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Author Topic: The Ulvur Chronicles  (Read 8711 times)
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Isilhir
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« on: 18 June 2004, 15:21:00 »

Ok, so this is probably my most ambitious Ulvur writing as of yet... Naturally, the myth and history clearly merges here, and I tried to tie some things together with other historical events in Caelereth as well. I wrote it in what I thought seemed a fitting way for the compendium. As it's hard to separate mythology and history, I'll jsut post the whole thing here in the library;)    

And beware, this is pretty long.. ;)      

------------------
"You can't be a Real Country unless you have A BEER and an airline-it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER."
- F. Zappa

Edited by: Artimidor Federkiel at: 7/16/04 12:30
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Isilhir
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« Reply #1 on: 18 June 2004, 15:22:00 »

Ulvurcarthúr
(The Ulvur Chronicles)


Prologue:
The Lost Chronicler
Journal entry, Fallen Leaf 19th, 1657

The myths of where the mysterious wolf-men known as the ulvur come from are many and vast, but learned from various sources; mainly elven, this legendary beastfolk might have played a bigger part in the past of the world than what we at first even dared to imagine. But if so, why have they not been mentioned in the ancient scrolls as anything more than legends?

I will try to discover the truth behind this mysterious race, but so far, all I can offer are mere speculations. What seems to be accurate though, is that the ulvur are not some kind of demons or wraiths of dark powers; even less the cursed, moon-struck men the tellers of urban legends in the Cyhalloian settlements so persistingly warns us travellers about. There is something ancient and ethereal about them, yet they seem to be creatures of flesh and blood just like the next man, elf or whatever that dwells in the world, and not necessarily puppets of evil.

The cold bites, and even my sturdy guide seems to become less and less enthusiastic about the long road ahead. Cyhalloi may be a beautiful, wintery wonderland in the daily sun, but soon the night will fall, and the Cyhalloian nights are far from kind. Still, I will not let such things hinder me.

The recent, rumoured battles between the ulvur and snow trolls, and even some of the sinister Kasumarii tribe has troubled the elders of the Ximaxian Academy greatly, and even if our king will not pay heed to their warnings, this matter must be inspected closer. Travelling as far north as possible, I will search for any sign of the ulvur and try to record things as I see them with my own eyes. My funds should be enough to hire a couple of trustworthy bodyguards; at least with trust as far as money will buy it. Whatever is the trade of the ulvur; be it the savage, bloodthirsty beasts the locals claim they are, or indeed something more and perhaps even a race sentinent at our very own level, I will recount in my documents.

If i return.

-Haramith Horrand, chronicler of the Great Library

In the following documents, the history of the Ulvur(up to the current day) will be presented. As these are based on the journal entries and various scribblings of a missing chronicler of the Compendium, they are not to be taken as official documents and are currently open for discussion. They are however very detailed, and the chronicler in question was during his time in the Library's service a clearly sane and highly intellectual young man, so perhaps there is in fact some sort of truth in the extraordinary tales he recounts.

Hamarith Harrand, as his name was, had volunteered as researcher for the Compendium and was sent out in the Library's name to the cold, northern lands of Cyhalloi; the east island in particular, in order to investigate the recent, well-founded rumours of battles between the snow trolls, the Kasumarii tribe and the mysterious Ulvur. When he had not returned after the designated time he had planned to spend on his research (that is several years), a scout party of volunteers was sent on an expedition to discover what might have happened to him. All of the Cyhalloian locals kept silent about him, but after hours of persuasion, intimidation and various forms of bribes these half-torn, weathered pages of Haramith's journal were finally recovered. We have managed to separate what he wrote about the daily happenings from the actual records of ulvurian myth. These records are obviously not complete, and several parts are missing still, but a basic flow is evident, and with things related to both our own and the elven mythologies. Thus, we have done our best to integrate the already evident myths concerning the ulvur with what Haramith has written, and hope that we could manage to fill most of the gaps. We should also mention that these writings is based on tales from the ulvur's own point of view, and thus they should not be taken as actual facts.


Chapter I:
Of The Beginning Of Things

In the beginning, there was Ginnungarja, an infinite cloud of mist. It was everything, and yet it was nothing; for all that surrounded it was the great Nothingness; the Never, and yet as mist, Ginnungarja had no form; no body or shape. But at some point of turning, there came to be two opposite elements in each end of Ginnungarja. One was of infernal, burning fire, and the other was of the coldest of ice. As Logor, the fire, and Nifel, the ice met, a chaotic battle between the elements errupted, and from the clash sparks flew and were engulfed by the Nevermist; thus giving form, body and shape to parts of the mist. And the very greatest of the sparks gathered many other sparks to itself, and it grew into an element of its own; almost equal to Logor and Nifel. And as of this, this new element came between the two battling ones and brought peace to them; uniting them and itself in a perfectly balanced trinity. The new element grew and grew into a beautiful Ash-Tree; rooting in the fiery core that was Logor, and its crown touched the frozen roof that was Nifel. Surrounding the Tree and floating above Logor was now a great sea; another of the great sparks from the elemental battle. It cooled the top of Logor's burning realm, and the fire stiffened and became the foundations of stone that the ground has rested upon ever since.

As time passed, the stone and the Great Tree came to grew into each other; merging and intervening, until the world as we know it at last was made whole. Logor's fire now burned deep within the world, and the roots of the great tree, its trunk and branches now joined the foundations of stone to keep the earth ground firm and steady, and its crown was now the only thing visible on the surface in the shapes of the forests, grass, bushes, mosses and all other greenery. The stone had grown into tall mountains that touched the very breath of Nifel; for that was what the clouds in the sky came to be called. The sea now rested in the great hollows of the world, and broke off into various shapes that constituted all the lakes and rivers.

Two more of the great sparks had now also risen, and these took their places in the sky, and circled around the world in an enternal course. They were Ho-loga; the sun, and Mon-loga; the moon, and thus the lapse of the day and the night came into the world.

As the third element had divided and merged its body with Logor to form the world, its great spirit had now both the great earth, the sea and all plants as host; though still connected to Nifel, and the eternal Ginnungarja that surrounded them all. The third element let thus its innermost essence awaken, and it now had a spirit. It was now Rimjora; the All-Mother; the Creator; the One Mother, and she let her great spirit split into lesser parts; yet connected still. Her essence was in all, but even so, the new little spirits gained essences of their own. Rimjora now took a new shape; a great, silvery wolf, and whenever in that form she would go under the name Ulrivja; the Mother of Wolves, and the first spirits that emerged from her own came to take the same shapes as her, but much smaller. Eons passed, and more spirits came from Rimjora. Slowly they grew into a multitude of beings; each with their own part to play in the drama that was the world. Rimjora guided them, told them secrets, loved them, and let them become one with her again, as there would contstantly awaken new spirits to live in the world. The endless cycle was completed; birth, life and death, and through the new spirits, the world itself lived, as they lived through the world. And Rimjora was the one who would ever direct the whole show. Nature had come to be.

At this point, the oldest and fairest of Rimjora's children; the wolves, were blessed by a spark of Ginnungarja itself. Rimjora gave a small part of them different essences. Their minds would grow, and thus they became sentient. These new wolves felt as if they had awoken from an unearthly long sleep, and as if in a dream they had been told by Rimjora, in her own special way, that they must watch over her world where and when she cannot, and that they must also guide and watch over their own kin, the wolves, the most. And so it came to be, that the new wolves changed in shape, and their new minds became stronger and stronger. And yet as they discovered new secrets; the arts of creating things of their own and such, they never left Rimjora's side. They always lived and walked close to her, both in flesh and spirit, and built up great halls of their own. Rimjora gave them the empty shells of which the spirits now rejoined Rimjora's essence to create their tools and houses and all the other things. They were still as close to their wolfkin as they had ever been, but they stayed away from the other creatures of the world, unless when hunting, and instead watched them in secret. But there were some exceptions made for ancient, powerful spirits that through Rimjora's essence could teach them her lores. The new wolves took a new name to distinguish themselves from the old wolves, yet pay tribute to their common affinity. They were now the ulvur.


Chapter II: Of The Ulvur And The Other Races

By the weave of the Nevermist, time passed for countless seasons, and new beings emerged from Rimjora's womb, and some of them were very alike the ulvur, both in appearance and mind. The first of these new, sentient races were the alver; the Elfkind. They were fair and wise like the ulvur, but they did not share their affanity with the wolves. From which branch of Rimjora's ethereal tree-body these enigmatic creatures came from none now can tell save Rimjora herself. Clear it was however, that the alver loved and cherished their All-Mother almost as much as the ulvur themselves. And the ulvur sensed this, and so they let a heavy part of their divine mission of guidance for Rimjora's children concern the alver. With the help of their old tutors of Rimjora's lore; her powerful spirit-children, the ulvur taught the alver the arts of hunting, crafting, building and such material business, but also the lores of Rimjora, and how to be a true part of her world. Long the two races lived in peace together, and many of the alver joined the ulvur in their roles as guardians of nature.

Then came the dvargar; the dwarf-kind. They were not tall, but they were strong and proud, and they took great pleasure in the art of crafting, and the skills of the dwarven smiths would soon surpass even those of the ulvur. The dvargar did usually not take much time for the ulvur's teachings of the lores of Rimjora, but they still showed respect to their All-Mother and knew what to do and what was against Rimjora's will and needed to be avoided..

Shortly after the dwarves had come, the maner saw the light of the day. They called themselves humans, and they were tall like the alver, but not as fair. Their appearances were more varied, but they all still shared common traits. The maner were fast learners, and loved especially the arts of crafting, building and hunting. They were the first to doubt the ulvur's teachings. As their minds became lost in the dealings of wordly matters, crafting arts and peculiar systems of society, their bond to their All-Mother became weaker and weaker. Some of them still took great pleasure in the lores of Rimjora, but more and more of them cared less and less for them, and soon, some maner would forget them completely. This concerned the ulvur and the alver, whereas the dvargar cared more for their exchange of crafting ideas with the maner. However, the dvargar were noble and stubborn still, and usually kept more to themselves and their smithing arts, and the maner became more and more restless and longed to discover and invent things which to most other races seemed highly unecessary. The ulvur and the alver tried to desperately talk sense into both the dvargar and the maner, but not many of the two races would listen. And as of this, the first dark thoughts were born amongst the young races. Internal struggles, clan wars, greed, jealousy, bloodlust and the like would torment not only the races themselves, but also Rimjora's own world. This madness was even join by the newer races, some of which were devious from the start, and some even true monsters. They came to be called the tursar. Something beyond the young races' own minds had disturbed the balance of the world and the cosmic trinity itself. The ulvur did not know what, but they knew that not even the darkest thoughts could have turned so many pure-hearted creatures, and especially not any children of Rimjora, wicked in such a short time. So they made a painful decision. They broke their spiritual oath to Rimjora, and forced themselves to leave the guidance and peacemaking to who they trusted the most, the alver, and left the chaos to search for answers to the dark riddles.        
They did not have to search long.


Chapter III: Of Uhrum And The War Against The Chaos

In the darkest depths of the Ginnungarja, a great many-coloured spark had manifested into a great void; an abyss into the very chaos itself. This void had only grown and grown since the spark had touched the Nevermist, and it had outgrown Rimjora's world itself a thousandfold since long. This great chaos now seemed to surround the world and the trinity; constantly expanding. Uhrum the ulvur called it, and from this immense void dark spirits had emerged and they had entered Rimjora's realm unseen and unsensed by all. Disguised as spirits of nature, they had fooled all the races, even the ulvur. Dark thoughts and feelings existed in the little darkness that was in every sentient creature, but the ulvur had always been able to hold these emotions at bay. It was a struggle each and everyone of them had to fight throughout their lives, but with peace in the world those struggles had always been almost completely non-existing. Until now. It was the dark spirits that had fed upon such emotions, and upon doing so even making them grow. But Rimjora had sensed them as they had poisoned the minds of her children. Only the ulvur were strong enough to resist, and yet there were some of them that could hardly even do that. Rimjora gave the most powerful of the ulvur druids visions of the great void and its dark spirits. She also showed them a great, dark dream, in which the world would at last be consumed by Uhrum, and the trinity would fall; all life would end, and chaos would be eternal. This was the prophecy of the great Orminvakar; the time when the ulvur truly must save the world from the chaos and restore its balance, both by their own hands, but also by uniting the other races once again. Only with the combined force of the spirits of all Rimjora's children could the chaos be driven back and banished to the eternity of Ginnungarja, but their spirits must have found their ways back to their All-Mother to be part of such a great force. Thus the ulvur began their quest to re-unite the races, and to vanquish any threat to Rimjora. It was at this time their All-Mother gave them the gifts of magic and rage. Connected to the lapse of the moon, the ulvur learned to change their shape to their old wolf-self and embrace the powers of Rimjora's spiritual essence, and to a strong, bestial form in which their ferocious rage would bring them strength beyond their wildest dreams.

But it was no easy task they sought to complete.


Chapter IV: Of The Demon Hunt

As the ulvur returned from their spiritual journey in their northern homelands to the elven, dwarven and human homesteads in the south, people would cry in fear upon their coming, as if they had forgotten their old guardians completely. Sadly, this was not far from the truth. The ulvur had lost track of the time they spent when they were spiritually communicating with Rimjora and learning their new abilities, and a much longer time had passed than they had expected. In the ulvur's absence, the dark spirits had spread over the world in an otherwordly speed, and combined with the easily affected minds of the younger races had left trails of war and chaos behind them. Thus, the untold darkside of their new abilities now took its toll. The ulvur let their rage take them, and all save their instincts could tell who was friend and who was foe. They waged a bloody battle against the dark spirits of Uhrum, which now showed themselves in their true forms: the aggrar; twisted, monstrous and unnatural beasts, and they were not late to return the hostility of Rimjora's guardians. With the one goal in their minds - to rid the world from these demons -, the ulvur raged across the lands in a brutish crusade; hunting down, slaying and banishing not only the demons themselves, but also every single little creature that showed the faintest sign of being possessed by a dark spirit. This bloody crusade came later to be called Aggrarblot; the Demon Hunt. The other races could not tell aggrar from ulvur, ferocious as their former guardians were in their new-found battle forms. And so, even the oldest and wisest of the alver; still having vague memories of their friendship with the ulvur, deemed them to be as much demons from the void as the true, dark spirits. Their bond to nature became weak and their judgement clouded. The ulvur sensed this, and when they had driven back most of the aggrar if not to Uhrum, then at least to barren and remote places of the world, they desperately tried to remind the other races of their once so strong friendships. But none would listen. Some, mainly of the maner and the vicious, barbaric races of the tursar even responded to the ulvur's pleadings of forgiveness and rememberance with nothing but fire and steel. Others would just turn away without any words.

And so the ulvur, with their tails between their legs, returned to their home to once again watch over Rimjora's children from afar, as best as possible. And soon, they would pass out of all knowledge to the other races, and remained only in their history books as legends and myths. Sad as they were, the ulvur despaired over this, but they swore to still keep their oath to their All-Mother. But soon, the despair would fade because of another feeling, still new to the ulvur; seductive and easily triggered, yet not so easily controlled: rage. The alver and dvargar were deemed just lost, but when the maner and the tursar spread over the world; forgetting more and more of the lores of Rimjora and thus ruthlessly harvesting resources and hunting beasts in ridicolous amounts, the anger and eventually hate towards their new, heretic ways grew within the heart of every ulvur. They would never stoop so low that they would consciously hunt and slay maner or tursar, but if anyone dared to cross their borders, the ulvur would drive them out by any means necessary, and if the lost souls even tried to hunt or harvest wood or any other resource, the judgement of the ulvur would not be a kind one.

------------------
"You can't be a Real Country unless you have A BEER and an airline-it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER."
- F. Zappa

Edited by: Isilhir at: 7/13/04 15:04
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Isilhir
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« Reply #2 on: 18 June 2004, 15:24:00 »

Interlude

Journal entry, Passing Clouds 24th, 1657

The winter has truly come to Cyhalloi. Never have I experienced such coldness, and this is only the beginning. I do not know how much longer into the winter months or farther north I can go, but I will surely not last over the whole winter. Before Frozen Rivers I must return or at least begin my journey back to the Library in any way, so my time grows short. However, I have made some most interesting discoveries.

A little more than two weeks ago we came across a pair of local hunters who were not late to warn us of the 'man-wolf beasts'. When I asked if they had actually seen one of these beasts in the flesh they hesitated for a moment, but then they both nodded, and their eyes sparkled with fear as if they recalled that very moment they had seen such a creature. They told me of how they had stridden home the week before at duskfall after a long, hard day of unsucessful hunting, when their two large hunting dogs suddenly picked up a scent which had made them both excited and agitated. The dogs had wimpingly turned to the nearby woods and watched it as if they waited for something, but none of them moved. One of the hunters, the larger of them, had cautiously walked closer to the dark wood, and when he was four or five peds away, a dark shape had suddenly appeared among the firs. It had moved like a wolf, and yet it had more the shape of a man. Swift like the wind it had been, but then it just stood there; watching the hunter with the faintly glowing eyes of a wolf. The hunter had frozen in both awe and fear when he noticed it, and forced himself to pay no heed to the questing calls his fellow hunter gave him. The dogs had still done nothing but stand their ground; wimping, watching and smelling. It had not been until the other hunter finally walked not so cautiously to where the first hunter stood when the man-wolf disappeared, as sudden as it had appeared. "I didn't believe him when he told me about what he just had seen," said the other hunter, "but a short time after that, when the dogs had started acting normal again, a sudden howl could be heard from within the woods. It sounded very much like a wolf's howl, but I knew it wasn't. It had something of a bard's song. It had lyrics, actual lyrics I tell you! Of course they were of some language we don't know nothing about, but I swear it had rhyming words and a flowing melody and all that! Feffing scary, I tell you that! Still, there was something... nice about it, if anything ever can be nice about a howl. I know one thing for sure though, and that's that no human could ever sing a song like that!" He had been both a bit frightened, but still with a glimpse of fascination in his eyes when he told me about the strange howl-song, but the first hunter had just stared beyond us with nothing but fear in his own. I asked one final question; if this strange creature had anything to do with the rumours of the tundra beast, where upon he answered: "The tundra beast is a savage monster that attacks everything that moves. This, m'lord, looked at me as if it said 'this is my territory, little man, and you best be on your way out of here unless you want to become the hunted', just like a wild wolf, but even beyond that. There was almost something man-like in that look it gave me..." He fell silent after that and looked away as if he wanted to hide his face. Apart from that they obviously had hurried southward to their home as fast as possible, the two hunters had nothing more to tell.

We bought some supplies from them before parting ways, where upon we continued our cold trek.

We had been travelling far north on the east island for about a week since we met the hunters; seeing nothing but the snow-covered tundra; plains, mountains and woods buried under an ever white layer of frost. As we set up a camp to rest a bit and have some lunch, we noticed a trail of strange stones leading into the nearby woods. They were tall; both unnaturally placed and shaped, and as we got closer we saw carvings on them. These marks showed not only symbolic patterns, but also detailed pictures and portrayals of man-like creatures battling monsters and the like. There were also pictures of what looked like a big tree with swirling branches; perhaps an oak or an ash, and also what appeared to be a celestial shape on the sky like the sun, but it divided into halves of various sizes on each stone. The most apparent picture was however of a trinity symbol; a knot of some ancient design, and even more evident, on each stone, was the portrayal of various wolves or wolf-like creatures.
I have never before encountered runestones of that design. It did not remind me of anything human, elven, dwarven, orcish or anything else, and yet, it showed that whatever culture it seems to be part of is a sophisticated and proud one; clearly at a level of our own. Such beautiful minds the craftsmen of those runestones must have! They told not only a wonderous tale of ancient times, but also seemed to give warnings and information of the surrounding area. Could they indeed have been crafted by the ulvur themselves? In any way, such discoveries as those give me more warmth and strength than any fire or meal, and what a month ago seemed to be the mission of a madman now truly has the potential of a new, great journey of historical discovery.


Chapter V:
Of Ravenblade And The First Battle

As the ulvur now had cut themselves off from the rest of the world, they found it more and more difficult to watch over the other races. Rimjora comforted them with calm, spiritual whisperings of how it was not their fault that her other children strayed from her more and more, and how their guarding was now only particularly important for the wolves, her own, innermost essence and themselves. For now, there were creatures other than Rimjora's children that dwelled in the world. The other races were now out of their grasp. Now, a more important task lay in the ulvur's hands: to defend their All-Mother from the aggrar of Uhrum, and eventually banish as many as possible from the world. And a time would soon come when this task would be proven once again in a great battle.

It was Ravenblade, the first warlady of ulvurdom; strongest and fairest of them all, who would lead Rimjora's warriors into Túriad Isenlor; the Battle of Ice and Fire. This battle took place even farther north than their homeland Vildfrost; beyond the tundra to a twisted realm of ice and death where a powerful aggrar had claimed his dominion in the name of Uhrum. It was in this battle that the first known appearance of Ro-mon-loga, the Red Moon, came to be. It was lady Ravenblade herself, who with her immense power called upon the moon in an ungodly howl to aid her army against the neverending forces of the aggrar lord, and thus forcing it to pass from Nifel's realm to Rimjora's. By doing so, it burned red like blood, and brought mighty powers to Ravenblade and her ulvur. Like a blazing fire that melts a block of ice did they conquer the aggrar legion, and even if that land would ever be of cold death, its master was slain and his wicked soul banished back to the void by Ravenblade herself.

Even if she had caused a good deal of grudges between the ulvur packs upon taking a maner male as her betrothed as it seemed unnatural to love someone not of her own kind and especially a maner, all was now forgiven. Before the great battle Ravenblade had united her pack with a northern, druidic tribe of maner, of which tribe her betrothed was part of. Ravenblade also joined with a nomadic tribe of the alver, and both tribes - after minor struggles and eventually reasoning and declaration of their bonds to Rimjora - were strong and still proved themselves worthy of peacemaking with the ulvur. But as the aggrar lord had spread his malice even within the borders of Vildfrost, he had unseen manipulated many of each party and even Ravenblade herself; such was his power in that aspect. But now, his evil was gone, and peace reigned once again, even if it was only amongst the ulvur packs and the alver tribe. The maner druids had fled south in the panic of the battle. But Ravenblade's betrothed had of course stayed with her, and extraordinary as their tale is, it will not be told at the fullest here. Still, it came to be widely known throughout the lands of each ulvur pack of this strong and nature-loving maner and how their greatest heroine had chosen him as the love of her life. And by the mysterious magic of Rimjora, the maner man's life became as long as Ravenblade's, and they lived and died together, after many joyful years in peace with their family and children. And so, a strong and fair bloodline would follow; and legends and songs of Ravenblade's epic accomplishments were written, told and sung years upon years after her passing.

But what no ulvur knew and not even Rimjora sensed, was that the aggrar lord could not be slain so easily. His earthly body had been but a vessel that had held his powerful spirit, and even if he had been severly weakened, he was far from dead, and as his evil soul had returned to Uhrum to rejuvinate, he immediately began to plot his revenge. And his master could only encourage this. For there was indeed a more powerful aggrar than Ravenblade's enemy, and he was in fact the Lord of all Chaos and Darkness. He was to Uhrum what Rimjora was to the world; an element of pure evil and a spirit with powers to match even those combined of the trinity itself. Drimuxargaur (Shadow and Chaos) was his name, and he was a pure manifestation of all the pain, torment, warmongering and chaos ever dreamt of. He had now realized the ulvur and their strong bond to Rimjora as a threat, and he would aid his henchman in whatever way possible in his vengeful plan. And so, after many years of regaining his strength, the aggrar lord Ravenblade once vanquished returned to the world through evil mages who summoned him. But this time it was in heavy disguise, as he passed unnoticed through every land save Vildfrost, for he knew that there the ulvur and Rimjora would sense him. Nifelgrim was his true name; the aggrar Lord of Ice, and even though he hid from the ever watching ulvur, he reckoned that his second onslaught on Vildfrost was close at hand.

Chapter VI: Of The Rise Of The Horád

When Nifelgrim had been recovering in the void of Uhrum, the ulvur packs had established a thriving and powerful society equal to any maner kingdom. The maner part of Ravenblade's kind had through generations faded and blended into the ulvur part more and more, but if it had had any effect on the Ravenblade bloodline, it had only made it stronger, but perhaps more evident was the deep understanding of the changing of the world. But understanding of it only made the divine quest to bring the world back to what it once was more important, as well as guarding it at all costs. As the few but great ulvur cities rose unseen by the rest of the world deep within the ancient, giant firwoods of Vildfrost, a system of government was founded, and laws based on the lores of Rimjora were written. Five great cities, each with a ruling pack, now constituted the realm of the ulvur, and the five packs ruled together over the whole of Vildfrost. The northernmost city was named Rimvalarún, the City of Lores, and it was there the spirit warriors came to learn the greatest lores of Rimjora. The ruling couple was Tyrvirja Fréyra Korpklinga (Ravenblade) and Tyrvur Arvádor, and their pack was called the Korplor (Ravenfire) Clan. The westernmost city was named Darnrunin; the City of Runes, and it was the capital of history and legend, where the chroniclers and bards often shared their tales and knowledge. The ruling leader there was Tyrvur Indurn Isenfjáll, and his pack was called the Frosturjol (Frostborn) Clan. The westernmost city was named Arvang; the City of Steel, and it was the centre for warrior training and the greatest smiths. The ruling couple was Tyrvirja Drávun Kharador and Tyrvur Feinir the Grey, and their pack was called the Drakenvargir (Dragons of Battle) Clan. The northernmost of the two southern cities was named Kharnakaur, the City of Bartering, where the great markets took place at the end of each month, and ulvur from every city in Vildfrost would travel there to trade and gather in joyous festivals. The ruling couple was Tyrvirja Avirdun Drimdrejpur and Tyrvur Ernithrir Vidarthor, and their pack was called the Runvurin (Runegard) Clan. And finally, the southernmost city was named Mon-Tengilir; the City of the Moon, which was the smallest of all the cities, mainly because it was constructed last, but it was of great importance. It was built in celebration to the moon, but it worked in fact more as a bastion of the outposts at the southern borders, as the ulvur constantly watched over the southern parts of Vildfrost from the towers of the city. In time, however, a pack would eventually grow and make Mon-Tengilir their city. The ruling leader was Tyrjvirja Andráva Amarvir, and her pack was called the Mon-Túrir (Moon Claws) Clan. A gathering of the leaders of each pack along with the wisest of the warriors, druids and workers was founded, and it would act as a conclave for the entire ulvur race; called the Horád (High Council).

As the ulvur had made great efforts and put in their entire, gathered will to create their society, they had not payed any heed to what had happened in the world outside Vildfrost. For great battles between the other races and the forces of Drimuxargaur had indeed taken place, as well as a rumoured, terrible onslaught of dragons that sought vengeance for a slain brother. The ulvur were pleased to hear that there were still many a great hero among the other races to oppose the darkness from the aggrar. The ulvur had been made aware of most of the great happenings in the world by the northern alver tribe, who now called themselves the Cyhallrhim, but who to the ulvur came to be known as the frostalver; the elves of frost. They were the only contact with the other races the ulvur now had, but they cherished this friendship, even if they still did not meet many of the frostalver that often. These alver were almost as mysterious as the ulvur themselves to the other tribes and races, as their land had drifted further and further apart from the rest of the world, but there still came visitors to the southernmost shores of the isles of eternal winter and shared their knowledge with the frostalver. They, on the other hand, did not speak of the ulvur to any other races, since they knew that the ulvur wanted to remain a mystery in order to both keep their land safe and to watch over the other races in secret. But there were some who could not be so easily fooled.


Chapter VII: Of The Second Battle

Shortly after the rise of the Horád, words of warning were given by scout parties around the southern parts of Vildfrost's island. They reported sightings of great hordes of snow trolls and other tursar that had been massing in the southern mountains, along with mysterious beasts of ice. The troll hordes had appeared to be moving northward, and after the reports had been recounted, the ulvur armies were not late to muster themselves. All ulvur knew immediately that these beasts of ice were no other than the aggrar of Nifelgrim, and they had obviously swayed the tursar hordes to their side. And so the second great battle of Vildfrost was unleashed, and it came to be called Túriad Stormsorg; the Battle of Storm and Sorrow. A great force of gathered warriors of both the Mon-Túrir and the Drakenvargir had already been in place three days before at the southernmost border when the tursar hordes led by the aggrar of ice swiftly came marching from the mountains. The trolls outnumbered the ulvur force by at least a third, but the ulvur were strong and proud, and every tursar had been right to be on their guard. But they could not, for the aggrar had ruthlessly poisoned their weak minds; forcing them to become puppets of evil. Dark and twisted was now every soul of these tursar, and the ulvur knew that death alone could bring them peace.

The first move Nifelgrim's army made proved to be a fatal mistake. They took a shortcut through the great, southern forest which marked the southern border of Vildfrost, and it was in the woods that the swiftest and most agile of the ulvur warriors proved to be the most deadly. The trolls could move fairly well between the massive firs, but the ulvur were almost one with the shadows of the trees, and like the wind they made swift, painless business of a big part of the tursar froces. But the enemy of the ulvur were not only tursar, and the aggrar of Nifelgrim were made of icy death. Angered by his unforseen, strategic blunder, the warlord of Nifelgrim's army and a tainted priest of the aggrar Lord himself, Urnjald the Cold, unleashed all his wrath by the power of his demonic minions, and managed to drive the ulvur's wood forces out into the open. There, many brave ulvur fell, for the dark forces now were aided by a great storm of ice, and without the covering trees, they were all easy targets. But from the north came reinforcements in form of the Frosturjol and the Runvurin; which had changed into their mighty battle-forms, and finally the druids of the Korplor themsleves. Aided with the most powerful of Rimjora's magic the druids could conjure, the ulvur in their battle-forms came mercilessly down on the aggrar. Even so, the two armies were almost equal in strength, for this time Nifelgrim had not held back with his powers. It was as if his entire essence was with his forces, and Urnjald fought like his Lord himself had done against Ravenblade centuries ago.

But the ulvur had no weak leader themselves. It was Fréyra Korpklinga, Ravenblade's own daughter, who strode first in the army from the north, and in her powerful battle-form she held the blade her mother once had wielded; and through Urnjald, Nifelgrim sensed its powerful essence and feared it. But fear does not make any aggrar despair. It makes them desparate and dangerous; their attacks become as unpredictable as unstrategic. So too did Urnjald react upon the coming of Fréyra. Without any battle honour or reason, he became a berserker of chaos and death, and did not care of whether he struck down an ulvur or one of his own minions. Despite his blind rage, this only made him more powerful, and he wounded Fréyra in a hard blow on her arm with his great, frozen flail, whereupon her sword fell from her hand. Her arm was broken and useless, but in battle-from she knew no pain, and she swiftly avoided Urnjald's following attacks as she made for her blade. But the sword of her bloodline had been taken and thrown away by an aggrar, and she now stood defenseless with a broken arm, surrounded by the beserking Urnjald and his minions. Fréyra fought long and hard in and against a whirlwind of aggrar, for even without her blade and with a broken arm she could still fight like the strongest of ulvur in battle-form. She called out to her warriors, but they had troubles of their own. New tursar forces had came from the southwest, and some of them even seemed to have been so tainted by Nifelgrim's powers that they had taken on the appearances of the aggrar themselves. In the midst of the battle, Fréyra fell down at last in the bloodstained snow; mortally wounded. Had it not been for the remaining ulvur forces raging against him in hatred and despair, Urnjald would have finished her off properly. But he was forced to fight still, even if his morale had gotten a tremendous boost by his nemesis' fall. And so, leaderless and already grieving Fréyra, the ulvur forces were driven back up north, into Vildfrost and at last to the bastion of Mon-Tengilir, where the defensive measures were not late to be taken. A mere five days was the time Andráva, leader of the Mon-Túrir, had at her disposal to make the crucial decisions of the defensive tactics. The time would not be enough. Even so, the ulvur would fall defending their land and Rimjora's essence. Bowstrings sang and battle howls echoed upon the coming of Urnjald and his army as soon as the ulvur forces had found shelter. Urnjald's fear was now completely gone, as his Lord Nifelgrim came nearer and nearer his hour of victory, and the downfall of the greatest of threats to Drimuxargaur's reign. His speed increased of bloodlust and thirst for triumph, and even the tursar seemed to be striding through the deep woods as fast as their aggrar superiors.

But they had all underestimated the power of Rimjora.

She herself felt the pain and sorrow her beloved ulvur suffered from  in that moment, but also their anger and hatred towards the minions of chaos. The druids cried out to her with both their howls, but also their spirits; singing lamentations for her in what they thought was their and her final hour. But when the entire dark army had entered the forest of Mon-Tengilir, Rimjora did not hesitate. She let her feelings consume her, and for a blink of an eye the very balance of the trinity trembled as she executed her newfound powers. The great forest seemed to come alive, and as if by a common will, every tree started to move, but not only that. The great firs even seemed to transform into creatures with arms and legs; massive and robust, and monstrous in shape. Like immense beasts of wood and snow they rose; and they reached for each aggrar and tursar they could find with their giant claws. Tainted blood stained their bodies and the ground as they dismembered their victims. Rimjora's own wrath glowed in the eyes of those that had any, and some even devoured their foes. But even in this bloody chaos, the ulvur had not been forgotten. They had instinctivitly hurried out of Mon Tengilir and the suddenly living forest; carrying their wounded and the cubs who had stayed in the city. They were also helped and guarded by the tree-creatures, and miraculously, every ulvur who was still alive managed to escape unhurt from the bloodbath.

The city of Mon-Tengilir, however, crumbled to ruins as the great trees strode to and fro, and but a memory of the City of the Moon would be all that were left of it. The ulvur ran northward as swift as possible to seek shelter anew in Kharnakaur, and none looked back at the horror of the living, raging forest. No aggrar or tursar would ever come out from it alive, even less with all bodyparts in place, save Urnjald. Bloody, beaten, torn and with no right arm nor weapon, he stumbled panting out in the open until he felt he was at a fairly safe distance from the woods. There he fell down on his knees, and he held the stump that was left of his right arm, looked up at the darkening sky and called out in despair and anger to his master to give him new powers. But as Nifelgrim gathered his last ounses of power to rejuvinate his puppet, a sword glimmered in the grey light of dusk, and an old fear suddenly got hold of his wicked soul. The blade of his old bane had returned; Ravenblade's sword had come back to defy him once again. And so it was. Fréyra had not died. She had been discovered by a group of wandering frostalver, whereupon they had healed her with their strange magic. She was still not at her full strength, but the thirst for revenge was strength enough. By his fear, Nifelgrim's last, great storm cloud sent down a lightning bolt on Fréyra, but the daughter of Ravenblade raised her blade in the very same moment and cried aloud a deafening howl. She captured the bolt with her sword, but instead of falling down in a lethal shock, she stood her ground, and her blade gleamed as its bright steel battled and at last chained the lightning. In bitter irony, Nifelgrim was now the shocked one, and in his horrified confusion, Fréyra did not howl, but roared in triumph as she thrusted her blade to the sky, thus sending the lightning bolt back to the dark cloud.
A blinding flash appeared on the sky, and Nifelgrim felt a numbing burst of pain in his whole essence. Somewhere in the world, beyond the sea in some southern land unkown to the ulvur, his manifestation fell unconcious to the ground, and his essence left Vildfrost. Urnjald now appeared as a little maner; yet still bloody, with numberous wounds and no right arm, but he lay still in the snow on his belly and would never rise again.

The dusking sky was clear, and as the sun set, the moon and the stars would soon welcome the night. Fréyra exhaled, and rejoyced as she noticed her frostalver saviours who had continued north to help their ulvur friends in whatever way they could. But there would never again grow a forest where the trees of Mon-Tengilir once had stood, and the tree-creatures had by Rimjora's rage torn themselves apart. Along with the ruins of the City of the Moon, their dead, rotting bodies would always tell a tale of battle and death to each wandering soul brave enough to catch a glimpse of this gloomy realm. Andráva, the leader of the Mon-Túrir had fallen in the battle, but what was left of her pack eventually came to mostly join the Runvurin but also spread to the other packs, and thus there came to be only four packs and cities in Vildfrost.

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"You can't be a Real Country unless you have A BEER and an airline-it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER."
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Edited by: Isilhir at: 7/16/04 11:13
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« Reply #3 on: 18 June 2004, 15:25:00 »

Interlude
Journal entry, Dead Tree 9th, 1657

If it had not been for the hospitality of the kind Cyhallrhim elves, we would have been lost. They also have so many wonderful tales to tell about the ulvur! It appears as if these elves have learned a good deal about the mysterious wolf-men, judging from the vast number of old legends they shared with us. I will try to write the most of these myths down in time.

As we have not seen any proof of a living ulvur at all, it saddens my heart to realize that after recovering for a couple of days here with the Cyhallrhim, we must begin our cold journey back south. With a Cyhallrhim guide it should not be any more of a nuisance than a normal two month long trek in biting, cold winter winds.
Tomorrow, the elves will show us the place where we undoubtedly will have the last chance to encounter any ulvur, but they assured me to not get my hopes up, as it is highly unlikely. But hope is all I can do. Apparently it is supposed to be some kind of ruin of and ulvur city... I think I have read some old scribblings of that mischievious Kasumarii adept, what's-her-name - Turya something... - of the Ximaxian Academy who spoke about this place, and from what I can recall she did not exactly assosciate it with any cheery faerie-woods in late spring. But then again, as a Kasumarii, she did not exactly speak of the ulvur as any more than orcs; wicked, bloodthirsty beasts. She was indeed one to talk!

Chapter VIII:
Of The Rise Of The Kasumarii

As generations passed, the ulvur eventually healed themselves and Rimjora's essence after her balance-threatening burst of anger in Túriad Stormsorg, but the tursar, tainted by Nifelgrim, remained tainted still, and they bred generations themselves; set out to do evil. But under no aggrar leadership their efforts were rather futile as they lacked the sense of gathering larger forces and tactics of battle. Some of them managed to break free from the dark thoughts as well, and moved even more southward and stayed away from ulvur borders. But among the southern isles, rumoured battles between orcs and a tribe of maner caught the ulvurs' interest. This had supposedly been going on for many years, perhaps even more than a century, but during that time the ulvur had still been recovering from their last great battle. They wondered if it was their old kinfolk, the ancient druid clan of whom the blood still flowed in the veins of Ravenblade's heir, and a group of warriors and spirit warriors led by the latest Ravenblade generation; the proud einharjar Arnlor Korpklinga, ventured south to if possible aid the Maner in their battle against the fell Tursar. As the great ice covered the inner sea between the islands, travelling afoot was possible, yet if not completely risk-free as the ice could be treacherously thin in some places. When they came at last to the end of the ice, the old boats of the frostalver were at their disposal.

As Arnlor and his party arrived at the isle of Burdung, which the frostalver called Dorolak, they discovered both tursar and maner settlements. Hiding in the shadows of the woods, they scouted and inspected the area. The frostalvers' reports were indeed true. There was an ongoing battle between the tursar and the maner tribes, but even if Arnlor wanted to help the maner, his instincts told him there was something odd about the whole business. His powerful spirit sensed something foul close by; something dark and twisted. He warned his fellow ulvur and urged them to be careful, whereupon they continued to a small maner village. As they showed themselves to the inhabbitans, they were attacked at first, but after some effortless overpowering without any blood spilt, the ulvur forced the maner to listen to them. After many long hours, the maner's fear and suprise over these strange wolf-men faded, and finally a young man stepped foward. His name was Kasumar, and he was the first of the maner who asked the ulvur party for help against the orcs who had tormented them since they had first came to Vildfrost. Young a settlement was this village, and it was hard to tell its people's true intentions. But they did not seem to show any disrespect to nature, and the behaviour of the orcs was indeed intolerable. Arnlor put the strange feeling he sensed within himself aside, and before the next band of orcs would come, the village had a defense established beyond their wildest expectations.

And so, as the orcs appeared in the outskirts of the village, they were taken by complete suprise. From out of the nearby woods Arnlor and his ulvur came, and the orcs could not stand a chance. The villagers cheered and thanked the ulvur from the bottoms of their hearts. Soon the ulvur would have taught them the basic ways of battle, and Arnlor himself also gave Kasumar advices of how to become one with nature and use its power when fighting. After a couple of days, Arnlor and his uvur left Burdung to return home and tell the Horád about the new settlers. Still, Arnlor could not shake the feeling off that something was not right. With his spiritual power as guide, he searched for the source of this sentiment, and his loyal fellow ulvur followed him. Beyond Burdung they went, and after several days on the sea they came at last to an island with a great fortress, and surrounding it was what appeared to be the orcish settlement, and the disrespect they showed to nature lit a burning anger in the ulvur's hearts. That alone would have made Arnlor and his party attack, but they knew better to charge blindly an entire tursar fortress, and there was also the foreboding sensation in Arnlor's gut that held them back. Instead, they moved in the shadows in true wolf fashion and slayed foes as silent as their feet touched the ground. Eventually they made their way into the fortress, where they made a horrifying discovery. The orcs were controlled by an aggrar lord, which had not until this time taken notice of the group of Ulvur entering his island. But in his fortress he heard and saw everything, and he immediately recognized the threat of the ulvur's powerful spirits. One ulvur fell in the small but bloody battle inside the fortress, but at last the orcs guarding the aggrar lord lay dead, and Arnlor demanded with his sword pointed to the dark, man-like creature demanding to reveal his name. But instead of telling it, the aggrar lord mumbled something about his chosen prospects, a sword of the moon and a man of fire, whereupon he cried aloud a piercing shriek that made each ulvur fight to keep their conciousnesses. With that, the dark spirit was gone, but deeper inside the hall, they later found a glowing red orb. There was something unnatural and sinister about it, and Arnlor and his ulvur hurried out of the dense, numbing gloom of the fortress. Once outside, they all felt better, but they soon dismayed as they saw the gathering army of orcs surrounding them. Dazed still from the strange event inside the fortress, the ulvur chose to flee what would anyway had been a hard battle, and managed to make a narrow escape back to their boat and rather row than sail as fast as possible back to their own island in the far northeast.

Little is since then known to the ulvur of the southern happenings, but they came to learn that the maner had conquered the orcs and the fortress was destroyed, but that the sinister aggrar lord now had claimed dominion over the maner tribe instead, if yet in a more passive way than Nifelgrim. And as the ulvur once again travelled south, this time wisely enough in larger numbers, they encountered the maner and were instantly attacked. No friendly words or peaceful manners could even as much as make their eyes flinch. The young man, Kasumar, appeared to be dead, and his fellow tribesmen now spoke in favour of lords of shadow. This, along with parts of their clothes having wolf fur, made the ulvur remember their old hatred towards the maner's deceit, and thus they raged against the wicked, aggrar-stinking men which were no match for the strong ulvur. But unlike the maner, they did not fight more than necessary, and soon they returned back home, and the Horád would soon declare these new, sinister maner who called themselves the Kasumarii an enemy of the ulvur. Still, the ulvur would never deliberately seek out to conquer any new land, but they would as always defend the borders of their land at all costs. However, the Kasumarii seemed to be busy enough with the remaining orcs, and by maner tradition they would in time not remember the ulvur as anything more than savage beasts; part man and part wolf.


Chapter IX: Of The Dragon Pact And The Drasils

A little more than twenty centuries had now passed since the discovery of the Kasumarii, and even if they had not appeared too near the ulvurian borders, the tainted snow trolls still frequently dared to make small onslaughts from the southern and southwestern sides. Still, the ulvur thrieved, and life seemed to go on as it had always done in times of peace. Trading and joyous meetings, especially on the season festivals, with the frostalver had since long become more and more a part of the ordinary, monthly businesses.

At this time, the new, young leader of the Frosturjol pack; Arnvidar Survelir, travelled northwest to investigate a disturbance in Rimjora's essence, and he was joined by his betrothed; Irdun Korpklinga, the latest generation in the bloodline of Ravenblade. Together with a tenfold warriors and two druids they ventured northwest to the dreadful realm of Nifelgrim's deadly ice. That terrible land had lain in silence and secrecy ever since it was created, even if remnats of Nifelgrim's legacy were still there. But now, old, evil things had awoken amidst the frost of death, and in the icy gloom rose a small, yet deadly band of new, terrible aggrar of ice, but they were not led on purpose by any great essence like Nifelgrim. Somehow, these new aggrar had spawned through an age of twisted evolution, and even if they still served the ultimate purpose of Drimuxargaur, they were more independent and acted mostly of their own will. For they had indeed another goal, at least for the time being, than to systematically attack the ulvur. There was a battle raging in the icy realm between the aggrar there and a band of ice dragons. The two monstrous factions appeared to be battling over the very realm itself. The dragons had never been quite friendly with which they saw as lesser races, but they had still ancient, powerful spirits originated from Rimjora herself, and their deep hatred against the aggrar was almost at the level of the ulvur themsleves. The ulvur sensed this, and Arnvidar and Irdun did not hesitate to aid the dragons against their common enemy. Against the ice dragons and their new allies, the aggrar were defensless, and soon they would all be vanquished. Thus came this particular band of ice dragons to be in debt to the ulvur, and as they sensed the uvur's strong connection to Rimjora, they accepted this without question. After thanking the ulvur and making the pact, the dragons settled down at last in Nifelgrim's icy realm, and it would no longer be spoken of in dread among the ulvur. Arnvidar would after this be known as Arnvidar Drakurulv; the One with the Dragon Spirit [note: the name is not exactly directly translatable, since it has multiple meanings: "ulv" can be "wolf", a "strong spirit", or simply a word of affection, which means that the name can also mean "Dragon-friend".]. He and his wife, Irdun Korpklinga, live still in their city Darnrunin, and together with the druids of the northernmost city, Rimvalarún and especially its Tyrvirja Seivild Vakardottir, they keep an ever watching eye to the northwest in hope to see any of the magnificent ice dragons take flight on the eternal winter sky.

Shortly after the dragon pact had been made, the frostalver brought tidings of the death of a wandering maner mage in the far south of Vildfrost. He had apparently been ambushed by snow trolls, and they had already taken everything of value to them. But there was one thing they had not noticed. Four strange seeds were left in the mage's torn bag, and the frostalver had been kind enough to bring the bag to the latest trade meeting in Kharnakaur. Vittra Korpurdil, the tyrvirja of Kharnakaur, and her husband Angarn Fjálstride had immediately sensed the strange essences of the seeds. No doubt connected to Rimjora, they had glowed with life and nature's lore. Indeed, they had almost spoken to every ulvur's spirit as if they had longed to share their secrets and deepest thoughts. After many weeks of heavy meditating and inspection of the seeds, the druids of the north had at last came to the conclusion that the seeds must be planted so that their powerful essences could be completely free. And so, the council of the Horád decided to plant a seed in the heart of each great forest where the cities stood. In time, the seeds came to grow into what reminded the ulvur of the terrible tree-creatures which had saved them in Túriad Stormsorg, but these new creatures appeared to be far more friendly. They could not speak, but with their spirits they could communicate with the ulvur as good as any wolf, and through these strange beings Rimjora could more easily teach the druids more lore and magic. The tree-creatures came to be known as the draser; the Tree-Spirits, and even if they could move in their first years they would soon lose that ability and root in their respective birthplaces. Still, they had ever a new lore to teach the druids, and to this day they can still be found in the hearts of the forests.


Epilogue

Journal entry, Dead Tree 22nd, 1657

We have truly much to learn of the Cyhallrhim about keeping the cold out in such ungodly places. Yet even with their warm clothing, the cold winds still have their claws clutched in our weathered bodies. This is indeed no place for men. But despite the cold, the desire to catch a glimpse of the ulvur still keeps me warm.

I have learned a good deal of Cyhallrhim legends regarding the ulvur and recounted them in these documents, as well as comparing and intervening them with our own myths of the wolf-folk. However, the elves keep on denying any bonds to living ulvur, and they will not even answer my questions of whether or not they actually do still exist.

The ruins we saw a week ago were indeed dreadful, but also fascinating. A heavy mist covered what once had been a great forest, and in the heart of it, a great city. But what power could have caused something like that? There were no signs of fire or earthquake, even less of harvesting. A battle perhaps? If so, it would have taken place a long time ago, for frozen moss and snow now covers this land. Still, there was something dreadful, even demonic over the fallen trees... I could have sworn that some of them looked like giant wolves, monstrous trolls or even dragon-like beasts; frozen in the midst of battle and death. Raised as borders around the outskirts of the fallen forest were the same kind of runestones we encountered earlier, and after closer inspection they appeared to indeed tell the tale of a great battle there. I will study them further and try to recount the details.

***

Remnants of the last journal entry, supposedly dated sometime in mid-Frozen Rivers:

I d... know how lo... an go...
...ey atta...ed us at nightfall, they came fr... ...f nowher... t..lls with tai..ed, burning red ey...

The elves fought... ...aliantly, but the tr... too many, and s... ...be on th.. run. When we c... ...t last to the cov... woods, we thought we w... ...st, but then they ca...
I saw th... ...uly s... ...em! They... ...air, so strong, and yet they fought w... ...ciousness of wolv... ...aved us! Som... ...ad even clot... ...rmour and weild... ...pons! The... ...ur are in... ...tient, just li... ...selves...

...ope that whoev... ...nds this w... ...w tha... .......... ...eed exi...

Here the page was torn off. This last entry is yet to be interpreted.  

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"You can't be a Real Country unless you have A BEER and an airline-it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER."
- F. Zappa

Edited by: Isilhir at: 8/10/04 23:21
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Ta`lia of the Seven Jewels
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« Reply #4 on: 18 June 2004, 15:43:00 »

Only started to read it! Sounds very intersting so far!

Two things which you might consider to alter:

First, though it would be possible, that Ximax sent a researcher, it is much more probably, that your *what was his name again* was sent onto his  mission from the Great Library   located in New Santhala, to add new information to the Big Compendium  (for which you actually write).

We have own months here in Santharia, you might want to use those, they are here

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"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

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"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path  that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking,  breathlessly. ~Don Juan"
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« Reply #5 on: 18 June 2004, 15:53:00 »

Ah ok, I didnt know about the great library and the months.. *bangs head for not studying more* I'll change them!

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« Reply #6 on: 18 June 2004, 19:22:00 »

I was just thinking; maybe there should be a link to the Raveblade legend in the important characters section of the main Ulvur entry?

Also, a timeline would be nice... I think I better set out the proper dates for each major event;)  

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« Reply #7 on: 19 June 2004, 20:34:00 »

ok, here's the official timeline.. i hope8o    

----------------------------
? - ca 14000 b.S:
The birth of the trinity, the beginning of the world, the birth of Uhrum, the evolution of the Ulvur and the evolution of the other races.

ca 14000 - ca 13500 b.S:
The era of meditation and the prophecy of the Orminvakar

ca 13500 - ca 11000 b.S:
The Aggrarblot and the return to Vildfrost

ca 2000 - ca 1800 b.S:
The rise of Ravenblade's legacy and the peace between the Ulvur and the Cyhallrhim Elves

ca 1800 - ca 1600 b.S:
The First Battle: Túriad Isenlor and the first fall of Nifelgrim(Ghelgath)

ca 1400 - ca 1300 b.S:
The rise of the five packs and the Horád

ca 1300 b.S:
The Second Battle: Túriad Stormsorg, the second fall of Nifelgrim and the fall of Mon-Tengilir

ca 450 b.S:
The rise of the Kasumarii

ca 1450 S:
The Dragon Pact and the planting of the Fir-Drasils  


     

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"You can't be a Real Country unless you have A BEER and an airline-it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER."
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Edited by: Isilhir at: 7/1/04 20:21
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« Reply #8 on: 21 June 2004, 00:37:00 »

isilhir, this is so long, but I hope I will come to read it today - at least a part!

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« Reply #9 on: 21 June 2004, 05:30:00 »

no sweat Talia, take your time:)  

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« Reply #10 on: 23 June 2004, 13:56:00 »

 comments  

 corrections  

proposal

 grammar&co - as far as I see it  



Prologue:
The Lost Chronicler

Journal entry, chúh'querín 19th, 1667

 We have now the year 1664, are you looking in the future? ;)  


The myths of where the mysterious wolf-men known as the Ulvur comes from are many and vast, but learned from various sources; mainly elven, this legendary beastfolk might have played a bigger part in the past of the world than what we at first even dared to imagine. But if so, why have they not been mentioned in the ancient scrolls as anything more than legends?
I will try to discover the truth behind this mysterious race, but so far, all I can offer are mere speculations. What seems to be accurate though, is that the Ulvur are not some kind of demons or wraiths of dark powers; even less the cursed, moonstruck men the tellers of urban legends    Isn‘t this a modern term?in the Cyhalloian settlements so persistently warns us travellers about. There is something ancient and ethereal about them, yet they seem to be creatures of flesh and blood just like the next man, elf or whatever that dwells in the world, and not necessarily puppets of evil.

The cold bites, and even my sturdy guide seems to become less and less enthusiastic about the long road ahead. Cyhalloi may be a beautiful, wintery wonderland in the daily   sun, but soon the night will fall, and the Cyhalloian nights are far from kind. Still, I will not let such things hinder me.
The recent, rumoured battles between the Ulvur and snow trolls, and even some of the sinister Kasumarii tribe has troubled the elders of the Ximaxian Academy greatly, and even if our king will not pay heed to their warnings, this matter must be closer inspected. Travelling as far north as possible, I will search for any sign of the Ulvur and try to record things as I see them with my own eyes. My funds should be enough to hire a couple of trustworthy bodyguards modern term? ; at least with trust as far as money will buy it. Whatever is the trade of the Ulvur; be it the savage, bloodthirsty beasts the locals claim they are, or indeed something more and perhaps even a race sentient   at our very own level, I will recount in my documents.
Well, as i said already, I don‘t think that Ximax is really interested in things which happen so far away, and are not magical as they know it. And, the more significant reason - it would probably not become a part of the compendium, when stored in Ximax.

If i return.

-Haramith Horrand, chronicler of the Great Library

In the following documents  of the history of the Ulvur up to the current day will be told. sounds strange for me, maybe   presented instead of told?As these are based on the journal entries and various scribbling() of a missing chronicler of the Compendium, they are not to be taken as official documents and are currently open for discussion. They are however very detailed, and the chronicler in question was during his time in the Library's service a clearly sane and highly intellectual young man, so perhaps there is in fact some sort of truth in the extraordinary tales he recounted.
Hamarith Harrand, as his name was, had volunteered as researcher for the Compendium and was sent out in the Library's name to the cold, northern lands of Cyhalloi; the east island in particular, in order to investigate the recent, well-founded rumours of battles between the snow trolls, the Kasumarii tribe and the mysterious Ulvur. When he had not returned after the designated time he would spend on his research, a scout party was sent to discover what might have happened to him. All of the Cyhalloian locals kept silent about him, but after hours of persuasion, intimidation and various forms of bribes these half-torn, wheathered pages of Haramith's journal were finally recovered. We have managed to separate what he wrote about the daily happenings from the actual records of ulvurian myth(). These records are obviously not complete, and several parts are missing still, but a basic flow is evident, and with things related to both our own and the elven mythologies. Thus, we have done our best to inte()  grate the already evident myths concerning the Ulvur with what Haramith has written, and hope that we have managed to fill most of the gaps.

As you see, I have just started to read your entry. But I skimmed over it briefly before, and what concerns me, is its length. I‘m known as well as producing lengthy entries, but I see as well, that I‘m turned away, if something  seems to be long AND complicated, not too easy to read as Dala‘s letters.  So I would propose, to split this entry up in several. I don‘t know yet, how to do the rest, but one idea is, to do a persons entry about this researcher (you have already a lot, you could integrate what you have as a prologue.) So at the myths, a short notice and link to this man would suffice, and your entry is already a bit shorter.

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« Reply #11 on: 23 June 2004, 14:16:00 »

Chapter I:
Of The Ulvur, The Other Races And The War Against The Chaos

In the beginning, there was Ginnungarja, an infinite cloud of mist. It was everything, and yet it was nothing; for all that surrounded it was the great Nothingness; the Never, and yet as mist, Ginnungarja had no form; no body or shape. But at some point of turning, there came to be two opposite elements in each end of Ginnungarja. One was of infernal, burning fire, and the other was of the coldest of ice. As Logor, the fire, and Nifel, the ice met, a chaotic battle between the elements errupted, and from the clash sparks flew and were engulfed by the Nevermist; thus giving form, body and shape to parts of the mist. And the very greatest of the sparks gathered many other sparks to itself, and it grew into an element of its own; almost equal to Logor and Nifel. And as of this, this new element came between the two battling ones and brought peace to them; uniting them and itself in a perfectly balanced trinity. The new element grew and grew into a beautiful ash-tree; its roots took root in the fiery core that was Logor, and its crown touched the frozen roof that was Nifel. Surrounding the tree and floating above Logor was now a great sea; another of the great sparks from the elemental battle. It cooled the top of Logor's burning realm, and the fire stiffened and became the foundations of stone that the ground has rested upon ever since.
As time passed, the stone and the great tree came to grew into eachother; merging and intervening, until the world as we know it at last was made whole. Logor's fire now burned deep within the world, and the roots of the great tree, its trunk and branches now joined the foundations of stone to keep the earth ground firm and steady, and its crown was now the only thing visible on the surface in the shapes of the forests, grass, bushes, mosses and all other greenery. The stone had grown into tall mountains that touched the very breath of Nifel; for that was what the clouds in the sky came to be called. The sea now rested in the great hollows of the world, and broke off into various shapes that constituted all the lakes and rivers.
Two more of the great sparks had now also risen, and these took their places in the sky, and circled around the world; constantly following eachother. They were Ho-loga; the sun, and Mon-loga; the moon, and thus the lapse of the day and the night came into the world.
 There might arouse a problem. If the sun-disk-moon model will be accepted, the sun and the moon won‘t follow each other, because they are on oposite sides of the disk.  

As the third element had divided and merged its body with Logor to form the world, its great spirit had now both the great earth, the sea and all plants as host; though still connected to Nifel, and the eternal Ginnungarja that surrounded them all. The third element let thus its innermost essence awaken, and it now had a spirit. It was now Rimjora; the All-Mother; the Creator; the One Mother, and she let her great spirit split into lesser parts; yet connected still. Her essence was in all, but even so, the new little spirits gained essences of their own. Rimjora now took a new shape; a great, silvery wolf, and whenever in that form she would go under the name Ulrivja; the Mother of Wolves, and the first spirits that emerged from her own came to take the same shapes as her, but much more smaller. Eons passed, and more spirits came from Rimjora. Slowly they grew into a multitude of beings; each with their own part to play in the drama that was the world. Rimjora guided them, told them secrets, loved them, and let them become one with her again, as there would contstantly awaken new spirits to live in the world. The endless cycle was completed; birth, life and death, and through the new spirits, the world itself lived, as they live through the world. And Rimjora was the one who would ever direct the whole show. Nature had come to be.
At this point, the oldest and fairest of Rimjora's children; the wolves, were blessed by a spark of Ginnungarja itself. Rimjora gave a small part of them different essences. Their minds would grow, and thus they became
sentient
. These new wolves felt as if they had awoken from an unearthly long sleep, and as if in a dream they had been told by Rimjora, in her own special way, that they must watch over her world where and when she cannot, and that they must also guide and watch over their own kin, the wolves, the most. And so it came to be, that the new wolves changed in shape, and their new minds became stronger and stronger. And yet as they discovered new secrets; the arts of creating things of their own and such, they never left Rimjora's side. They always lived and walked close to her, both in flesh and spirit, and built up great halls of their own. Rimjora gave them the empty shells of which the spirits now had rejoined Rimjora's essence to create their tools and houses and all the other things with. They were still as close to their wolfkin as they had ever been, but they stayed away from the other creatures of the world, unless when hunting, and instead watched them in secret. But there were some exceptions made for ancient, powerful spirits that through Rimjora's essence could teach them her lores.  Ermm, where do they suddenly come from? How ancient?  
The new wolves took a new name to distinguish themselves from the old wolves, yet pay  
tribute to their common affinity. They were now the Ulvur.

I like this so far! Maybe a native speaker should look it through, but otherwise it is a nice myth about the beginning of the world. This could be one entry, or at least you should make a chapter here, named :

How the world and the Ulvur came into being or about the origine of the Ulvur  



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« Reply #12 on: 23 June 2004, 14:28:00 »

About the origine of the Races

By the weave of the Nevermist, time passed for countless seasons, and new beings emerged from Rimjora's womb, and some of them were very alike the Ulvur, both in appearance and mind. THe first of these new, sentinent races were the Alver; the Elfkind. They were fair and wise like the Ulvur, but they did not share their affanity with the wolves. From which branch of Rimjora's ethereal tree-body these enigmatic creatures came from none now can tell save Rimjora herself. Clear it was however, that the Alver loved and cherished their All-Mother almost as much as the Ulvur themselves. And the Ulvur sensed this, and so they let a heavy part of their divine mission of guidance for Rimjora's children concern the Alver. With the help of their old tutors of Rimjora's lore; her powerful spirit-children, the Ulvur tought the Alver the arts of hunting, crafting, building and such material business, but also the lores of Rimjora, and how to be a true part of her world. Long the two races lived in peace together, and many of the Alver joined the Ulvur in their roles as guardians of nature.
Then came the Dvargar; the dwarf-kind. They were not tall, but they were strong and proud, and they took great pleasure in the art of crafting, and the skills of the dwarven smiths would soon surpass even those of the Ulvur. The Dvargar did usually not take much time for the Ulvur's teachings of the lores of Rimjora, but they still showed respect to their All-Mother and knew what to do and what not to do.
Shortly after the dwarves had come, the Maner saw the light of the day. They called themselves humans, and they were tall like the Alver, but not as fair. Their appearances were more varied, but they all still shared common traits. The Maner were fast learners, and loved especially the arts of crafting, building and hunting.

They were the first to doubt the Ulvur's teachings. As their minds became lost in the dealings of material arts and things, their bond to their All-Mother became weaker and weaker. Some of them still took great pleasure in the lores of Rimjora, but more and more of them cared less and less for them, and soon, some Maner would forget them completely. This concerned the Ulvur and the Alver, whereas the Dvargar cared more for their exchange of crafting ideas with the Maner.The Ulvur and the Alver tried to desperately talk sense into both the Dvargar and the Maner, but not many of the two races would listen. And as of this, the first dark thoughts were born amongst the young races. Internal struggles, clan wars, greed, jealousy, bloodlust and the like would torment not only the races themselves, but also Rimjora's own world. Joining?? this madness did even newer races, some of which were devious from the start which? , and some even true monsters. Something beyond the young races' own minds had disturbed the balance of the world and the cosmic trinity itself. The Ulvur did not know what, but they knew that not even the darkest thoughts could have turned so many pure-hearted creatures, and especially not any children of Rimjora, wicked in such a short time. So they made a painful decision. They broke their spiritual oath to Rimjora, and forced themselves to leave the guidance and peacemaking to who they trusted the most, the Alver, and left the chaos to seach for answers to the dark riddles.


Ver well thought out - and written, though I have now principal questions, but later...

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« Reply #13 on: 23 June 2004, 14:32:00 »

About the coming of Uhrum ?, the evil.. or something like that

They did not have to search long.
In the darkest depths of the Ginnungarja, a great many-coloured spark had manifested into a great void; an abyss into the very chaos itself. This void had only grown and grown since the spark had touched the Nevermist, and it had outgrown Rimjora's world itself a thousandfold since long. This great chaos now seemed to surround the world and the trinity; constanly expanding. Uhrum the Ulvur called it, and from this immense void, dark spirits had emerged, and they had entered Rimjora's realm unseen and unsensed by all. Disguised as spirits of nature, they had fooled all the races, even the Ulvur. Dark thoughts and feelings existed in the little darkness that was in every sentinent creature, but the Ulvur had always been able to hold these emotions at bay. It was a struggle each and everyone of them had to fight throughout their lives, but with peace in the world those struggles had always been almost completely non-existing. Until now. It was the dark spirits that had feeded upon such emotions, and upon doing so even making them grow. But Rimjora had sensed them as they had poisoned the minds of her children. Only the Ulvur were strong enough to resist, and yet there were some of them that could hardly even do that. Rimjora gave the most powerful of the Ulvur druids visions of the great void and its dark spirits. She also showed them a great, dark dream, in which the world would at last be consumed by Uhrum, and the trinity would fall; all life would end, and chaos would be eternal. This was the prophecy of the great Orminvakar; the time when the Ulvur truly must save the world from the chaos and restore its balance, both by their own hands, but also by uniting the other races once again. Only with the combined force of the spirits of all Rimjora's children could the chaos be driven back and banished to the eternity of Ginnungarja, but their spirits must have found their ways back to their All-Mother to be parts of such a great force. Thus the Ulvur began their quest to re-unite the races, and to vanquish any threat to Rimjora. It was at this time their All-Mother gave them the gifts of magic and rage. Connected to the lapse of the moon, the Ulvur learned to change their shape; to their old wolf-self and embrace the powers of Rimjora's spiritual essence, and to a strong, beastial form in which their ferocious rage would bring them strength beyond their wildest dreams.
But it was no easy task they sought to complete.

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« Reply #14 on: 23 June 2004, 14:36:00 »

Demon Hunt


As the Ulvur returned from their spiritual journey in their northen homelands to the elven, dwarven and human homesteads in the south, people would cry in fear upon their coming, as if they had forgotten their old guardians completely. Sadly, this was not far from the truth. The Ulvur had lost track of the time they spent when they were spiritually communicating with Rimjora and learning their new abilities, and a much longer time had passed than they had expected. In the Ulvur's absence, the dark spirits had spreaded over the world in an otherwordly speed, and combined with the easily affected minds of the younger races left trails of war and chaos behind them. Thus, the untold darkside of their new abilities now took its toll. The Ulvur let their rage take them, and all save their instincts could tell who was friend and who was foe. They waged a bloody battle against the dark spirits of Uhrum, which now showed themselves in their true forms: the Aggrar; twisted, monstrous and unnatural beasts, and they were not late to return the hostility of Rimjora's guardians. With the one goal; to rid the world from these demons, in their minds, the Ulvur raged across the lands in a brutish crusade; hunting down, slay and banish not only the demons themselves, but also every single little creature that showed the faintest sign of being possesed by a dark spirit. This bloody crusade came later to be called Aggrarblot; the Demon Hunt. The other races could not tell Aggrar from Ulvur, ferocious as their former guardians were in their new-found battle forms. And so, even the oldest and wisest of the Alver; still having vague memories of their friendship with the Ulvur, deemed them to be as much demons from the void as the true, dark spirits. Their bond to nature became weak and their judgement clouded. The Ulvur sensed this, and when they had driven back most of the Aggrar if not to Uhrum, then at least to barren and remote places of the world, they desperately tried to remind the other races of their once so strong friendships. But none would listen. Some, mainly of the Maner and the vicious, barbaric races of the Tursar even responded to the Ulvur's pleadings of forgiveness and rememberance with nothing but fire and steel. Others would just turn away without any words.
And so the Ulvur, with their tails between their legs, returned to their home to once again watch over Rimjora's children from afar, as best as possible. And soon, they would pass out of all knowledge to the other races, and remained only in their history books as legends and myths. Sad as they were, the Ulvur despaired over this, but they swore to still keep their oath to their All-Mother. But soon, the despair would fade because of another feeling, still new to the Ulvur; seductive and easily triggered, yet not so easily controlled: rage. The Alver and Dvargar were deemed just lost, but when the Maner and the Tursar spreaded over the world; forgetting more and more of the lores of Rimjora and thus ruthlessly harvesting resources and hunting beasts in ridicolous amounts, the anger and eventually hate towards their new, heretic ways grew within the heart of every Ulvur. They would never stoop so low that they would conciously hunt and slay Maner or Tursar, but if anyone dared to cross their borders, the Ulvur would be drive them out by any means necessary, and if the lost souls even tried to hunt or harvest wood or any other resource, the judgement of the Ulvur would not be a kind one.

***Astropic of the day***
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