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Author Topic: The Ulvur Chronicles  (Read 8704 times)
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Isilhir
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« Reply #30 on: 09 July 2004, 14:20:00 »

:lol   well i think it's more about that the humor was lost on me... that's just how i like to make my opinions heard;)

And again: I never said I'm against compromises. But the thing is, i DO think that my way of writing captures the reader, based on opinions from others. You're the first who have complained about it. But anyway, every writer writes for his/her own pleasure and not to please the masses. If people want to read they read, and if not they don't. I thikn you should condoan writers to keep their personal styles to give variated, interesting aspects to the site. THere isn't just one way of writing fantasy.
I don't see 'splitting up' the history from the journal entries as a compromise, I see it as taking away the edge and docu-dramatic touch away from the whole entry, and thereby destroying it. But if you're so bent on keeping things safely monotone(in my opinion anyway), then I guess there's no other option.
 

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Edited by: Isilhir at: 7/8/04 22:21
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« Reply #31 on: 09 July 2004, 14:33:00 »

Hey, if you prefer to keep it that way, Isilhir, that's ok for me as well. At least you're the author, and it is bascially a formal issue on how the text is presented, it's nothing which would contradict Santharian principles like history or cosmology or something.

I've only tried to point things out from my perspective, and give reasons for it, but I won't force a change or something, if it doesn't please the author him-/herself. I guess it's normal that there are different positions concerning how to write something the best way, but whenever in doubt on formal issues, then the author of course wins;)  


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« Reply #32 on: 09 July 2004, 16:19:00 »

:lol   well its always hard to know what's 'formal' and what's not.
If you don't like things like that I'll try to avoid it in the future to keep things closer to Santharia. It's just that I like to keep my stuff unique.
Of course i appreciate commetns and critics too, but I also like to reserve the right of counter-criticism;)  

Thanks anyway for being open-minded about it:)  

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Edited by: Isilhir at: 7/9/04 0:25
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« Reply #33 on: 10 July 2004, 15:02:00 »

Ok, next part:

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. (Tried to make 2 easier sentences out of this pretty long construction. Hope the meaning is still preserved.) 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.


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Edited by: Artimidor Federkiel at: 7/9/04 23:05
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« Reply #34 on: 11 July 2004, 09:48:00 »

updated again!

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« Reply #35 on: 13 July 2004, 14:41:00 »

Okeydokey, time for another one... - Guess Isilhir secretly adds more Chapters each day... I don't seem to reach the end with commenting here...  :lol

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) (you should always make a space before a bracket, I've updated this also below) 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 (avoiding repetition here with next sentence, where you also used "built";) 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, kept silent about the ulvur, since they knew that they wanted to keep their mystery in order to both keep their land safe and to keep an eye on the other races in secret (4 times keep/kept in one sentence is not that ideal here - maybe you can rephrase that a bit). But there were some who could not be so easily fooled.

---

The myths are coming along nicely, good that this now leads to the Cyhallrhim to connect things here... But there's still a bunch of chapters to look through;)  Hmmm... Guess I should split it up in 2-3 parts (pages) when putting it up on the site. Oh, I'd need also some sort of summary/teaser to put on top - any ideas, Isilhir?


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« Reply #36 on: 13 July 2004, 20:14:00 »

Note to self: When Isilhur says something is pretty long, he means it.

Good job though, it is really good, especially with the interveaving of your history and mythology, and I'd say you really reached your goals in that respect. I think this is ready to go up.

By the way, your signature post thingumy is really awesome. That is a great picture.

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« Reply #37 on: 14 July 2004, 04:02:00 »

Sure you can split it up.... the three posts works pretty well as sorta individual parts already;)  

Oh and I thought that the beginning before chapter one starts could work as a summary/teaser...

hehehe you think THIS is long, Rouge... you should see the original, non-santharian version.. :lol

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« Reply #38 on: 16 July 2004, 13:59:00 »

Okeydokey... I see that there's only one more chapter to check in detail at your post #2, Isilhir, so I'll get to this now, and then I should be able to add the first 2 full parts at this week's update, and part 3 should follow next update then... Okeydokey, so here we go again:

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 (repetition of "came" here otherwise), 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 ("of" removed) 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 (second "alomst removed";)   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.

(Suggest new paragraph here.)

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 fled behind shelter (the "behind" doesn't fir here methinks, maybe you meant "fled and found eventually 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 (to avoid a "felt" repetition) 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.

(suggest another parapgraph break here)

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 (perhaps "shouted" would be better, "shouting" is more active, while "crying" is more a passive word) 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 shone (perhaps "glistened" or "gleamed" would be better here?, "shone" is usually used for a more permanent state) 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.

(suggest one last parapgraph break)

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.

----

Okeydokey, that's it for now, the first parts are now fully checked, so you bascially need to work in the last suggestions in the thread, and then I can take post#1 and #2 and add it to the update:)

Quite a bit of fighting going on here in all those myths... Nice work, Isilhir! :D  - And I guess we also won't have a problem now with adding new ulvur pictures to the main entry, which already bursted from illustrations... As now we have lots of myths where new images could be used, which would give the text desert some more colour;)  


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Edited by: Artimidor Federkiel at: 7/15/04 22:20
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« Reply #39 on: 17 July 2004, 03:18:00 »

ok, I've updated it... just one thing: 'cried aloud' is an expression in old english most often used in battle stories(it's everywhere in LotR and the Silmarillion;) ). I don't see how it can look passive. 'Shouted' aloud sounds incredibly akward in my opinion;)

So you wont have time for the last part? it's far shorter than the previous two mind you..;)
But anyway, go ahead and put them up!;)  

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« Reply #40 on: 17 July 2004, 04:30:00 »

Last part: I can't quench it in in this update, cause this will be a pretty massive one, so I will have to start with stuff right when I get home today and will be busy till Sunday evening. Don't worry, it won't run away;)  


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Edited by: Artimidor Federkiel at: 7/16/04 12:31
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« Reply #41 on: 03 August 2004, 12:37:00 »

I'll get to the rest of the Ulvur Chronicles this week (was a bit too busy with various other stuff in the last days), so keep an eye on this spot, Isilhir! Detailed check and comments coming soon...


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« Reply #42 on: 06 August 2004, 14:06:00 »

Okeydokey... Finally continuing here - sorry for the delay!

Interlude
Journal entry, Dead Tree 9th, 1667


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 newest Ravenblade generation ("newest" sounds a bit awkward here, maybe it's better write "latest progeny of Ravenblade's 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. (Well, we don't have any active developer of the Kasumarii around at the moment, so you have a bit free hand here. I don't mind these twists, they seem reasonably integrated, fitting to what we have so far on the site.)

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 ("now" can't be used in this context in a narration of the past) 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.

---

Okeydokey, so far for today - we're nearing the final stages:D  - Further checks to come...


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Isilhir
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« Reply #43 on: 09 August 2004, 18:48:00 »

just a short note: the word 'aggvar' in the phrase list at the bottom of the main ulvur entry need to be corrected to 'aggrar';)  

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Artimidor Federkiel
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« Reply #44 on: 11 August 2004, 14:40:00 »

Ok, just corrected the 'aggrar'... Now on to the next part...

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 ("both" removed here, as you mention 3 things) "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.

---

:lol  Nice end - though I always wonder why people who you encounter as skeletons in games for example somewhere in the deepest dungeons always find the time to write at least some sort of final notes so that adventurers can stumble upon them;)

The mingling of the texts (diary notes and myth) still poses the question on who wrote the myth, where they were found etc. so this leaves a big question mark here. But I've already mentioned that at the beginning that I personally have problems with the combination of the diary notes and the myth, as the gap between these 2 parts is difficult to bridge for the reader.

Now still need to check the time table before integration, but part 3 should be ready to rock and roll as soon as you update the post above, Isilhir:)  


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