Wiki Category: Ulven Characters - Active

Played By: Soren Daniels

Character Name: Erik Silverclaw 

Gender: Male

Class: Warrior

Age: 23

Race: Ulven

Hair: Brown, with white streak on the right side, cropped short

Eyes: Brown

Occupation: Mercenary/Wanderer

Rumors: There are whispers that he’s a dishonorable coward who killed ten unarmed pups in cold blood. There’s no doubt that he has great combat skill, however, so not many people would dare say that to his face.

Known Skills: Dedicated fighter, wears heavy armor, skilled at using a shield. Also skilled at writing music and poetry, though he keeps that a secret.

Birthplace: Clan Grimward territory

Appearance: Erik has brown hair cropped, single-point fangs, brown eyes, and a white streak in his hair on the right side of his head that he’s had since birth. 

Relationships: Erik respects and is fiercely loyal to Toralf Grimmsvulker, who saved his life and gave him a home and a pack again.

Bio/Background Info: Erik was born to Chieftain Bjornavik Silverclaw, the leader of Pack Silverclaw, a small pack deep within Clan Grimward territory. For the first decade of his life, Erik accepted his parents strong anti-colonist views without question. So did most of the pack– except one. Horth Redaxe was an older Ulven who had suffered a wound to his leg whilst fighting Mordok. He could still walk, but it was extremely hard for him to fight effectively. This, coupled with the fact that he was very open and unashamed about his belief that the colonists could be learned from, led to him being shunned by most of the pack and forced to live in a hut on the outskirts of the village. 

When Erik was 11, civil war broke out between the anti-colonist Ulven and the pro-colonist Ulven. Most of the village’s warriors left to fight on the front lines, leaving behind those unfit to fight and enough warriors to keep the village safe. Erik was left behind– and so was Horth. 

One day, Erik was out gathering herbs for the village healer. He was bending down to pick a plant when a loud roar made him whip around, only to see a massive bear lumbering towards him through the forest! Before he could react, the bear swiped him across the chest with a huge paw, sending him flying to the forest floor, stunned and bleeding. He lay there, waiting for his death to come– but it never did. He opened an eye to see none other than Horth Redaxe, his axe rising and falling with deadly efficiency, despite his wounded leg. Horth drove the bear off and helped Erik back to the village. 

After that, Erik began visiting Horth– at night, so no one would see– to train with him. He began to pick up more and more of Horth’s pro-colonist views. Horth, in addition to being a master warrior, was also a poet and a bard as well, and here Erik found in his heart a burning love for poetry and music– a love he felt great shame for, feeling as though the arts were un-warriorlike and that he would be looked down upon by the other Ulven if they found out about it. 

While all the other pups in the village could talk about was coming of age and going off to fight in the war, Erik felt as though the war was horrible, and that Ulven should not be fighting one another over such a trivial matter as this. Why couldn’t they just leave the colonists in peace? When the news came that the war was over and a treaty had been signed, he felt his heart lift. Not so for the rest of the pack. 

As Erik was walking to Horth’s hut that night to talk and train with his friend and mentor, he heard the sounds of fighting. Rushing towards the sound, he found that five of the older boys, including two of his older brothers, had ganged up on Horth. They had beaten him to the ground and were kicking him, yelling about how he was a “fucking colonist lover” and that traitors like him should be put to death. Seeing red, Erik drew his sword, and before the five knew what was happening, three of their number were dead on the ground. The other two tried to fight, but were no match for the blood-crazed young Ulven. When they were dead, he dropped to his knees next to his mentor.

“When I die,” croaked Horth, “I want you to have my armor and shield. Just… let me keep my axe. I want a weapon in my hand when I meet the Great Wolf.” Those were Horth Redaxe’s last words in this world.

Overwhelmed by shame at what he had done, Erik donned his mentor’s armor and slung the shield over his back. Building a small pyre for Horth– with his axe, as he had requested– Erik fled the village of his birth, never to return. 

Over the next few years, he wandered Mardrun, taking odd jobs guarding caravans and the like. Without a pack to call his own, and the guilt of his past eating at him, he sank further and further into depression and despair. Eventually, he found himself on the eastern end of the Shield of Mardrun. One night, in a flash, he realized that he had nothing left to live for. He resolved to hike into the swamp, find a group of Mordok, and take as many of them with him to the Great Wolf as he could. 

And that’s just what he did. His sword flashed left and right, stained with the blood of his foes, but he knew there were too many. He received wounds– a cut here, a stab there, and he felt himself begin to weaken. He was ready to die. But the Great Wolf would not call his name tonight. Out of the darkness, blade flashing, came an Ulven who Erik would later learn was named Toralf Grimmsvulker, and following him was an Axehound hunting party. Together, they dispatched the rest of the Mordok. 

Afterwards, Toralf praised Erik’s fighting skill, and told him that he was forming a pack and that he could use warriors. And just like that, Erik had a pack. A few months later, he found himself heading south– to home.

Update: Erik traveled with Toralf for a while, fighting many battles and skirmishes against Mordok. One day, while tracking a group of Mordok, Erik, Toralf, and their warband came across the burnt out remains of a village, with only a handful of survivors. After hunting down and dispatching the foul creatures, they returned to the village to take on what few warriors remained and to escort the pups and greybeards to safety.

Among the warriors who decided to stay with the warband was a female named Gyda. She was a fierce fighter, and she and Erik grew close, eventually joining as mates. Once Gyda was blessed with child, however, they agreed that they couldn’t raise a pup in a warband on the march. After much discussion, they agreed to move south near the colonies to raise their family.

Bidding his friend Toralf farewell, Erik and Gyda headed south. Erik found work on a farm near New Aldoria, and for several short months, everything was perfect. However, it was not to last. Tragically, Gyda died in childbirth with their son. Their son, who he named Ivar, only lived for a few hours outside the womb before he, too, went to the Great Wolf.

Heartbroken, the only thing Erik knew to do was to go wandering again. He threw himself into mercenary work, taking odd jobs here and there before eventually falling in with a mercenary company called the Eagle Fellowship. He traveled with them for several years, honing his connections with the mercenary groups and military forces of Mardrun.

Early in the year 273, news reached him of a slaughter at the Ironmound Moot. He also heard a familiar name. The renowned warrior Toralf Giermundson of the Einherjar had been taken captive by the Grimward and Stonetooth forces. Erik remembered the time he had spent fighting alongside Toralf, and resolved to help with the rescue efforts in any way he could. He left the Eagle Fellowship and headed north to Shieldhaven for the upcoming market faire, hoping to find Toralf’s mate, Ylva, or any other Einherjar members, in order to pledge his sword to the efforts to find and recover his old friend.

Name: Ylva Thoransdottir

Player: Rachel Miller

Class: Cleric

Age 29

Race: Ulven

Hair: Red

Eyes: Blue

BIO: I am Ylva Thoransdottir. I was born into Pack Stormfang of Clan Axehound in year 245. I made the decision to leave after the death of my younger sister, Kari. I felt her death was my fault, and it broke me for a long time. Our pack had taught us that physical weakness and emotional softness were failures. My sister was far too comfortable relying on others to do things for her, expecting to marry well and not need skill of her own. So naturally when she was injured on a hunt, I left her behind to tend to her own wound. She begged me for help to bind her wound and bring her home, but I denied her. I hoped she might learn to do something for herself. I watched as she poorly bound her own wound without cleaning it or applying any salve. I knew better, but I let her do this.

It was not much longer after that I was burying her.

When I come to the Great Wolf, I fear he will find that I turned my back on my own family when I could have helped. But I want no more needless death on my hands. Instead of in the glory of a kill, I vowed that he would hear my name from the blessings of his mate Gaia, and from those who come to him after cheating death before, with my help.

I chose to leave Axehound by my own accord and seek a new life. I sought out a man who I had known from my childhood. Someone else who left. We were mated for several years, but as time went on, I grew more and more into myself, and farther away from him. So I parted ways with him.

I have fought hard to learn who I am. To be a leader. To make an impact doing good. And to earn a place in my found home among Stormjarl. I became a Healer, a Weaver, a Surgeon, and an Instructor. I pioneered the invention of a tool that would help healers treat patients faster.

I saved many from death, and gave some back their mobility when they thought it was gone forever. I have held my own as a healer when there was little help to be had. Notably so on an expedition where I was the only Healer present when we were overrun with undead. I became the Lifemender of Clan Stormjarl.

I spent years training under Jarl Fritha Stormjarl to learn the rituals and customs of Stormjarl, earning the honor of being seen as a spiritual leader for our pack. I became a Daughter of Gaia.

I put myself in harm’s way to organize hospitals on the Stormjarl front line while Grimward and Stonetooth attack us. I am teaching as many people as I can how to save lives, ensuring others who fight for our Clan get to make it home to their families. I became the Birch Witch of the Scar.

I performed surgery on the Clanleader of Shattered Spear, under duress, and behind enemy lines. I gave him back the ability to walk so he could lead his people in a rebellion against their Stonetooth oppressors. I became the Haft Settir of the Defiant.

Word of my efforts reached High Priestess Svayla Stormjarl. And I was honored with the title of Hersir.

With Gaia’s blessings I have been able to save many lives.

When it is my time, I hope the Great Wolf will know my name.

CHARACTER NAME: Alana Alice Tallstag
PLAYER NAME: Kit Shortridge
RACE: Ulven
CLASS: Warrior

In 266 Clan Riverhead was destroyed by Mordok, leaving very few survivors to rebuild the community. One 12 year old ulven girl survived the attack by hiding in a hollow tree outside Daggerford. Alone, scared, and with no home to run back to she sat there for weeks, cold and hungry living off the shriveled and sour leaves that her mother had shown her so long ago. One misty morning she was woken up by the sound of people passing by. She quickly rushed over and saw three men and a woman walking along a little dirt path. She ran out to greet them and realized she recognized one of the men. “Dorn?!? Is that you!?!” she cried. “Alana! You survived. I was sure someone your size would have been burned along with the others” he said. “Well I guess I’m so small that I wasn’t noticed when I ran away!” Alana said. She remembered her mother standing in the middle of the commotion saying “Alana! Run!! You GO! GO! RUN AS FAST YOU CAN!” And she had. Leaving everything behind her. Her family, home, friends, andthe market where her father sold barley. But now that Dorn had found her, she was safe.

Played By: Brandon Potter
Name: Halvar Longfang
Gender: Male
Class: Warrior
Birth Year: 247
Age: 18
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: 2
Occupation: Longfang Warrior
Birthplace: Onsallas Village, Longfang Territory, Mardrun
Relationships: Alive: Reyna Longfang (Mother), Ranmir Longfang (Cousin), Rill Longfang (Cousin)
Deceased: Fareth Moonfury (Father), Harlok Longfang (Cousin), Solvig Longfang (Great-Great Aunt), Yawn Longfang (Cousin)

I was born in the fall of the year 248 to Reyna Longfang and Fareth Moonfury. My mother had met my father while she was visiting Moonfury territory and they grew close to each other throughout my mother’s visit, My father accompanied my mother back to Longfang territory knowing she was pregnant with his child, in hopes to become her mate but my mother would not allow it until she finished her studies under her Great-Aunt Solvig Longfang and became a Daughter of Gaia. During my first 6 years of life my father worked on making a place for himself within Pack Longfang as a warrior, while I stayed in the kresh with the other Ulven pups. It wasn’t until about my 5th year of life that I began training with the retired warriors of the pack.

I wanted nothing more than to be like my father and the great Longfang warriors, I had hoped to make my father proud and to have a name worth being heard by the Great Wolf so that someday I may hunt with him in his great hunting grounds. When I turned 6 in the year 254 my mother finished her training under Solvig and officially became my father’s mate in a joining ceremony. 3 years after my parent’s joining my father met his fate in battle and found his place among the Great Wolf’s pack. I had always admired my father and his death left me mourning. It had also left me more determined to be a great Longfang warrior so that someday I may see him again in the Great Wolf’s hunting grounds.

Soon after my father’s death my mother consulted with the Runeseer Solvig Longfang and decided she should leave me to the pack and travel alone to find her own path. I was fatherless and abandoned by my mother to be raised by the kresh. After my mother’s departure I continued training to become a warrior. I enjoyed fighting with a sword and shield and although throughout my training I practiced with many different weapons I excelled with using a dane axe and with sword and shield.

In the year 262 I met and befriended a Daughter of Gaia from Stormjarl by the name of Ulana. She was only a year older than me, she had come to Pack Longfang with her father who was one of the honor bound Stormjarl. Around this same time my mother made her return to the pack with open arms from all except myself. I became very close to Ulana over the next couple of years and I was sure that someday we would become mates. This dream of mine was put to an end when she came with myself and the other warriors on a mordok hunt, she met a cruel fate and was impaled by the spear of a Mordok. I had failed to protect her and I forever blame myself for her death. I realize the true threat to my family, my pack, and the rest of Mardrun is the Mordok and I seek to help put an end to the threat that comes from the dirge.

Played by: Sarah Larson
Name: Freya Rev Anda
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown/orange
Occupation: Warrior -Combat archer/Sword & board
Known Skills: First Aid
Birthplace: Cliffs of the Eastern sea
Notable Traits: Wary of any and all magic. Loves nature. Thinks all Syndar smell funny. Very curious and fierce when need be.
Relationships:
Kragen Bloodmoon- Feels a strong bond with Kragen, as a mentor, fighter, and friend.
Pack Graytide- Ill at ease around pack graytide. Recently fought an honor duel with a member over the death of his brother due to her falling asleep on watch.
Character History
Freya was born in a large village on the cliffs of the EasternSea, into the Sjóúlfur pack. Despite the large size, her Ulven pack was very close knit. Every member of the village was considered family, and supported each other through life’s troubles. They were devoted to worshipping Sjóúlfur, under The Great Wolf, and their clan was named for it. The men and women were treated equally, and all of them were combat worthy in some aspect or another. Each member of her pack was gifted with a Guardian Spirit by Sjóúlfur at birth. This Spirit was believed to shape their character, and protect them throughout their lives. Freya was gifted with the Guardian Spirit of the Fox, and was thus named Freya Rev Anda.

True to a fox’s nature, Freya was always getting into trouble. She was very sly and mischievous, always going where she was told not to and getting into things she should not. While her father was a great warrior, Freya was not built for melee or hand to hand combat; though she was dexterous enough to hold her own or escape if necessary. Her mother taught her to arch in hopes of sidetracking her from causing trouble in the village. She was a natural at it, and practiced every day to please her father, who she looked up to.

Life was quite peaceful in her village. Since it was built into a cliff overhanging the ocean, it was difficult to raid and the Mordok left them alone, for the most part. Freya was an adept swimmer, and her archery skills improved greatly every day [though she often got into trouble for wasting arrows on sea birds]. Eventually, her father started taking her on hunting missions. This was generally a large excursion, where many of the Ulven men and women would travel miles away, into dense forests to track and kill wildlife to later dry and store for the long winters. Mordok became a problem during these excursions. As she grew older, the Mordok became more and more prominent, and grew bolder. Several times they managed to kill some of her pack, and she watched them pass on to the spirit realm. She learned to hate them with a passion, and rightly so.

One night, Freya was perched on a tree stump near the campsite on watch. The fire was low, and most of the hunters had fallen asleep. She was exhausted from the days work, and trying very hard not to doze off. As she sat there nodding off, a Mordok snuck up behind her and grabbed her by the neck, clasping its filthy hand over her mouth. It started dragging her back, but only managed to get a few feet before Freya clamped her sharp teeth around one of it’s fingers and bit it clean off. Screaming with rage, the Mordok threw her to the ground, where she managed to roll back and start crawling back towards the campfire. Gasping for breath, her windpipe nearly crushed, she tried to make it back to camp to warn the others –but the Mordok’s scream had done it for her.

It grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her backwards. She watched as it raised its wicked blade, glinting in the moonlight, and was ready to accept her death. As long as the others made it, that’s all she cared for. Thankfully, one of her pack members ran towards the scream and got there just in time to save her. He slaughtered the Mordok and dragged her back to the safety of the pack.

It was a large Mordok raiding party that was passing through for unknown reasons. The Mordok are filled with hatred and kill without cause. They were eventually dispatched, but many Sjóúlfur were lost. Freya lost her father in that fight. His body was completely surrounded by slain Mordok. The number varies from story to story, but many say he killed around 30 of them before he was overrun. His body was a mangled mess. Some say his spirit still wanders that area in the form of a bear, protecting wanderers from the Mordok, and that the Mordok now fear that place.
Freya was overcome with grief with the loss of her father, and blamed it on herself for her lack of vigilance on watch. Though her pack tried to reassure her that she had woken up the entire hunting party through her valor, she knew the truth. If she had stayed awake, nobody would have died; or at least that is what she told herself. From that point forward she was restless with village life. Her father’s death had changed her.

She packed a small bag of essentials and her bow, and left the village. She was determined to prove to herself that she was strong, and could hold her own. She has spent the last few years roaming Mardrun and killing Mordok. She keeps a string of Mordok teeth with her, one for each Mordok she kills. She has matured greatly while living on her own. Freya is very observant of others, and slow to trust humans and Syndar. She is more at ease with Ulven, but still wary. She is also quite feral, and distrusts magic users, as magic is unnatural to her. At times her mischievous nature shows when she is in a settlement or colony. Most of the time she prefers to stay alone, but her curiosity often overcomes her in town situations, where people are interacting. She tries very hard to maintain a hard outer shell, but the truth is she misses her pack, and having companions, and that shows with her interactions with others. The only thing that is steady with her is her hatred for the Mordok and willingness to work with anyone to kill them.

Character notes:
-Freya speaks in a low, raspy voice since her windpipe was nearly crushed by the Mordok
-Freya is Illiterate. She can not write or read.
-She hates nothing more than the Mordok. She is wary of Syndar and magic users.
-Rev means Fox, and Anda means spirit in Old Norse language.

Played by: Shelly Sonsalla
Name: Azra Steelfang
Gender: female
Age: 19
Race: Ulven
Hair: dark blonde
Eyes: blue
Relationships: Dria Northwind– traveling companion

Bio:

Ulven are warriors from the day they are born. They fight coming into this world, and they most definitely fight going out. That is, if the Great Wolf wills it. And my only wish is to join the Wolf—after taking out as many as I can of the Mordok who inhabit our lands.

I was born in the spring of 18 years past. My parents, Crewger and Rasaleane Steelfang, and my brother Sathenus, welcomed me into this world, vowing to make me the greatest female warrior in our small but very fighting-oriented village. I did not disappoint them. As soon as I could walk, I began to train, first by just going on long hikes with my brother in the mountainous terrain surrounding our home. Then, once my coordination improved, I began to fight. In the beginning, I was only allowed a small, wooden dagger that I could spar with. And although my father and brother were very patient with me, I did occasionally end up with minor injuries from our sparring sessions. These bruises, scrapes, and the occasional broken finger were treated by my mother, who was so skilled in medicinal herbs and procedures that most of the village turned to her for help with their ailments. Mother always got annoyed at me though, for no sooner would she get me bandaged up and I would be back at it, fighting with all my might against my older and far more skilled opponents.

Over the years, I graduated from my wooden sparring sword to a cheap steel sword. This sword wasn’t the best of quality, but being such, it helped me be able to overcome any barriers I may face in my battles. It wasn’t long before my father and brother had to use their full skill to keep me from defeating them in our mock battles. It was around this time that I earned the weapons I carry today—a silver shield with a golden dagger etched onto its surface and my mother’s sword.
The shield was made for me by my brother, who spent countless hours forging it in secrecy so that it would be ready to give to me on the day that I became the strongest female warrior in the village. That day happened to be only a week after my 15th birthday. It was a tradition in my village that any child must challenge the town’s strongest fighters as soon as he or she reaches 15 years. This was used to evaluate the child’s fighting prowess and to try and find who the strongest fighters are.

My first fight was against a boy I grew up with. He was but 5 years older than me. As I readied myself for battle with him, my hands shook with anticipation as they gripped my unbalanced sword and small, buckler style shield. I knew I had it in me to beat him, the only question was if I could focus or not. I took a few calming breaths to steady my nerves and stepped up to him. We saluted each other, grim faced, stood ready. He was dual wielding, so I held my shield at the ready, prepared to block an attack from any direction. He struck, rattling my shield with his left hand sword while striking with the right. I blocked the sword and used the momentum it gave me to swing for his arm. He twisted out of the way just in time so my slice fell short. At this point, adrenaline was pumping through both our bodies, sharpening our vision as well as our reflexes. I could see every minute change in his body’s position before he attacked. And he could read me just as well. It became a game of trying to fake the other out, trying to get them to lower their guard. And he won. I had been watching him closely, intent on every movement, when I was blinded. He had used the edge of his sword to reflect the sunlight into my eyes. My temporary confusion created an opening for him; he sliced with both swords. I was able to block the first with my shield, but the second sliced open the skin on my leg. I hissed with pain. He had gotten first blood. That meant that I had to land two hits on him before he touched me again. Otherwise, it was all over. I lunged forward with an overhead strike, changing my direction of attack at the last moment with a flick of my wrist. The feint worked and he blocked with both weapons, leaving himself open for my blade to flick in and slice the front of his shirt. A thin trail of blood made his way down his chest as he glared at me between long black bangs. The pressure was on now—whoever landed the next hit would be victorious. My next attack was parried by one of his swords, and while he had my sword trapped out of the way, he struck. My only option to escape the attack was to react in a way he would never expect. So instead of blocking and dodging back, I pushed his sword away with my shield before dropping my still entrapped sword and quickly reaching into my sword belt for the small dagger I always kept hidden there. One quick swish of my wrist opened a shallow cut on his cheek. We stood there for a few seconds, unable to believe the battle was really over, before stepping away and saluting each other. Only then did I hear my family screaming their praise for me. Only then did I realize that I had actually won.

The next few hours were a frenzy of activity, of fighting, blocking, dodging, and lunging. I couldn’t even begin to tell how long I was fighting–all I knew is that Ihad been fighting for a long time….and it was beginning to take a toll on me. I felt my attacks becoming sloppier, my blocks coming up slower and slower, until it got to the point that they barely managed to block the oncoming sword.

Finally, I turned to meet my enemy and found none other than my brother, his 6 foot, heavily armored frame seeming to take up all of the space. I took a deep breath before letting it out in a snarl—a snarl he eagerly returned. Then, just like that, it was on, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins gave me a new-found energy.. Unafraid, Sath charged toward me, slashing viciously. I dodged nimbly back, avoiding every one of his slices. But he gave me no time to counter, lunging forward to bash me in the face with his shield. My head snapped back, my ears ringing in my head. Before I could recover, his blade slashed out once more and sliced open my upper armor. I hissed with pain before launching a fury of attacks, using my light weight and slender build to my advantage. And finally, finally, I landed a hit on his leg, opening a cut barely big enough to bleed. But it did, so we were tied. Before that thought could even fully enter my head, he feinted high before smashing me with his shield and full weight, knocking me back and off balance for a millisecond. It’s the only time he needed to slice open my calf. I hissed, knowing that that cut will scar, adding to the dozens of small scars I already owned. I bowed before he pulled me into a hug and half-carried me over to where our parents were waiting.
As I neared them, I was surprised when Sath picked up a small shield—silver, with a golden dagger inlaid in it—as his shield already works so well. My confusion was soon answered when he held it out to me. “good fighting, sister.” He told me before turning to Rasaleane, who I saw was holding her sword before her. I took it and looked at her questioningly. She nodded and smiled, so I stepped back and swung it a few times. The balance was amazing. I quickly dropped my old sword and shield, sheathed my sword, and slung my new shield on my back.

After that, life went mostly back to normal, except that Sathenus left a few weeks later without a word and that now I was allowed on the front lines if there were any mordok attacks or if we wanted to go scouting for mordok. Once I even led a scouting party that found a mordok camp. We decimated them and brought their heads back to camp for all to see.

And so continued daily life until 3 weeks ago, when word reached our village of the missing caravan and Daven’s Reach. Seizing this opportunity to explore Mardrun, I went straight to my father and requested his permission as clan leader to leave. He granted it without a second thought and I headed off the very next day, without my mother and father giving me blessings of fortune and their word that they would let my brother know where I went.

My journey was mostly uneventful, besides acquiring a companion at one of the taverns I stopped in on my way. I had walked into the tavern in the dead of night, and much to my surprise, there was a Mordok hunting party just leaving. Realizing that I would have plenty of opportunities to kill Mordok when I wasn’t hungry and tired from travel, I let them go on their own. Instead I stepped up to the bar and ordered some mead, soup, and bread with venison. I glanced around the tavern and chose the table in the farthest, darkest corner. I sat with my back against the wall, watching the crowd warily. The majority of the tavern’s patrons were men—extremely intoxicated men. But sitting at another table, quietly drinking her mead was an ulven who appeared to be not much older than i. The next time she glanced up, I nodded to her, then waved her over. She looked hesitant for a moment before coming to sit across from me.
“my name is Azra Steelfang,” I told her.
“Dria Northwind of the Beothunk Clan,” she replied, before telling me her story. Her village had been destroyed by the Mordok, so she was searching for a newhope. She believed that Daven’s Reach was the place where she could find that hope, so I invited her to travel there with me. She accepted, and so after a partial night of sleep, we left early the next morning to continue our journey.

And now I’m about to arrive at Daven’s reach. The party lead by Kragen Bloodmoon had already left for the outpost, but there were rumors of a Mordok camp nearby. So Dria and I decided to meet up with the party of adventurers now residing at Daven’s Reach. Who knows what monsters we’ll encounter after we arrive….

Played by: Tim Cochrane
Name: Lygari
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown – claims anywhere between 54 and 88
Race: Ulven
Hair: Gray–White
Eye: Green
Occupation: Ulven Lore-Speaker
Known Skills: Lore
Birthplace: Unknown – accent points to Southern Mardrun
Appearance: An obviously old Ulven, stooped with age. Normally wears a bright blue cloak and typical, if somewhat drab, clothing.
Notable Traits: Missing his right eye, walks with a noticeable limp, right arm is permanently affixed to a sling, elaborate facial tattoos, white beard and mustache, tends to think for a moment before speaking.
Bio:
Ask Lygari about his past, and you’ll hear a different story each time. This old Ulven has been wandering Madrun for the majority of his life, collecting the stories and songs of his people and preserving the names of great heroes. He considers it his duty to act as chronicler to the Ulven people, preserving the stories of the great heroes of his people, almost to the point of fanaticism beyond that of a normal Lore-Speaker.

The only consistent story told by Lygari comes at the end of each night a village or pack hosts him, when all the other stories are exhausted. Pointing to the eye patch which covers his right eye, he tells the story of his first patrol around his childhood village at the age of 17 . . . or 14 . . . or 22. Though the name of the village and its location may change every time, the story advances along the same lines. The patrol members spotted a lone Mordok, poorly-concealed in what was clearly meant to be an ambush. Quietly laughing at the creature’s ineptitude, Lygari ran straight towards it, eager for his first opportunity to prove himself.

The tripwire caught him around the ankle, and the thrown knife caught him in the eye. He lost consciousness immediately, and the Mordok fled, melting away in the forest faster than the other patrol members could follow. His companions carried him back to the village and called for a healer, who managed to remove the knife but noticed a sickly substance on the blade – poison. They had no means to heal the poison, and the nearest Daughter of Gaia was three days’ travel away; he languished in unconsciousness while she was fetched.

On the seventh day, just as the Daughter arrived, he awoke. At this point, the story diverges once again. Sometimes, he claims that he was told by the Daughter of Gaia that he had been given a greater purpose in his life, to sing the deeds of others. Other times, he claims to have met the Great Wolf, who told him that the only way his name would be remembered would be if he sung the tales of a thousand brave heroes of the Ulven people. If every story he has told is to believed, in that week of unconsciousness, he met every single Ulven legend and was charged by them to collect these stories.

Seeing this as a sign, he immediately sought out a senior Lore-Speaker, in order to apprentice himself. It was three (or four, or eight, or nine, depending on how much he’s had to drink and when he’s telling the story) years before he was finally accepted into the Brotherhood of the Lore-Speakers, forever giving up his name. He chose the Old Ulven “Lygari” for a name, partially out of mischief at his own efforts to blur his own past and partially for his tendency to change stories in the telling. As he himself says, “The art of telling a story is exaggeration.”

While he is clearly somewhat odd amongst the Lore-Speakers, he has proven to know the history of these people as well as any other Ulven historian, and can recite the ‘correct’ versions of stories if pressed. Despite this, he finds the presence of the Colonists irksome; they have little respect for the older storytelling traditions of the Ulven outside of a few scattered scholars, they challenge the integrity and continuity of Ulven culture, and separate his people from the spirit of the Great Wolf, bringing them to empty causes. At best, he’s a somewhat gruff, distrustful storyteller to non-Ulven. At worst, he chooses stories that make the colonists look foolish, adding vain Syndar and impractical humans to any story he feels can hold it.

The symbol of this problem is the civil war with the Graytide. This is something he is certain that they learned from the colonists. However, he is torn between the stances of the warring factions; the Graytide’s position of expelling the colonists appeals to his distrust of this new culture, but the Longfangs have always steered themselves well, and at what cost must they be expelled?

Still, he is getting old. It’s been a great number of years since he gave up his name, and he can feel the jaws of the Great Wolf growing closer. One of his arms is forever bound in a sling, and he walks with enough of a limp to need protection. Despite the Lore-Speaker’s pledge to always move on when a story is known, he thinks he’s found the story that will find him his eventual death. The time has come for him to train an apprentice, as well, so that the lore of the Ulven people continues unbroken.

It’s hard to tell what’s truth and what’s a lie, especially when it comes from an Ulven whose willingly called himself a liar. On the other hand, many villages are willing to overlook this in favor of his knowledge of the great heroes and legends of old. If a hero needs to be remembered, Lygari will be there.

Relationships: Taught Ysla Stormhand a number of stories in her youth. Currently under the hospitality of the Watchwolves in northern Mardrun. Claims to know every important figure of the Ulven people.

Fully-sworn member of the Brotherhood of the Lore-Speakers

Rumors: Despite how Lore-Speakers are charged to wander Mardrun seeking out stories, he has not yet been to the territory of the Northern Watchwolves.

He is currently seeking an apprentice to take on his duties as a Lore-Speaker.

Played by: Jacob Beardsley /xbelthazarx@gmail.com
Name: Belthazar Nightriver
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Purple
Character Website:
Occupation: warrior/drifter
Known Skills: Toughness and two handed weapons
Birthplace: a small village on the on the eastern side of the Hacklefur Mountains
Appearance: What do you look like?
Notable Traits:
Relationships:
Rumors: If they gossip about you, what do they say?

Bio:

Belthazar lived most of his life under the watchful eye of his father. His village is located on the eastern side of the The Great Wolf’s Hackles about a days journey from Daven’s Reach. His mother died in child birth. With no memory of her Belthazar’s only known family is his father.

Even at an early age in life Belthazar was a handful. If he wasn’t pranking innocent villagers, he was in other trouble. Fed up with the lack of discipline, Beltharzar’s father started teaching him the ways of combat. This managed to calm the rowdy Belthazar.

His father became a leader of a hunting pack while Belthazar was about 16. Since then Belthazar was a well respected member of the village. Although Belthazar wasn’t the greatest hunter, he joined his father occasionally on small hunts.

At the age of 18 Belthazar started working as a blacksmith, he wasn’t bad at it either. Even though it wasn’t hunting his father was happy to see his son grow up and find a useful skill, but the peaceful life of Belthazar’s would not last long.

One day his father went out with his hunting party and wasn’t heard from for quite some time. Belthazar knew something was wrong but no one else seemed to notice. After a week or so passed by there was still no news what happened to his father. By this time he was getting worried and feared for his father’s life.

A couple more days passed and still nothing, but out of nowhere the familiar look of his father’s armor came into view, except it wasn’t his father wearing it. A band of Mordok had ambushed Belthazar’s father and came back to the village wearing the hunting parties armor. The Mordok wasted no time slaughtering members of the village indiscriminately, suddenly the bands leader appeared around a corner and was now face to face with Belthazar. Outraged at the sight of the Mordok murderer wearing his father’s armor and wielding the sword that Belthazar forged as a gift to his father, blindly rushed the attacker. Belthazar managed to catch the leader off guard. As the attacker fell to the ground Belthazar grabbed the sword and with a growling cry he drove the blade deep into the Mordok’s head.

The battle didn’t last very long, but after it was all said and done Belthazar just couldn’t bear living in the village that reminds him so much of his father. So after the fires were out and the dead burned, Belthazar travels to Daven’s Reach to start a new life.

In Daven’s Reach Belthazar ran into a nervous human merchant named Helgen, she happened to come across Belthazar just out side of Daven’s Reach. After a long day of traveling he must have looked worn out and run down because she took him in and offered him a job.

She was not very big and not very good at combat so she offered Belthazar a job as her body guard and friend. Since then he has traveled with her and protected her where ever her work leads

RETIREMENT STORY – EPILOGUE OF A TIRED SOUL

After being recruited by William and the New army of Vandregon during the fateful battle to destroy the Lich, Belthazar Nightriver cast off his clan’s name and became known as Belthazar of Vandregon. From that moment he dedicated his life to serving and living up to the ideals of William and Rogar Shadowfang. Belthazar served ad fought in many battles alongside
his fellow soldiers, but his rebellious nature started to get the better of him.
Belthazar had difficulty following the rules. Before joining the Vandregon he had been living free and doing as he pleased whether it was honorable or not. Often, he would hold up caravans for their alcohol and proceed to drink it all that same day. Now being forced to abide by rules and regulations didn’t go over so well at times. Balthazar would get into fights and or
destroy property. This usually belonged to which ever tavern was closest to wherever Belthazar’s company was posted.
Belthazar was soon in debt to the army, who had been paying for his escapades. To pay off his debt Beltazar was forced into an apprenticeship of a black smith. Belthazar took to this trade and began to really enjoy it. He started making friends outside of the army and started taking his own commissions. Unfortunately, come pay day he would often forget to pay his
debt and would go to the taverns instead.
Belthazar made his name in what was known as Daven’s Reach at the time. Often making tools and goods for the town’s folk as well as weapons for the army. When not in a tavern or at the forge Belthazar would join in patrols and expeditions. During one of Balthazar’s tavern crawls he met a young looking male Syndar who treated him to a night of drinking. It turns out this Syndar owned one of the local taverns and had taken a fancy towards Belthazar. This cycle of repeat nights of free drinks and tall tales
soon led to the two courting.
This became the new normal for Belthazar, Respected blacksmith, Loyal soldier, Rebellious lover. Belthazar continued to be a smith and eventually paid off his debt to the army and promptly retired from his service. He still makes weapons and armor at a discount for the army.
When the fall of Daven’s Reach happened, he joined the Campaign to retake the city. He resettled in the now Daven’s Hold, continuing his trade alongside his lover. Belthazar finally found what he had been wanting. A Loving family, Friends who could fight, “almost,” as good as he could, and all the free booze an Ulven could drink.

Played by: Marie Maschmeier
Name: Lucia Coinin
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Race: Ulven
Hair: Red
Eyes: Vibrant royal blue
Occupation: Daughter of Gaia
Known Skills: Arcane Magic
Birthplace: Unknown
Appearance: Red hair
Notable Traits: Commonly wears tribal tattoos around her eyes
Bio:
Born under the light of the full moon, Lucia’s bright blue eyes and vibrant red hair have marked her as one of Luna’s Chosen all her life. Her mother, Brigh, is an infamous warrior, best known for defending her family, even while carrying Lucia in her belly. Some say Brigh’s fighting spirit caught the attention of Luna, who graced her daughter with a rare blessing. Her father, Cliste, is one of few existing Ulven merchants.
Due to the nature of her father’s profession, Lucia’s family was known to most as one of the Pack-less, constantly moving from place to place. However, the family recently joined the Silverhowl Pack and the Watchwolves of Luna. The Silverhowl’s position at the fore-front of Human, Syndar & Ulven relations on Mardrun made them an excellent choice for Cliste and his family. If he can accomplish his goal to establish trade & commerce between the 3 people, some say he will become a new breed of Ulven Hero. Cliste’s position has also afforded his family many luxuries, despite their Pack-less state. It is why the family most-often dresses much more regally than the other Ulven.
Lucia has always had an innate, and quite potent, magical ability. But due to her lack of a stable Pack, she was never formally trained. As a child, Lucia regularly tested these natural abilities. However, her attempts most-often backfired, causing trouble and almost always incurring her parents’ wrath. Since joining the Watchwolves of Luna, she has finally begun to train as a true Daughter of Gaia. Many say her great power and strong connection to Luna make her the most likely Heiress to the Priestess mantle of the Silverhowl pack.
At first glance, Lucia appears to be a normal Ulven magic user; quiet, observant, intelligent and most importantly, controlled. However, her true Ulven nature sits just below this placid surface. She can become a most ferocious creature and her temper is almost famous. In the most common stories told about her, she’s unusually quick to anger and seldom forgets those who she feels have insulted her.

Relationships: –
Rumors: –

Played by: Jane Halpern

Name: Bite
Gender: Female
Age: 15 in LH, 28 outside.
Race: Ulven
Occupation: Scout in training for Crow’s Landing
Known Skills: Archery (developing).
Birthplace: A sacked Ulven village, pack unknown, outside Crows’ Landing.
Notable Traits: Short. Very, very, short. In fact, quite possibly the Littlest Ulven.

Bio: Bite was raised from infancy by humans who discovered her amongst the remains of her sacked village and took pity on her–her name derives from the first action she took when picked up. Although she is curious about other Ulven and her own racial heritage (she does not know which pack or even which clan her parents belonged to), Bite is culturally human. She does not know who was responsible for the slaughter of her birth family, but does not share other Ulven’s broad-spectrum distrust of humankind–she credits humans with having saved her from certain death and considers the members of Crow’s Landing her family.