

“As a coward, you killed her and blamed me for your sins.”

My step-mother goes to speak, but Talvi silences her with a low growl.

“You are no longer of the Wolf. The name Arnbnjog, will be struck from our lore. No longer will Arnbnjorg be part of the roll of kings. Your name will never be spoken again. There is no place for you at Tapio’s fire. In death, you will walk the Lands of Shadow until the stars no longer shine, and worlds no longer exist. You are no longer of the Sword, you are dead to your clan. You are no longer of the Raven.”

Life leaves my father’s eyes as the last words are spoken. Throwing the heart into the fire, I turn to Ingvildr.

For the first time in my life, I see real fear in her eyes.

“Viper. Though my father killed my mother, it was you who gave him the knife. It was your poison that worked its’ way into the Wolf. It is your evil which marked me as a traitor. Your death will be but one step in cleansing my tribe. Your death will have no honor.”

With that, I cut Ingvildr throat and say no more.

“By rights of  Lohikäärme Hammas. I am now king.”

Some try to speak out, but it is apparent that my statement is open not for debate. It is a statement of fact.

“By tradition, I say the following: those of the Raven Clan have safe passage until sunset to leave this tribe. If by the last ray of sun you are still here, you will be killed. No mercy will be given.” 

With that, a few in the crowd begin to leave, and looks are thrown at them by the tribe. Looks of anger. Looks of vengeance.

“Merkitä Muistiin.” I said simply.

As if by magic Orpo appears. Seeing him I smiled.

“I see even you are too stubborn to succumb to age,” I laughed.

Orpo hits me with his staff, and the tribe laughs. With that laugh, all tension seems to lift.

“Be serious, now is not the time for the child,” Orpo stated.

Regaining myself I spoke: “As Merkitä Muistiin, Orpo, you are the keeper of our lore. On this day, you will strike the Raven Clan from our lore. From this day they will be known as the Clan That Will Not Be Named.”

“It will be done my King,” Orpo simply stated.

“From this day forward Arnbnjorg will be removed from the roll of kings. No longer will his name be uttered. Arnbnjorg is now of the Shadow. He walks alone and he has no lodge.”

“It will be done my King,” Orpo stated with a hint of happiness.

I looked around, as if I look at each member of my tribe separately.

“I am your king, and together we will cleanse this tribe of the poison which has festered. Together The Wolf will regain its’ honor. Together we will add to our Lore. Gone is our divisions. Axe, Sword, Boar, Horse, Eagle, and the Rabbit clans will be at peace. We will be united, and we will show all that together The Wolf will not be cowered.”

The crowd’s mood brightens with the naming of the clans.

“Unlike my father, I do not see you as tools to be used. I see you as my brothers and sisters. We are united, and together we will show the world who we are.”

“In Meesha’s name I pledge to you a new day has dawned.”

The room is quiet as Børæn tells his lore. When finished no one knows what to say.

“What happened next?” Asks the child.

Børæn chuckles, patting the child on his shoulder. “You will learn that when you are older. Little one. For now think on what you have heard.”

With that Børæn stands and leaves the fire.

It was the 26th day of Summer, Dame Oriole had escaped and we were unsure what to do next. We decided to go see the Sisters to find out if they had discovered anything about those Chaos towers. So, I set off with Beladur, Pyria, Ragar, Mazlor (and Itsy) and I asked Joffrey to accompany us.
On the way Mazlor was looking for a new helper (Meat shield?) and decided we should check out the nearby convent. All was going well until Beladur decided to go visiting the nuns to see if any were looking for some companionship. Apparently, in the middle of the night, he barged in upon a very agitated woman who promptly struck him, and then attempted to catch and possibly bash him into non existence. Fortunately for him, she was exceptionally clumsy and didn’t catch him before he managed to get back to us.
In the morning, when Mazlor requested an apprentice to journey with him, who do you think volunteered? It was her, Shammel was her name. She seems a stout if overly rigorous individual. Her unfortunate clumsiness is sure to be a problem.
So we continued on our way and visited the Sisters. Who do you think was there? It was our old comrade Boraen. He was much changed. He has become a cleric of Misha!
We had a very pleasant conversation with the sisters. They informed us that the Chaos tower was mysteriously built about 300 years ago, but there were no records of the construction. It also seems that Alfred & Gerald were survivors of a group called the ….
After a pleasant dinner, we spent the night, and decided to go see what was going on there. I decided that this time I would be more straight forward, and declare myself and demand answers. It did not go exactly as planned….I proclaimed myself as a Paladin and demanded answers as to the nature of this Chaos. Gerald said he would expect no less from a Paladin of Tangadorin (I had not proclaimed the name of my God), but refused to answer. He shut the door upon me!
Boraen took a more direct approach. He bashed through the door into Alfred’s home and wrestled him to the ground. Alfred managed to break free. They both charged the tower and ran straight thru the doors, almost pulling Joffrey in with them. Then a hideous demon attacked. I charged it with the full fury of Tangadorin, but it disappeared the moment I struck it.
We searched the buildings and found the keys.
After a bit of experimentation, Boraen opened the door. He and Ragar walked through a portal of complete blackness. They returned very shaken. They told us that inside were demons torturing Alfred and Gerald. They allowed them to question Alfred 7 Gerald. They learnt that there are many towers and that Alfred & Gerald were the attendents of this Tower. The towers are a network for “The Master”. “The Master” and the “Dark Ones” are in conflict to enslave the world. Very soon something very bad is coming and the voice of the Master demanded that we serve them, or be destroyed with everyone else.
Boraen stalled and offered to consider.
We took the keys and left, but shortly after , the keys disappeared. Alfred & Gerald had confirmed that Irecia is home to the Dark ones….perhaps we shook investigate.

Jorann, it is with a heavy heart that I must report that I have failed your trust in me. When you told me of this awful shape shifter, and confided your belief that the power to sense Chaos, which Tangadorin had bestowed upon me, would be essential in rooting this thing out, I was overjoyed. I was sure that this was an opportunity for me to prove myself to you and to Tangadorin. Yet, I was unworthy. Let me tell you what happened, so that you can properly chastise me.
I reported to the Marshal, as you had instructed me. I went with Beladur, Fergus and Mazlor, along with their faithful servants Wilheim, Josef and Itsy. I brought Joffrey, who seems to be a most sensible fellow. We explained to the Marshal about my ability and how we believed that this creature must be using chaos magic. We came up with the plan to have the Duke’s brother wear his Armor and pretend to be him as he inspected the folk of the keep. The Marshal would make sure that everyone was present and accounted for. I would disguise myself as one of his personal guard, and stay next to him as he walked by everyone in the keep. We made extensive preparations, scattered our friends in strategic locations and set our plan in motion. We walked by everyone, but no one seemed to be of, or using Chaos. However, apparently three guards and one staff member were missing. We had procured a dog to help with our search, so we took it to the staff members quarters and had him follow the scent. It took us down in t the dungeon where The Dame had been kept. Unfortunately, when we told the Marshal to bring everyone out, he had only left two guards on the secret entrance to the tunnels. They were dead, the entrance was unblocked, and the Dame was gone! This is how I have failed you Jorann, I should have been more clear to the marshal that the guards should not be reduced, but I was not.
Godfrey told us that they had decided he was of no further use, and left him. He told us that they were heading south to begin a revolt with Marshal Kelvin. We rushed to the south gate, and I summoned Arion to bear me aloft as I searched for them. Tangadorin drew me to them at once, they were riding hard due south. I tried to signal my friends, but they could not see me. It was clear that they were heading due south and were not going to stop. I barely made it to my friends before Arion was exhausted and disappeared. They had already passed the elvish fort, but I couldn’t pursue them further. We all regrouped at the fort to continue our pursuit. We will get them yet!

After all the fuss, we sorted ourselves out. I didn’t see Pyrea or Ragar, but maybe they were helping the town and keep guards with the prisoners. Or maybe they were hauling Belaldur’s chestnuts out of the fire? I have to confess I was busy with a wedge of cheese set out on the bar upstairs.

The rest of us – let’s see, that was myself, Joran and Joffrey, Itsy and Mazlor, and Fergus, Willie, and Josef, plus Veckstos – dashed across town to the Temple of the Light. Joran joined in healing and aiding the wounded as Mazlor talked to Averin. I looked about and saw a few finely clothed merchant folk, one with his right arm awkwardly cradled in his left. Walmar’d been waiting some time to be tended, but triage had put the many burned and concussed and stabbed and all ahead of him.

And, my, wasn’t his son Kaymar red-faced with impotent rage. His wife Roebuck was there, too – staying calm but wondering why nothing could be done to help her husband. I sidled up and, as Kaymar clutched at his purse, offered my services for a fee. Watched carefully by Roebuck, Fergus resocketed Walmar’s dislocated shoulder. I pulled power from the earth to reknit his broken arm, and made a fuss about mixing together mint and willow (and I told them, ground gemstone) into a tea to ease his pain and soothe him.

I asked and received a royal for the treatment! And Roebuck asked me to visit her in the days ahead to talk of the herb and nature lore I had used. Perhaps I can get back my cloak then – it was all I had to use as a sling, besides the furs in my armor.

As I was finishing up, Mazlor emerged from the back with Gazelle. Averin would stay at the temple, organizing the relief, and Isty would stay with her. Gazelle, grabbing her spell book, joined us in our desperate effort to protect the Duke from the machinations of the Lightbringer faction. We collected our steeds and raced for the Keep.

We got there just as a parade of dignitaries and armed folk were entering it. Joran, Gazelle, and Mazlor muscled through the watching crowd – “In the name of the Light” – and we made the gates. Gazelle demanded, as a Flame, that we all be let through, and we were admitted but told to await the Marshall’s pleasure in the barracks. Fergus objected, but the guards let only Veckstos out, to report to his superior, the Captain of the Duke’s Guard.

After a bit, we were summoned to the Keep library. Gazelle left for the Duke’s welcoming reception; she patted my hand sympathetically and promised to have some food sent in for a late lunch. Once that arrived, we set to with gusto. I put aside a couple pastries for later, and advised Willie and Josef and Fergus to do the same.

The Marshall, looking grim, came into the room. Mazlor, after verifying Roehm’s identity, showed him the papers, one at a time, proving Orielt and Godfrey complicit in the plot on the Duke. We warned him, too, that the skinwalker was still loose. Marshall Roehm declared he would confine Orielt and Godfrey to their quarters, once the fête was over. 20 trusted men would guard the Duke. And Roehm would take some of the papers to prove the conspiracy to the Duke.

After the reception ended, and the crowds passed, Ynnivax came to gives us the news that Godfrey had gone quietly to his room, while Orielt raged and had to be bound. Gazelle took both their magic talismans. The Duke, furious, demanded the right to try them both under the King’s Law. Callista, the Captain of the Duke’s Guard was astonished; clearly Veckstos had failed to brief her before the reception. And Vekstos was nowhere to be found. We all set a password so we could know each other, with a skinwalker on the loose.

Come sundown, we were escorted to the kitchen, a fine place to snag a plate from the foods prepared but not served at the cancelled state dinner. As we made for our rooms for the night, we heard a great commotion, and a Duke’s Guardsman rushed to me, gave the password, and told me, “There is a monster in the Duke’s chamber!”

We ran towards the sounds of battle. The door to the Duke’s room glowed a dark pulsing purple, jolting the guards as they tied to open it. Joran quickly dispelled the magic, and a guard kicked the door open. The Duke was gasping, badly injured, and three beleaguered guards were fighting a viciously animated bed!

Fergus charged at the bed-beast, while Mazlor cast dispel magic at it (to no effect). I summoned insects from the Keep, but the Keep had been scoured so that only centipedes and earwigs and ants responded, and they were too slow to make a difference in the battle. Joran ran to the Duke with a potion, then helped him to the door, where she casts a healing spell on him. Mazlor met them there with two more potions, and the Duke is nearly good as new.

The bed-beast killedone of the guards, and nearly offed Fergus twice, but Fergus hit it a few times, and I got in a good smash with my cudgel before some guards came up and finished it. As the beast perished, Pyrea’s friend Joseph – who turned out to be the Duke’s court wizard – and Marshal Roehm arrived and conferred with us. Joesph wanted the Duke safely back in Rondorin, and he had a way to get him there!

In the basement, Joseph showed us a magical gateway, one of an ancient network that connected all the keeps before the Doom, and swears us all to secrecy. After rotating some stone disks so the right symbols showed (Here Fergus’ strength and my keen eyes were most appreciated) and an elaborate spell, the gateway opened and the Duke and Joseph stepped through, to return in a few days. Roehm would cancel all the Duke’s meetings and parties and tell everyone the Duke is recovering in secured chambers. The Duke charged Roehm to root out the conspiracy and catch the skinwalker – and Roehm turned to us, his troubleshooters.

A clue soon presented itself. That which we thought was Veckstos was actually the skinwalker in his shape. The guard he’d gone off with was slain.

As for the conspiracy, Orielt was dragged to the dungeon and a second holy symbol taken from her. She tried using a word of command but Callista punched her mouth and gagged her. We went to talk to Godfrey in his room as we took him to the dungeon.

And then such a babble of the Light this and the old gods that between Mazlor, Joran, and Godfrey. I mostly tuned it out, but one point stood out. Godfrey was converted to the Lightbringers by a silver-tongued cleric. Mayhap he’d been charmed? Perhaps the kindly Godfrey could be freed of the spell? I must talk to Joran or someone who can dispel magic. Bed first, though – well, perhaps another turn through the kitchen before that.