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?"