Moon: Trakya

Craggy forested hills dominate the moon of Trakya, rising to broken mountain chains and descending to calm blue-watered seas dotted with small islands and rocky outcroppings, both shrouded with mists. Within the forests and shore plains, there is an abundance of game - several types of deer, goats, wild pigs - together with their natural hunters - bears, wolverines, weasels and mink, together with true wolves. Further up in the mountains, the game is dominated by goats - ibex and chamois - and larger predators - primarily bears and true wolves. Shoals of fish teem close by the shore, with small sharks and dolphins common. Rumours of larger creatures persist, with rare sightings of whales, smilodons and giant horses.

Several significant Karuantii settlements and places of repute exist:

• Arnufur - Hillfort settlement in the shadow of a mountainous ridge, known for its iron and early morning mists
• Fenreis - Great Hall settlement deep within the forests
• Golmorr - Great Hall settlement at the edge of the forests and close to the shoreline
• Ruins of Kailesh - Ancient cliffside town, half falling into the sea and surrounded by wild woods. Rumoured to have been beset by a sea serpent and now claimed by Ulfur as his seat
• Valley of the Moot - Sacred valley high in the mountains where the Karuantii meet in the summer months
• Waymeet - Large settlement built within the pass leading to the Valley of the Moot, cradled within two great walls at each end of the pass itself. All who travel to the Moot must pass through Waymeet

People: Karuantii (or singular, Karuantus)

Large hominid wolfmen, the Karuantii are a tribal people who live in loose territorial Packs. Some Packs are sedentary, settling in a communal hillfort, hall or cavern complex; others are nomadic, travelling between the hunting grounds in a broader territory and trading pelts and meat with the settlements. Both are ruled by their Thanes, though the sedentary Packs tend to be matriarchal and the nomadic ones patriarchal, who are supported by their Skalds, Torc-Bearers and Great Smiths.

Outside the Packs, there are lone Wanderers and the Fellhunters. Of these the Wanderers are trying to prove themselves as hunters, or smiths or storytellers; they travel between the packs, seeking their place in the world and sharing news - tradition has it that they should be offered fire, meat and salt for three nights but no more - unless they are invited to join a Pack. The Fellhunters are more glory-bound, small packs consisting entirely of male Karuantii and adolescent true wolves, packs whose focus is hunting and war; often they will be on the trail of a great beast, travelling wide ranges that cross the territories of many Packs, but on occasion, they will raid for supplies or food.

Every summer, Karuantii gather in the mountains for a Moot: here they trade stories, metalwork, pelts and Pack members - with those coming of age partnering with those from other Packs, or vying for adoption into one. All are welcome, and these are rough-and-tumble affairs, with feats of strength, challenges and fights to submission common.

Warmth.

Mostly nocturnal, the pack slept in heaps, centered on their leader, Ulfur. Stirring from sleep as the last rays of the setting sun shine through the cracked seaward wall of the main chamber of the Ruins of Kailesh, there was not a concern in the world.

Save for your empty belly, of course, and the sound of pups tusseling over whatever scrap they'd manage to sniff out. Those two - Ylva and Ubbi - were always fighting.

And there was your 'rival' of sorts, the wolf-lord of Waymeet - Aethelwulf, the far-traveller, the pocket-king, the wyrd-hunter, first-daughter of true-wolves. She alone had never challenged you when you had taken the seat of the Lord of the Moot. Many thought that she had declined to challenge you because - while she could have bested you, perhaps - she saw you as wiser, and had accepted you from the start on those grounds. She was reserved, and so her true reasons were unknown.

Ulfur stretched until his spine cracked, revelling in the feeling of wellbeing that came from waking surrounded by packmates. As the rough and tumble of Ubbi and Ylva spilt close to him, he mock-growled and swatted both of them tail over snout until one of his other Fellhunters. As was his way, he rose swiftly and strode to the seawall, watching the sun's light fade and scenting at the salt of the spray that crashed against his domain.

With the last dying light, he turned and spoke softly to the others who had begun to stir, "We hunt. And then I will work the forge; I have a gift to make"

Faolan, Gerwulf, and Ivalo were the first of the Fellhunters to rise with you, and they in turn quickly got the others awake and up to speed.

Faolan was a younger wolf, but your best tracker;

Gerwulf was older and had survived many hunts that gone poorly. His right arm still didn't quite work right ever since a stray kick form an elk had broken it. His hard-earned wisdom was valuable.

Ivalo was strange, and heard voices that weren't there, but he had a rage within him that terrified challengers.

Along with five true wolves - two of which worked closely with you, the other three each preferring one of the above Karuantii - your usual hunting party was ready. Ylva and Ubbi would stay behind, along with your favored cook and two Karuantii still recovering from recent wounds. It was enough to hold down the fort.

"We could fish, and fill our bellies," suggested Faolan. "Or if you are wanting to hunt, I have seen many tracks of deer - and the den of a bear, still sleeping this late into the spring." It was, as usual, your decision what to hunt. Democracy had value in large groups, but with your hunting pack, your leadership was direct and unquestioned.

"Deer", laughed Ulfur easily as the others gathered around him, standing easy, their grace clear, "If we can, I would take a stag, for their meat and their rack"

Apologies for the pithy post, long day

Deer it was.

The pack trotted out under cover of darkness, their eyes shining where the light of the moon caught. A gentle breeze brought -

- moose, deer, rabbit, man-thing, badger, owl, fox-kill, carrion birds, camp fire -

- the scents of the area to you. Already, you had a general sense of how to begin. Faolan took point, with you at his back. Ivalo and Gerwulf were behind you, and the true-wolves followed behind.

At a swift lope, you arrived within a mile of the deer in fluid moments of leaves and old tracks, flowing under shadows more than moving over them.

Wordlessly, the pack dispersed into triads and duos, each of you taking a true-wolf or two and surrounding the deer as they stopped to drink from a fast-flowing river bursting its banks from spring thaw.

Ivalo howled from the left, and the deer froze; Faolan answered from the right. With the river as the third boundary, the four deer - a buck, a doe, and two fawns - sprang the way they had come - into you and Gerwulf.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:34, Sun 13 Jan 2019.

Panting from the joy of the run, Ulfur listened to the panicked hoofbeats of the quartet, sharp ears picking out the weight and tempo of each of the prey before they came into sight. Twilight remained his favourite time to hunt, the speckled shadows as night became day and the black spurt of the death blow thickening the richness of it. You could feel the iron transcendence in the moment, the wholeness in your heart. You were river and flame, breath and loam, howl and claw, shadow and pack - all the true elements the Karuantii recognised - running together, united in motion. He felt it well within as Ivalo and Faolan sang; felt his chest swell at the unseen presence of Gerwulf and the true wolves that crouched with them. Words became unnecessary, instinct ruled.

So, he crouched lower into the shadows, a feral smile on his face watching for the moment the deer caught his scent: at that moment of hesitation he sprang explosively from the undergrowth, a coiled leap to take him past the buck, claws tearing at its throat even as he knew his packmates would follow: first true wolf taking it from the other flank in case it veered, the second to tangle its hooves or hamstring it, as need and opportunity dictated; and Gerwulf to body block it to the ground.

[Private to GM: Expanding on their lore, I see the Karuantii believing an eightfold elemental model: River = Water; Flame = Fire; Breath = Air; Loam = Earth; Howl = Spirit/Emotion; Claw = Body/Mind; Shadow = World/Luck; and, Pack = Unity/Instinct]

The doe and fawns were allowed to escape, but the buck was brought down, despite being a particularly large specimen.

Gerwulf drove his arm into the beast, tore out it heart.

He offered the heart to you. "For strength, and by rights."

The others drew close, and the Fellhunters drew their knives, removing the useful meat and lifting away the pelt, stowing it in massive leaves taken from the native kalvass plant.

The viscera and other remains were left for the true wolves to eat of freely.

Ulfur took the heart and tore a bloody chunky from it, before holding it out towards the others, "Strength is the pack", and he passed it back to Gerwulf. Chewing the salty richness for a moment, he knelt and took the buck's head in his hands, staring into the blank eyes for a moment, "Our thanks for your gift, brother"

Closing his eyes for a moment, he let the sounds and scents of the night wash over him, a moment of unity with the world that permitted him to dream of a far hall. Placing a furred hand over each of the roots of the buck's rack, his ears caught the sear and crackle of a hearth, a hint of shadow and dust. And, with a great heave, he tore the antlers from the skull, even as far-away honey and juniper assailed his nostrils and the echo of it caught him unaware.

His nostrils flared and he stood, turning to the others even as he watched the true wolves eat their fill. "Someone brings fire to our lands", he offered, referring back to the scent of the man-thing he had picked up as they hunted, "Come, we will see who"

The camp was small, with only one man-thing visible, along with a white horse.

The man-thing was massive - at least thirty feet tall, and garbed in armor of steel thick as the walls of a house, and was as broad as a small dwelling.

The ordinary campfire and the horse seemed . . comically small in comparison.

There also two dead man-things, but of ordinary non-giant size, in hunting leathers, with bows and spears. They looked like they were just sleeping, but you definitely smelled death on them.

How had it gotten here? You didn't smell metal, even though you saw it. And the trees around were unbroken; there were no great tracks that such a heavy being would leave behind.

It had yet to notice you. It stared quietly into the fire, near motionless.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:43, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

Signalling to his packmates to remain concealed, Ulfur stepped forward into the light of the fire boldly and called up to the steel-clad figure, "What brings you to my land, stranger?"

[Private to GM: If necessary, rely on Skald's Tongue and Bardic Ken to understand the Giant and glean any small clues from his response, spoken or unspoken.]

Archon of Trayka

"What brings you to my land, stranger?" your own voice echoed back to you.

The giant was unmoving. "I am Archon of Trayka. Who are you, wolf?" The voice would have been inaudible; it shook the ground in a bass so low only your divine power allowed you intepret it. Birds did scatter from their branches though. Even the animals treated him as if here a rock, or tree - only staying away for fear of the fire.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:19, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

Deepening his own tone, Ulfur called out once more, "Well met, Archon, i am Ulfur, Thane of the Forge of the Sea, and the Ruins of Kailesh. Again, I ask, what brings you to my lands?"

[Private to GM: If the Archon attacks, Ulfur will dodge long enough to switch into his steel-man form. If he continues to parley, Ulfur remain friendly, but unyielding in that this is his territory]

"I seek the Rune God."

"The true-dreamer."

There was a pause.

"My son. Though he does not know me, and I do not know him."

Your companions whined; the noise was painful to their sensetive ears. The true-wolves left, returning to the den at the ruins. Your Fellhunters remained steadfast, though they flattened and covered their ears.

It was possible you would soon attract unwanted attention .  .  .
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:04, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

Flowing full into himself and his knowledge of his divinity, Ulfur's nostrils twitched as if to catch the scent of the bear. His ears flattened as the Archon continued to speak, the deep bass of his voice unnerving - perhaps as much as steel-man's words themselves. Buying time to think, he stepped forward and whistled to call over the horse - hoping the two corpses meant it might respond and that his new-found awareness might provide a necessary edge.

[Private to GM: Attempt a simple whistle first, then to exert his command of the Beast Domain at; if those fail then use the Summoner's Howl. I'm playing the character as someone coming into their knowledge of Divinity, so he will be experimental. Plus, I'm not sure exactly how it works :)]

Regardless, he turned to the other members of the pack, offering quietly, "Strip the corpses and burn the bodies, then fan out and watch for trouble; I fear the steel-man's voice will bring trouble..."

Finally he turned back to the interloper, his mind racing: how could this figure be his father? He knew little of Godhood, it coming to him through echoes of memories of a squat blacksmith. Could that be the dream he dreamt? What were the runes that man spent upon his blades? Were they important?

Shaking his head clear of such tumbling thoughts, he called out a final time, "Come, then! Let us speak, you and I, in the nearby ruined village. There you can tell me of this figure you seek... Tell me why I should call you 'Father'..."

Archon's body seemed to collapse in on itself by some magic, reducing him to merely three meters in height.

As your packmates did as you suggested, the horse came to you when you exerted you influence over the Beast domain; the same upwind scent that had served you when hunting had shocked the horse now that it was downwind of you. Yet, by your power, it came willingly.

Your divines senses sparked. Something was entering your realm; many somethings, perhaps thirty.

Archon seemed unperturbed though. "Very well."

His voice was still the same rumble, and the thirty somethings - you heard them, crashing through the underbrush. You smelled them - wolf, and metal.

They were coming, whatever they were. You'd have to time to get to the village if you left Archon behind; but Archon was no wolf, and would undoubtedly slow you down.

Ulfur scented the invasive presence, divinely and mundanely. Wolf and metal. Another Karuantii pack, perhaps? His nostrils flared, trying to discern it, even as a growl grew deep in his belly. He turned to the Archon, held out both hands, one digit extended upon each at the end of which a black claw glinted. Giving the figure but a moment to object, he scratched twinned bolts upon the figure's thighs, willing crude speed into the runes, "Follow, as best you can. Invaders threaten this Realm"

With that, and a whistle of command to the horse to follow - though he cared not now if it did, ensnared as his mind was by this threat - he turned and began to lope quickly back towards the ruins

The runes were crude, and not intended for such use, but Ulfur's divine will was enough to bring them so measure of efficacy. The runes burned bright - Horse, Wind - and Archon's long strides were able to nearly keep pace with the lope of your Fellhunters.

You made it to the ruins in time to take refuge, with the invaders hot on your heels.

They were massive, as they bounded into view - huge wolves, with glittering metallic black fur.

There were thirty of them, but they paused when you entered the ruins.

One, duller-coated than the rest, approached the ruins.

"I am an elder of the Zarroki, of the God of Beasts. The one with you is a god-thief! You will give him to us, flesh-wolf, and we will depart your pack's lands."

Stepping forward to meet the interloper pack, Ulfur's heart sang: he had not been too late - the rushing, leaping, tumult through the woods sufficient - and his crude magic had proved sufficient to the task. Now, with these strange-scented iron wolves before him, he drew up to his full height and let forth a mighty howl

[Private to GM: Summoning any nearby true wolves and Karauntii he can]

"Give me your name, interloper", he snarled loudly, "Your title means nothing here, your claims are but noise - unless I give them weight. Who is this one you call Zarroki? What in the hells is a god-thief, and why should I care?"

If the Archon is close enough, he snarled more quietly, "God-thief? Father? You have a tale to tell, and quickly"

[Private to GM: If it comes down to a fight, Ulfur will challenge the elder]

"I made love to my son's mother and then took my son to live with his people," Archon said simply.

The Zarroki perked up at the rumble. "The god-thief is among you. I am Ulfhrafn. You should care, because you are stolen. You belong with your mother, Zvrok, Goddess of Nature!"

Many hundreds heard you howl, and were coming; fourteen packs of true-wolves, seven of fell-hunters, and twelve packs of other Karuantii.

Additionally, your howl seem to call forth from nothing a ghostly pack of dark-faced spirit-wolves, nine in number. They milled about you, extensions of your divine power.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:42, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

Laughing, Ulfur stepped forward further; he revelled in the sounds of the other packs, coming to his aid, even as he gestured to the strange shadow wolves to head his lead, "You come, hunting in my lands, demanding I violate the sanctity of a guest... You claim he has kidnapped me and then threaten to do the same. Stand down, Ulfhrafn. Come, without threats, as a guest and I will hear both of your tales... I alone will decide my fate"

The dull-coated elder Zarroki leapt from the ground to where you were standing in a single bound. He was the size of a small cottage, and settled to the floor to better fit in the ruins. "Very well, Virtu. This golem is a dangerous criminal and fugitive. It is only your safety that I am concerned for, Virtu, only this."

His great tail swept rubble from the balcony, casting it to the ground below. He was entirely coated in shards of metal that functioned like scale mail, save for the great green eyes that regard you cooly.

"May I speak our, yes, your tale?"

"Each of you shall speak", confirmed the wolf-thane, gesturing for the strange steel-wolf to follow him, "But in the great hall, in front of my people"

"Come, Archon-Father!", he called, as he leapt down to the ground at the base of the building, "Come, Karuantii!"

And with that he walked into the ruins of Kailesh, towards where the settlement's ruined hall stood; if they would follow he drew them all in: Fell-hunters, true wolves, Zarroki, and Karauntii all. Within the ruins he stood beside the great chair where the thane would sit, a carved oak inscribed with the partial mark of the last thane to sit.

When whoever had followed had taken their places, he sat, "Speak, then, of your tales"

For the first time in centuries, the court of Kaliesh was brimming with folk - every one armed and ready to war, having heeded the Wolf-Thane's call.

The Zarroki's height brushed the ceiling, and Archon had to duck his head to enter. The ruins were old, before the Karuantii had developed stonecrafting and building structures with high ceilings.

Both of them sat,the Zarokki on the landward side and Archon on the seaward.

Archon spoke first. "I wanderered, seeking the Runes. I came to a ruin to the far east, home of the Zarroki. There was a great ward-stone there, and the runes were pure. I studied them for many centuries. Zvrok, a great wolf, took an affection to me. We made love, and she bore a child, who was Karuantii, not Zarroki. I took him to his people."

Then Ulfhrafn spoke. "This metal man came to our hands, and we gave him a wide berth. After a century of motionlessness, we investigated. Zvrok valued his knowledge of the Runes, and desired a Zarroki that knew the Runes, so she begat a child with the metal man that was Zarroki in spirit, and Karuantii in form."

Then the metal wolf snapped, "You ARE Zarroki! You are many-formed, child of the pack mother! Can you not be as I am, a true-wolf, and also like this metal-man? Are you not a lord of both beasts and runes, with the might of the forge at your back? How have you been so deprived of your birthright, Wolf-Thane?"

There was earnest concern and loyalty in the voice of the Zarroki.

Upon his thane's throne, Ulfur considered their words, kenned them, tasted them. He turned first to Ulfhrafn, "Brother, tell me what I have been deprived of? I have a pack, I have come into myself, I know my power"

When the Zarokki had finished speaking, he turned to the Archon, "Father, tell me what you sought, both when you found my Mother and now, when you found me? Neither of us you knew before you found us"

[Private to GM: Applying his Minor Power, Bardic Ken, to their responses]

"You have been deprived of self-knowledge, and of the world beyond the world. You are a God, Wolf-Thane, not a mortal lord. The runes are roads, and you have been told they are tools. You remain stationary as our enemies crowd forward to surround us. You have a pack, but yours should be the pack-of-packs."

Archon spoke next. "I sought the runes. Runes are prophecy. I would know what comes. I sought he that was named by the runes. My son. My son's son. My descendant?"

Archon spoke very simply; your kenning revealed why.

In time of yore, to the south was the kingdom of a forge-lord, who smelted the souls of men into steel. One of his creations overthrew him with the power of the runes, and was called Archon, for he ruled the men of iron, until they rusted in the snows of years.

Zvrok was the the daughter of Zarrok, God of Nature; when Zarrok pressed her to be his mate, Zvrok slew him with a stone called Gammoril and ate him, becoming the mother-of-wolves. Her children grew black fur of Gammoril, that no god may again claim rule over all nature.

Such was the kenning.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:17, Wed 23 Jan 2019.

Glancing at the gathered throng, Ulfur raised one great furry eyebrow at the Zarokki's impassionated claim that he should be leading a pack-of-packs; who were those gathered, Karauntii and true-wolve and shadow-spirit. Still, he was self-aware enough to recognise that his knowledge of the extents and limits of his powers were ... fresh-bloomed and cub-like. Both speakers said much in what they spoke and what they left unsaid, offered hints at truths he might uncover. Both held challenge too, of the path not taken and whether he might be fit for the image they held of him.

And that challenge could not remain unanswered, and so he began, "Among the Karauntii each Wolf-Thane is supported by a triumvirate: Skald, Torc-Bearer and Great-Smith. It is the Skald who augments his Thane's knowledge of the world and keeps the history of the pack, past and future; it the Torc-Bearer who delves into mysteries, carries the weight of secrets for him; it is the Great-Smith who shapes the world to his liking and needs..."

He turned to the Archon, "You hint of prophecies and the truth in the runes, but have ensured such things are hidden from me in the youth of my years. Rectify this, become my Skald and tell me of the steel of the south and the rebellion that set you upon this path"

He turned to Ulfhrafn, "You tell me to become a God, not a mortal lord, but that I must come bow to your claim upon the one you name god-thief. If you would advise me, advise. Become my Torc-Bearer and teach me these roads, tell me of these enemies and of my heritage. Speak to me of the black fur of Gammoril and the mother-of-wolves"

Ulfhrafn huffed. "I accept. First though, I must return to Zvrok and apprise her of this. I will return in a day's time."

With that, Ulfhrafn left as he had come, with his pack.

Archon was calm, seated cross-legged as he had been when you met him. "The Forge-lord? He was a father who enslaved his children. With him, we were nothing, and without him, we rusted to nothing. Save for me. I was forged from living metal. I will be your Skald."

The proceedings having been observed, the summoned packs were dismissed to their homes and lives.

There was the matter of the successful hunt. Your pack needed to be fed and seen to.

Nodding his ascent as each accepted his charge, Ulfur moved among the summoned packs as each departed; he offered no thanks, but contact with the alphas and betas and storied among them - a clasp here, a nuzzle or nip there. God he may be, but he was a Wolf-God and a Thane too. Reinforcing their sense of belonging to his pack, his pack-of-packs, doing so and judging how any had changed in their perspective. It was important.

He returned to where the Archon sat, having thought on his words, summoned his pack to him - and watched to see if the shadow-wolves had remained, "Bring the meat we took on the hunt; we shall eat together. It was masterfully flushed, my pack"

Finally he turned to his Father, "Speak to me of the prophecies you sought in the runes, of the man-things you slew before we encountered you, and the living metal from which you are made. Do you recall the runes that made your likenesses and would you have them rise again?"

He paused, softer, "Tell me of Mother-of-Wolves"

OOC: Did the white horse follow us, in the end?

Aethelwulf was among those who had come at your call. She was strong, tall, lithe, with a full amber coat and bright blue eyes. Eyes you recognized - from a different world. The eyes of a plucky pilgrim-hero.

Img: Moira Aethelwulf, Far-Traveller

"Why, Wolf-Thane . . . You're considerably more handsome in my dreams, it seems. You're of the Old Blood too. I thought my line was the last."

She smiled in the human fashion, baring her fangs. A challenge, among the Karuantii. Which way would you interpret the act?

"Let's keep this little secret between us. I invite you to share a hunt with me when you next have cause to visit Waymeet. Until then."

She departed with her pack.

Next, Archon spoke, but rather than his rumbling, he wrote out his responses in floating runic script with the tips of his fingers. Meanwhile, the food of the hunt was prepared; raw for the true-wolves, cooked for the Karuantii, mostly for the sake of enhanced flavor when paired with herbs and spices.

"
I. The prophecy of the return of the true Runes, and their power. Power that might raise my people. Son of beast and steel, it was, who would recover the lost lore and set to rights to five peoples.

II. They thought to steal the gold from my body. I shook their bones with my voice, and they fell. They were from the East.

III. I am Horunculi. I was forged from the blood of three hundred men, to be worn as living armor by the Forge-Lord. He miscalculated the loyalty I would retain.

IV. No. I seek those runes.

V. Yes. That is my ambition.
"

After some hesitation, he answered your soft query with a punctuated series of runes.

"Strong. Brilliant. Crafty. Reclusive. Bold. Many things. very old. Older than I. A force of nature." He paused again. "Loving. Unforgiving. A scarred woman."
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:41, Sat 26 Jan 2019.

Pleased that Aethelwulf had responded to his summoning howl, Ulfur was more so when he took in her lithe form and lustrous coat - and that he had chosen the path of gifts over challenge. Standing taller, he stepped from thanking one of the other thanes and met her eyes, Moira's eyes. Startled, he let her speak and smiled at her dauntless and fey mood, the challenge within her tone. His ears cocked at the mention of dreams and blood and he nodded, accepting her offer to hunt, and he bared his fangs in return - not minding that others might misintepret the gesture, it would only add to his tale.

"Dream?", he rumbled, a hint of his own humour, "I have earlier memories here than there, perhaps this is the Dream?"

He chuckled, even as his other memories recalled her leaping from bed to slay those who threatened the other Realm. Yes, they had much to discuss and he would have cause soon to hunt with her


Later, as he watched his Father cast runes in the air, the Wolf-Thane studied them as much as the answers he provided. Were there ways he expressed the more complicated concepts, vocabulary, grammar, that might lend insight into his own kenning? Could be borrow such from his Dream, of Black Thrace? Was the magic even the same, a reflection, a twist?

[Private to GM: Don't know if his Bardic Ken or Skald's Tongue is relevant here; keen not to be min-maxing the narrative, but it would occur to Ulfur]

He was thoughtful as he watched the words form, let the answers sink in. After a few moments he tried to answer in the same manner, and if that failed resorting to his voice: "Like language, the runes are then. Meaning within meaning, some closer to the way of the world than others. It sounds like a lifetime's work, but a worthy one."

"Who are your people, Father? Those whose souls brought you into being, the men of the East? Or the being that you were born into? Would you that we travel East, in search of answers, or to meet my Mother, whom you stole me from?"

The nature of rune was something that Ulfur's skald-tongue could taste. It was the magic of language itself, and of the beating heart of life. It was hail, famine, ox, tree, torch, blade, wolf, house. It was the magic not of names, but of naming. The petty runes were used for communication, the lesser runes for enhancement, the greater runes for transformation, and the elder runes were those of creation.

There were also the Runes of Binding and Protection. The least of these but most versatile was the unique maker-rune of every Great-Smith, which kept metal from rusting, edges from dulling, and the contents of marked containers from spoiling or the containers themselves from breaking.

Ulfur was familiar with the lesser runes; of the greater and elder, all had been lost to the mists of time, hidden away in fallen empires and realms of dream and darkness.

"My makers came from the south. They were not men, but demons with brass skin and silvered tongues. To meet again the mother-of-wolves . . .  a thing of both fear and exultation. She is monstrous hunter and loving mate both. Which instinct drives her now I cannot say."

"Demons in the south, the man-things to the east...", acknowledged Ulfur, accepting the correction from his Skald even as he ruminated on the nature and power of the naming of things. Letting his thoughts drift between the answers to his five questions, he continued, "Perhaps these are among the 'five peoples' your prophecies spoke of? Prophecy, power, path ... there is much to untangle in these runes. These, and those that come to me in dreams of another Trayka..."

Glancing around the ruins of the court, wherein they sat, his thoughts became more centred and present. Standing, he began to pace the great hall, letting his clawed fingers trace out the stonework of the chamber, the rough nature of it, learning it. It had witnessed his unveiling, more than the previous summer when he had been crowned Lord of the Moot; such witness required it's own recognition. As he walked, Ulfur sang softly, infusing the chamber with his nature.

[Private to GM: Attempting to Imbue this Location, the Court of Kailesh, with Souls intending that it provides a sense of wellbeing with the telling of great deeds, glowing with moonlight if they are true. Not sure if that's exactly how it works in Myriad]

With that completed, he returned to the throne, summoning his own small pack to him, "Once my Torc-Bearer returns, I intend to seek out some of the truths that mark me as more than Thane. But I intend to keep Kailesh and restore it. Will you come, beyond Trayka if need be, or will you hold this hall for me?"

[Private to GM: Attempting to raise up the whole pack as God-Touched, or Special Units, if it makes sense; if his will be the pack-of-packs, then it makes sense that they are special]

Myriad works differently than Taeltresin. Rather than being limited (or rather, empowered) by a soul count, you instead are able to perform an ACT once per month per tier of your character - by default, once per month.

You could restore and empower all of Kaliesh with an Act or empower your Pack, but you'll have to wait a few days to get your Act for February.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:27, Tue 29 Jan 2019.

Thanks for the clarification; Ulfur will empower Kailesh with his next available Act

Ulfur dreamt, and in dreaming, woke . . . 

From the mountains, stone was torn, chiseled, polished. Thousand of cut stones flew to the Ruins of Kaliesh, where already the divine power of the Realm's ruler was manifesting.

Time was running in reverse. Decay retreated, worn stone was made new again, collapsed halls restored, the foundation shored up, the very sea repelled by a sturdy series of levies as the earth rose to its former extent.

Kalish stood new, a grand fortress-town built into cliff and earth. Within, the halls were never dark; even when the sky was clouded, it was a full moon within the fortress-city, save for within the resting grounds of the pack.

The forge was fully equipped, and the armory was stocked with ancient styles of bronze armors and weapons that had been since lost.

Kaliesh stood new, and it knew its Thane.

Distantly, the sea roared, an immense whale-song sounding from the deep.

Kaliesh is restored by divine will. The Leviathan is awoken from the slumber of Aeons.

"I will stand at your side, Wolf-Thane."

"Arm yourselves, my pack", commanded the Thane of Kailesh-Renewed softly, even as the echoes of the distant whale-song echoed throughout the fortress-town. It stirred something in, a primal urge to bend the Leviathan to his will, though time would say whether it was in thrall or as trophy. It was for tomorrow, however; today waited upon the return of his Torc-Bearer and news of his Mother - and whilst today waited, he would not

"Arm yourselves", he repeated, "Let us become familiar with the Old Ways of fighting whilst we wait on Ulfhrafn's return"

Ulfur was a titan of battle, and while much of his skill was instinctual and not teachable, he was nonetheless a capable instructor. The brass far superior to iron, but high-quality steel of the kind Ulfur was familiar with in his other life would be strong competition depending on the specific applications. The worksmanship of the armory's equipment was up to his standards - indeed, they reminded him of his own craft.

The Fellhunters were unused to the millaristic style of fighting, being used to acting as skirmishers and stalkers rather than soldiers. Nevertheless, they applied themselves with full will to the wolf-thane's training. In the short week before Ulfhrafn's return, he succeeded in setting the Fellhunters on the road to becoming a more elite unit.

"I beg your pardon, Wolf-Thane," Ulfhrafn said, prostrated before Ulfur in his throne room upon his return. "When I returned to Zvrok without you in tow and informed her that I had entered your service, she nearly slew me on the spot. She is your mother, and though she cannot command you, she bade me bring you her summons to the Great Den. You are not her only child, though you are her firstborn, and if you will not come to her, another of your kin may challenge and defeat her, and then come to challenge you, with all the might of the Zarroki at their heel. There would be great bloodshed, and she has no desire for her fading days to be spent seeing Trayka descend into chaos and death."

"Other troubles beset the Great Den. Light-ghosts wearing haunted cloth, who wield strange magic, from the northern steppes, have brought a host to bear in a bid to take the West. They say their claim is right, as the Zarroki are settled over the ruins of their civilization. Zvrok contests this, but a curse has befallen her and she is vulnerable. She bids you to come, to send back the ghosts, restore her to her full strength, and the fairly defeat her in combat and by that right take your place as her heir and the leader of the pack-of-packs.

My return was delayed, as I was pressed to aid in defending the Great Den from the possessed servant-beasts of the ghosts."

Watching the clash of arms and techniques as the Fellhunters honed their natural instincts into soldiering Ulfur was pleased. From hunt to battle, from stalking ambush to the clashes he considered might be their future, he recognised their determination and will brought forth. He was careful with his training, wanting to retain their wiliness and ferocity and not sacrifice it to rote and ritual. With time, they would become the core of his Legion of Brass...

It was as they trained that Ulfhrafn returned. His eye watched as each practised: glaive and gauntlet, great glaive, twinned falchions, falchion and kite shield... each had their own forms and flows, working well with the scaled brigandine armours and flared kilts suited to their comfort with ground-fighting and natural weapons.

Frowning as the Ulfhrafn prostrated himself, he clasped the black-furred forearm of the Zarroki and hauled him to his feet, "Never forget you are a Fellhunter and my Torc-Bearer, Ulfhrafn. Do not prostrate yourself. Ever..."

Nonetheless he listened with a furrowed brow as the other told of the foemen that beset the Great Den. He knew he was a child of the Goddess, but had not considered he might be firstborn; it laid obligations upon him, deep and powerful ones.

Summoning his Father and his pack to him, he laid out his commands, "Challenge comes, but subtly, from the north. We must respond and offer challenge of our own: to shades, to the Goddess of the Zarroki and to my siblings. Attend me, Skald. Attend me, Torc-Bearer. We will go direct. Attend me, my Fellhunters. Clad yourselves in brass and follow, by way of the packs who came to my summons. Gather three, each of you, from those packs. Gather three who will come and witness, come and fight, come to learn enough that they may take back the knowledge of these new ways, these old ways. Gather three, and any lone wolves and gloryseekers you encounter on the way, and meet me at the Great Den."

As you drew closer to the great den, you gathered many Karuantii to you - including the lady Aethelwulf, and many of the other young pack lords that still felt the call.

The call of something ancient and fading, the call of home far-forgotten . . .

The Pack Mother calls to the old blood.

While you camped, you saw a strange exchange between Aethelwulf and Ulfrafn - subtle growls and posturing that the Zarroki seemed to pick up and attend to before she even came into view. It was your nose that told her what she was doing - the spring was fast approaching, and with it the heat - the same heat that had kept most of the female Karuantii from joining your expedition.

She approached Ulfhrafn carefully, pulling up her tunic to bare her midriff - a gesture of submission. The black calmed, and carefully licked her. She knelt, taking Ulfhrafn's great head into her arms, and scratched the sides of his face, the roots of his ears, and then sat beside him, wrapping one arm around him and whispering into his ear. She was doing some kind of magic - traceries of dark brown energy pulsing through her exposed skin.

A certain . . . spark faded from the great wolf's eyes, and and he gave in to her, behaving more like dog than wolf; his tail slowly wagging against the loam.

She came towards you, Ulfhrafn snoozing fitfully. She inclined her head in respect, then knelt beside you. "Did you like my little display, hmm? The magic of our people. It is called Pack magic - it allows the creation of compulsions, and freedom from the same. It can make a pack fight with one mind, calm beasts, read social ties, and more. I am only an initiate, but there are still masters working in the shadows to protect us and prevent chaos. It is a blend of magical aspects of Order, Chaos, Mind, and Illusion."

She whispered, her voice changing to something inhuman. "While in the waking-world I am a mortal, here I am Aegisi - a guardian spirit that speaks for the land. Even once I perish in the waking world, I will remain in this Dream - protecting it and remembering it. In exchange, I receive power in the waking world - I am a natural lycanthrope, and will grow stronger with age, rather than weakening with the passing of years."

The heat was on her, you could smell it. That she was so composed in your presence was a result of an immensely powerful will. At this close distance, you felt your mind . . growing slightly hazy, as if you were drinking firewater, but you were strong enough to resist any compulsion it might offer to a lesser Karuantii.

She touched her forward to yours - a bold move that indicated she felt she was your equal. "I will sometimes accompany you in your travels when I sense the realm is in danger, but you will never command me, wolf-thane. I belong to the land, and none other. Tell me that you understand this. And then tell me what you desire for this land, and for me, its Aegis."

Breathing deep of her scent when she first approached his side, Ulfur recognised something primordial in her - a suspicion already half-formed by her waking-self's eyes in her dreaming-self's body. Around them the scents of fur and brass and leather collected, the cloying fervour of young Karauntii thanes preparing to quest. Both scents spoke to him: on one claw, glory and the bloody-copper of battle; on another, rutting beneath the moon and all that followed after.

He had watched her tame Ulfhrafn, a needful thing albeit a disconcerting demonstration of power, and then listened as she spoke of ancient lore.

Our magic, she had said.

His and hers both.

Ours.

When she spoke again, he knew it was not her, but the Great Wolfess behind her. She called it Aegis, but that was a name for the truth, a rune that held the power in naming what she was.

When she spoke, he listened. To the challenge in her manner, in her words. Another, less assured, might have challenged in return. But he was the Wolf-Thane who had been the Great Smith and the Skald and the Lord of the Moot. His own counsellors, wrapped in Godhood both here and in the waking world - if those two were not reversed.

When she spoke, he answered, with the wisdom of the pack, "Does the Thane serve the Realm, or the Realm them, Aethelwulf-Aegis? Do they rule their Pack, or serve it's interests? Do they lead alone, or with a mate beside them?"

" . . . with a mate beside them?"

She rocked back a little, her eyes widening. Words spilled from her mouth in a hurry - "I am the guardian of the land; you may be the Wolf-Thane and the lord of this Dream, but my concerns are for the Realm - only one who was the Pack Father, Great-Smith of the Iron Knights, and -"

She huffed out a breath, then another, and her voice returned to normal. She was just herself. "I am still flesh-and-blood. I live still. My blood is warm and my destiny is unwritten. I am not just . . . the ghost of this place. Not yet."

She softly ran a hand through the ruff of fur at your throat. "I will not be won. You will not earn me. I will choose you of my own volition. My will is still mine."

She looked around at the other wolves and Karuantii that were sleeping or quietly talking nearby.

"But you must understand. This dream, and the real, are interlinked. If I become your mate here, my waking self . . . she will be affected, you understand? Her wolf will call to yours, even outside the Dream. She is a fragile thing, for all her brashness. She is young and foolish, but there is strength in her just as their is delicacy. You must . . . you must help her to grow, and you must make her your equal, before you take her; you are a god there too, and she is still mortal."

Her brow furrowed. "If only she was a wise wolf, like I . . . but we are not in life what we dream of at rest, are we?"

She brushed her muzzle against yours. "You are right, and I am . . . amenable. But not in camp, and not without blood. We will go a ways from camp, and fight. When you win . . . well . . . " she blushed deeper than before. "Nature will take care of things from there."

Destiny.

Words, spilled like blood from a hunt whose first scent had not found itself upon the wind. Words, and prophecy. Promises, ties.

Ulfur tasted them, let them flow over him, until she returned.

Letting her words flow, then, the ones of the wolf not the Aegis, he smiled, "Will and freedom, these things all wolves know; whether true or Karauntii or Zarroki or even, I hope, of shadow. You, I sought, before your full nature was known. For you, I hunted the stag, took it's horns"

That fateful hunt.

"Her ascent has begun. She will come to know power, in time", whuffled Ulfur softly, letting her fingers tease at his fur, "But tonight is not hers"

He breathed of her scent as her muzzles moved against his own, nipped gently at an ear, then pulled her to her feet, "Tonight is ours."

Destiny?

The two of you were lithe shadows loping through moonlight, until you crashed together in a snarling mess of teeth and claws at the edge of a small lake. She was a formidable opponent, and while initially you underestimated her and went easy, that proved completely unnecessary and earned you a deep cut across your snout that would likely scar.

Once you fought in earnest, it was barely a minute before she was baring her throat in submission beneath you. You seized her, and she went limp in your jaws; and once you released her, she wrapped her legs around you - and for awhile, there was only the blur of her hot breath on your ear and the mutual satisfaction of giving in to nature's call beneath open sky.

=

You woke the next day curled around her smaller form - your scent covering her, marking her as yours in a way that made the emptiness of words pale in comparison.

The pack pressed on, coming within a day's lope of the Great Den. You found evidence of spectral activity - areas of earth cold as permafrost, tattered white cloth, and a dead Zarroki, its hide partially melted by some kind of black acid-like substance that Ulfhrafn identified as ectoplasm.

Resting was important for keeping up the pack's strength and giving them opportunity to seek out game, but with evidence of the enemy nearby hunkering down would also inevitably invite an ambush. The choice was left to you and your mate, who counselled you.

"We should rest, and ready ourselves in shadow away from the camp, to flank the enemy when the strike. We know almost nothing about the enemy, and it would be good to test our strength against them in a skirmish before we go to battle in earnest."

Loping northward, the echoes of his real-self finding balance in their power even as he found it in the pack-of-packs forming around him, Ulfur felt electrified and alive. His eyes scanned the trail ahead, his ears and nose twitched at the slightest clue from his realm as he travelled through it.

And his it would be, in time.

That felt inevtiable.

"Your plan is sound, Aethelwulf", he permitted, "But I would call upon the shadow wolves who came at my summons before. They might provide insight into the nature of such spectres"

Attempt to summon the shadow wolves

"And those who would wait must be ready, armed and armoured for the ambush if it falls", he finished, "I would not have my people dangled like helpless bait"

The spirit-wolves come at your call, but they are true-wolves and do not comprehend what you ask of them. Even in the language of wolves, they do not understand that they are spirits; they are beasts, and do not participate in such self-reflection.

The camp is prepared for ambushed, and watches are kept. You move with Aethelwulf to the edge of scent range, so that you will be able to smell blood or any other sign that an ambush is silently occurring the moment it happens.

The night passes uneventfully, however.

Frustrated by the edge at which he had kept his pack, Ulfur was eager to set forth the next morning. Knowing this, self-reflective in a way the true wolves and shadow wolves were not, he kept a careful pace, alert for any counter-ambush as they continued towards the Great Den

It was day when the pack first encountered the strange spirits that had assaulted the the Great Den. "We are a day's lope from the Great Den," said Ulfhrafn. "We will arrive at sunset."

Aethelwulf, at your side, counseled you as the Pack entered the province of the Great Den, which a strange kind of cold desert; there were broad expanses of sand, dried rivers and lakes, and thickets of old trees, but no new saplings. "A curse. The ghostmen's doing. They have yoked the land . . weakened the prey. Dwindling prey threatens the hunters."

The ghosts were shaped like men wrapped in cloth, armed with short, curved blades of folded steel - they lacked good iron, or the makings for bronze? - and spears marked with red glyphs along their hafts.

The ghost-men were feeding on several dying Zarroki, their cloth soaked in its blood. Its wounds regenerated, only to be opened anew, and the strange spear crackled with foul magic; its iron-hide was rusted over, crumbling.

Ulfhrafn huffed. "Hungry ghosts! Foul beings of the afterlife. Fire kills them, as does immersion in water. Things of life, both. And this curse, it takes away both from us . . ."

"It seems I an beset as if a mirror, Aethelwulf", observed the Thane of the Forge of the Sea wryly, "Leeches in one Dream, blood-suckers and iron-stealers in this one. Perhaps my bronze will resist them sufficiently"

He turned to Ulfhrafn, wind ruffling his mane, "Fire and water. What of steel? Bronze? Claws and teeth?"

Even as he spoke his gaze remained fixed on the ghost-men and their spears, trying to discern any meaning behind them. He was a master of battle, but keen of mind with it. He knew when he may require strategy and when simple instinct would best serve

Activate his Bardic Ken on the foul runes

Your knowledge of the runes told you enough - those staves were foul things, bind runes turned to decay and destruction. How this had to come to pass was unknown to you; but these marks were not the runes you knew, nor were they the runes of the wolf-thanes before you.

"Only fire and water, and the divine power of the gods themselves. They are spirits, proof against mundane weapons."

Aethelwulf pondered. "Do you mean the spirits are repelled by water and fire . .  that they would need to be drowned or burned, I mean . .  or could we perhaps treat are weapons? Consecrate them with holy water? Heat them in fire, so that they burn?"

"They aren't . . . dead beings. They are spirits. The holy water would surely be ineffective ... but torches, or steel heated into a firebrand, that might work."

Summoning Ivalo to him, Ulfur requested he draw his leaf-shaped glaive. With his own claws he scratched upon the surface a rune, one that might summon flame when it struck spirit. If the work felt true, he repeated it upon the blades of his own pack, of Aethelwulf and Ulfharfn

To his pack, "Remember the ways of fighting I taught you"

To the others, "Let us test our ways of battle against these."

The rune was true, and the bronze spat unnatural bright sparks. As a smith, you knew that bronze and copper did not spark as iron or steel did. When the weapons were waved through the air, the rush of wind over them worked like bellows, fanning the sparks into flashes of flame.

It was a minor effect, to be sure, but would hopefully prove enough.

Without more explicit instructions, the pack broke from the faint treeline in a loose skirmish, crashing into the spirits with flashing spears and seax.

The weapons proved effective, drawing unearthly screeches and rage from the spirits.

With superior numbers, greater training, and the benefit of surprise, the result was an instant rout of the enemy. Your wolves gave pursuit, dragging down the fleeing enemy and dispatching it. There were no survivors.

The Zarroki recovered as the remains of the spirits burned.

Aethelwulf reunited with you, licking the inside of your mouth in affectionate submission; power faded from the runes you had hastily cut into the weapons of the pack.

Ulfhrafn was speaking with the recovering Zarroki, asking questions.

After the rout the Wolf Thane paused for a moment, receiving Aethelwulf's affections even as he lent upon his great glaive,  returning them with a slight nip. His heart was fierce in his passion, but choose not to be a slave to them, not now. He was pleased with his runes, but nonetheless knew that such artifice would not serve him unless his packs were prepared to meet the spirits. Better stratagems were needed, and for that knowledge was power.

Growling a little in his throat, he made a promise to the she-wolf, "Later. For now, we must see what news Ulfhrafn's kin brings" and began to make his way towards where they spoke, "Order the scouts out, my mate, to watch for the spirit's return. See if they abandoned any of their foul spears as they fled"

Guards secured the perimeter, and a three of the hexed spears were brought to you.

The surviving Zarroki growled. "There is nothing for the pack to eat! The pups will be runts if they don't starve. We couldn't stand by! We had to hunt! They knew, and the waited for us . . "

A siege, then.

One of your scouts approached you. "These are dead, but more are coming, and stranger, larger, with hexed chains and hooks,"

Aethelwulf counselled you. "We press forward now, and we'll be fighting out of a siege. We retreat, and we lose the advantage of breaking through with surprise. We stand our ground, we'll be surrounded, and doubtlessly lose wolves,"

"We must press forward, at haste. The Den is defensible. We can sally from it on the morrow, with more knowledge, and preparation,"

Listening to the survivor's tale and Aethelwulf's subsequent counsel, Ulfur nodded and stowed the hexed spears upon his back, "Let us put the wind in our fur; I would speak to my Mother before we see about breaking this siege"

With the pack at your back, you arrived at the Great Den before hours before sundown.

Your acquaintance with magic was limited, but the great den was littered with a repeated rune. It was carved on almost every available rocky surface, over and over again, some marks so old you could hardly discern them; and other fresh enough to still have dust from the chiseling.

It was the rune for 'home'.

"Intruder cannot enter, because they are not invited," surmised Aethelwulf. "The den is defended by magically enforced custom, not by walls. A combination of runic and pack magic . . ."

The Den itself was a network of natural caves and small mountain glades, with a large central cavern. With the vouching of the surviving Zarroki and your prior invitation, you were able to enter without hindrance, but your pack was forbidden from entering the central cavern. Only you alone could enter.

Within the large central cavern, it was evident it had once been a meeting place; there were bedding for dozens of Zarroki.

There was only one wolf in the chamber, and it was your mother; a white wolf, with blue eyes, of a size more akin to a woolly mammoth than any true wolf.

Her fur was matted, and her eyes were dim. She did not notice your entrance.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:30, Fri 26 Apr 2019.