It’s been… How long has it been? It couldn’t have been more than a moon cycle, could it? Time was hard to judge when he was so focused on travelling and reaching his destination. The desert lands were a long trek. It was a much harsher environment than the forest. While Islimore was home to many climates, the desert was the worst in his personal opinion, too hot during the day and freezing cold at night.
Brynjar had a satchel of supplies and notes that he had made back at the old homestead of his clan. He had only left a note at where his tent once was that stated he was leaving to search for something important to his family. He didn’t, couldn’t, go into details of what he actually was and left it vague so that anyone interested in following Brynjar couldn’t find him. This was a mission he needed to do alone, a quest to prove himself as a deserving Alpha of his clan. A clan whose history was not as clear as he had once believed but was still deserving of him restoring honour. Even if all Brynjar did was restore honour to Clan Threist before he died and ended the Threist line, that would have been enough.
He had been avoiding meeting anyone, while he didn’t think the Lupo living in this area would harm him, he also wasn’t sure how Glwyn was received back in the day. Was he truly a good man and helped the people around here or was his family’s history on Glwyn wrong and did he commit great sins across this region? It was hard to judge what could be true or not now that he had caught his parents in a lie from their version of history, omitting key crucial details that could be important in preventing history from repeating itself. He didn’t want another Lupo having to carry the shattered remains of Medelwr, searching for answers on restoring its glory once again. Brynjar was wanting to work hard to gain the Lupo a better life on Islimore and grow to a new golden age moving forward.
The sun was high in the sky, heat was intense on Brynjar as he panted hard. He couldn’t drink yet, he had to wait, his skin burned but he was too hot for layers and what he had barely covered his skin from the intense sunlight. He would rather move during the night but he had lost his tent during a sandstorm the first couple days of his trek into the desert and no longer had shelter from the sun. The journey was killing the young wolf, the heat was driving him crazy and he was lost in the desert. He couldn’t find his way back after the storm since the sands shifted and he couldn’t remember the rough direction the sun was when he first entered the desert.
After hours of fighting dehydration, hunger and heat, Brynjar saw the sun setting and collapsed to his knees, grabbing his flask of water and guzzling it heavily. Thankful that there was still some water left. He stopped himself drinking too much and put the water away, he still needed to conserve his resources. There was no telling where he was or where he was going to find water or resources that he would need. He was hoping that from what the maps were stating that he was heading in the right direction but he had no clue. He pleaded with the Gods for their help, even pleading with his ancestors to help guide him to safety yet they all remained silent to his pleas. Brynjar ripped into bits of jerked meat that he rationed for his journey and wiped the heavy sweat from his face. The trip was arduous and he could understand why Ofin was lost to the Clan, likely just aimlessly roaming the deserts and ended up dying out here. Though, Ofin might have found something and Brynjar hoped that was true.
Close to midnight, Brynjar was shivering and trying to rest. His body was getting much sleep recently since he couldn’t sleep during the day and it was too cold during the night for him to get comfortable. He was surviving off the smallest amounts of sleep and wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to go on. This adventure felt like it could be the death of him, the death of Clan Threist and perhaps that was deserved as penance for the lies, hatred and deception. Brynjar couldn’t help but feel that his parents deserved nothing more than to see the demise of their clan for forcing him on a path that his ancestors never believed in, ignoring the traditions and beliefs of their ancestors for ambition and token glory. Brynjar had forgiven so much about his childhood and justified his suffering for the longest time but as he froze in the desert, he couldn’t help but feel spite and anger towards his parents for the pressure down a path he wasn’t sure he wanted.
His ears pricked to the sounds of movement, his eyes scanned the area, it was dark and very minimal light but he could make some figures out in the darkness. Gripping his axe, he held it ready to defend himself in case this was the Fayth or someone hunting him. While his ears were pricked for danger, he tried to see if the figures were moving away or coming towards him. He couldn’t see them anymore which didn’t mean much and he growled since he wished he could be a wolf and feel the sands in case that helped him more than the current situation. But it seemed that everything was silent and that the dangers had passed.
“Gereigir hreyfa þig.” A voice called from behind him, he went to raise his axe but froze when he felt the tip of a blade against his throat. “Are you human? Not speak Wulfi? I said, don’t move.” The voice was female, with a thick Lupo accent which meant she was definitely an Adevmok, to stealth upon him so well, only people from the region could do that. At least that was what Brynjar told himself.
“I understood you, I just wasn’t going to be standing around while someone raided my meagre belongings.” Brynjar growled deeply as he stood with his back to his attacker, exposed and in danger.
There was a pause, whispers of voices before another voice spoke up, male with heavily Lupo accent again. “Who said we here to raid? Might be that you appeared a threat and we wish to be safe.” Brynjar nodded his head, it was unlikely the case but he could not deny that could be the situation that they were in.
“I am just here searching for the grave of my ancestor. It is thought that he traversed this region around the time he died.” Brynjar stated, “I am Brynjar from Clan Threist and I am looking for the grave of Glwyn.” As soon as he mentioned Glwyn, the blade was pressed against his throat once again. It was sharp and Brynjar was acutely aware of how deadly it could be from where it was placed.
“Glwyn Threist? You seek his grave? Do you seek to loot the grave of your ancestor?!” Brynjar could hear the anger and outrage from the male as the sword was kept firmly pressed against his throat.
“I… I don… It is said that when Clan Threist is facing their darkest hour that within Glwyn’s grave shall be the answers to help restore them. Right now, I am the last of my clan and have no heir only to have a shattered Medelwr, Glwyn’s axe, without Cérmœ’s gift bestowed to it anymore.” Brynjar stated as he pointed to the bag where he was storing the axe.
There was another long moment of hushed whispering and muttering between the two. “You come far, lost for nothing. Glwyn did not die here. He lived here only for a short time, then he went north.” The female stated firmly, “we told this to Ofin when he came many years later searching for Glwyn’s grave. Though Ofin stayed here, married into our clan in fact.” Brynjar turned and looked at them.
“He… He did? Then, he found peace. That is something I am glad to hear. I am honoured that we share an ancestor as well. His story was always a cautionary one in our family, I am glad to change it to one of finding your place, your true goals.” Brynjar saw that the male had lit a torch and allowed Brynjar to see the both of them, he was the elder of the two and not too different from Brynjar’s height. The female was short but still held a strong, athletic figure and was the one sheathing her weapon.
They looked at him, almost like they were studying a new, strange creature but he didn’t flinch or move away. He stood and looked back, “we are travelling to your woods, a great war looms over us. Potentially, visions are fickle gifts from the Gods, could be they are warning me of history being at risk of repeating, war is inevitable or that a leader of leaders will come from war.” The woman spoke with a mystic air around her, though Brynjar didn’t think she was a Draoidae. It was odd but her words were possible. War was coming, Brynjar felt sure of that, he couldn’t see the Lupo staying happy with the Fayth and the human monarchy wanting them dead.
“War is very likely coming indeed. This is why I need to restore Medelwr, the axe was made to protect every Lupo and I need to use it the same way it was used before. And I am hoping Glwyn has the answers.” The two Adevmok looked at each other then turned to Brynjar again and it was clear something had changed.
“Then you need not head north. Glwyn did go north after he came here but Ofin found that Glwyn returned to the desert lands several years later. There is a cave, north of here. There should lie the answers to the questions you have of your family.” The man spoke in a calm tone and handed a tent into Brynjar’s arms. “Use this tent, sleep, gather strength then follow where the finger of Arwen points.” He pointed to the night sky and a collection of stars that shone brightly that could be seen as a finger pointing Brynjar guessed.
“This always points to the north?” The stranger nodded and then they started walking away. Done with the conversation. Brynjar wanted to talk more but respected that they had their own goals and direction to go. He set up the tent and thought about the matter. Glwyn’s grave was in a cave. North of here. He just had to leave when he woke from a short rest. Closing his eyes, it didn’t take long till Brynjar passed out completely.
Brynjar had a satchel of supplies and notes that he had made back at the old homestead of his clan. He had only left a note at where his tent once was that stated he was leaving to search for something important to his family. He didn’t, couldn’t, go into details of what he actually was and left it vague so that anyone interested in following Brynjar couldn’t find him. This was a mission he needed to do alone, a quest to prove himself as a deserving Alpha of his clan. A clan whose history was not as clear as he had once believed but was still deserving of him restoring honour. Even if all Brynjar did was restore honour to Clan Threist before he died and ended the Threist line, that would have been enough.
He had been avoiding meeting anyone, while he didn’t think the Lupo living in this area would harm him, he also wasn’t sure how Glwyn was received back in the day. Was he truly a good man and helped the people around here or was his family’s history on Glwyn wrong and did he commit great sins across this region? It was hard to judge what could be true or not now that he had caught his parents in a lie from their version of history, omitting key crucial details that could be important in preventing history from repeating itself. He didn’t want another Lupo having to carry the shattered remains of Medelwr, searching for answers on restoring its glory once again. Brynjar was wanting to work hard to gain the Lupo a better life on Islimore and grow to a new golden age moving forward.
The sun was high in the sky, heat was intense on Brynjar as he panted hard. He couldn’t drink yet, he had to wait, his skin burned but he was too hot for layers and what he had barely covered his skin from the intense sunlight. He would rather move during the night but he had lost his tent during a sandstorm the first couple days of his trek into the desert and no longer had shelter from the sun. The journey was killing the young wolf, the heat was driving him crazy and he was lost in the desert. He couldn’t find his way back after the storm since the sands shifted and he couldn’t remember the rough direction the sun was when he first entered the desert.
After hours of fighting dehydration, hunger and heat, Brynjar saw the sun setting and collapsed to his knees, grabbing his flask of water and guzzling it heavily. Thankful that there was still some water left. He stopped himself drinking too much and put the water away, he still needed to conserve his resources. There was no telling where he was or where he was going to find water or resources that he would need. He was hoping that from what the maps were stating that he was heading in the right direction but he had no clue. He pleaded with the Gods for their help, even pleading with his ancestors to help guide him to safety yet they all remained silent to his pleas. Brynjar ripped into bits of jerked meat that he rationed for his journey and wiped the heavy sweat from his face. The trip was arduous and he could understand why Ofin was lost to the Clan, likely just aimlessly roaming the deserts and ended up dying out here. Though, Ofin might have found something and Brynjar hoped that was true.
Close to midnight, Brynjar was shivering and trying to rest. His body was getting much sleep recently since he couldn’t sleep during the day and it was too cold during the night for him to get comfortable. He was surviving off the smallest amounts of sleep and wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to go on. This adventure felt like it could be the death of him, the death of Clan Threist and perhaps that was deserved as penance for the lies, hatred and deception. Brynjar couldn’t help but feel that his parents deserved nothing more than to see the demise of their clan for forcing him on a path that his ancestors never believed in, ignoring the traditions and beliefs of their ancestors for ambition and token glory. Brynjar had forgiven so much about his childhood and justified his suffering for the longest time but as he froze in the desert, he couldn’t help but feel spite and anger towards his parents for the pressure down a path he wasn’t sure he wanted.
His ears pricked to the sounds of movement, his eyes scanned the area, it was dark and very minimal light but he could make some figures out in the darkness. Gripping his axe, he held it ready to defend himself in case this was the Fayth or someone hunting him. While his ears were pricked for danger, he tried to see if the figures were moving away or coming towards him. He couldn’t see them anymore which didn’t mean much and he growled since he wished he could be a wolf and feel the sands in case that helped him more than the current situation. But it seemed that everything was silent and that the dangers had passed.
“Gereigir hreyfa þig.” A voice called from behind him, he went to raise his axe but froze when he felt the tip of a blade against his throat. “Are you human? Not speak Wulfi? I said, don’t move.” The voice was female, with a thick Lupo accent which meant she was definitely an Adevmok, to stealth upon him so well, only people from the region could do that. At least that was what Brynjar told himself.
“I understood you, I just wasn’t going to be standing around while someone raided my meagre belongings.” Brynjar growled deeply as he stood with his back to his attacker, exposed and in danger.
There was a pause, whispers of voices before another voice spoke up, male with heavily Lupo accent again. “Who said we here to raid? Might be that you appeared a threat and we wish to be safe.” Brynjar nodded his head, it was unlikely the case but he could not deny that could be the situation that they were in.
“I am just here searching for the grave of my ancestor. It is thought that he traversed this region around the time he died.” Brynjar stated, “I am Brynjar from Clan Threist and I am looking for the grave of Glwyn.” As soon as he mentioned Glwyn, the blade was pressed against his throat once again. It was sharp and Brynjar was acutely aware of how deadly it could be from where it was placed.
“Glwyn Threist? You seek his grave? Do you seek to loot the grave of your ancestor?!” Brynjar could hear the anger and outrage from the male as the sword was kept firmly pressed against his throat.
“I… I don… It is said that when Clan Threist is facing their darkest hour that within Glwyn’s grave shall be the answers to help restore them. Right now, I am the last of my clan and have no heir only to have a shattered Medelwr, Glwyn’s axe, without Cérmœ’s gift bestowed to it anymore.” Brynjar stated as he pointed to the bag where he was storing the axe.
There was another long moment of hushed whispering and muttering between the two. “You come far, lost for nothing. Glwyn did not die here. He lived here only for a short time, then he went north.” The female stated firmly, “we told this to Ofin when he came many years later searching for Glwyn’s grave. Though Ofin stayed here, married into our clan in fact.” Brynjar turned and looked at them.
“He… He did? Then, he found peace. That is something I am glad to hear. I am honoured that we share an ancestor as well. His story was always a cautionary one in our family, I am glad to change it to one of finding your place, your true goals.” Brynjar saw that the male had lit a torch and allowed Brynjar to see the both of them, he was the elder of the two and not too different from Brynjar’s height. The female was short but still held a strong, athletic figure and was the one sheathing her weapon.
They looked at him, almost like they were studying a new, strange creature but he didn’t flinch or move away. He stood and looked back, “we are travelling to your woods, a great war looms over us. Potentially, visions are fickle gifts from the Gods, could be they are warning me of history being at risk of repeating, war is inevitable or that a leader of leaders will come from war.” The woman spoke with a mystic air around her, though Brynjar didn’t think she was a Draoidae. It was odd but her words were possible. War was coming, Brynjar felt sure of that, he couldn’t see the Lupo staying happy with the Fayth and the human monarchy wanting them dead.
“War is very likely coming indeed. This is why I need to restore Medelwr, the axe was made to protect every Lupo and I need to use it the same way it was used before. And I am hoping Glwyn has the answers.” The two Adevmok looked at each other then turned to Brynjar again and it was clear something had changed.
“Then you need not head north. Glwyn did go north after he came here but Ofin found that Glwyn returned to the desert lands several years later. There is a cave, north of here. There should lie the answers to the questions you have of your family.” The man spoke in a calm tone and handed a tent into Brynjar’s arms. “Use this tent, sleep, gather strength then follow where the finger of Arwen points.” He pointed to the night sky and a collection of stars that shone brightly that could be seen as a finger pointing Brynjar guessed.
“This always points to the north?” The stranger nodded and then they started walking away. Done with the conversation. Brynjar wanted to talk more but respected that they had their own goals and direction to go. He set up the tent and thought about the matter. Glwyn’s grave was in a cave. North of here. He just had to leave when he woke from a short rest. Closing his eyes, it didn’t take long till Brynjar passed out completely.
