Dorian Durinson
Character
The howls that harried and hounded him through his hunt were closer than ever. He knew that if he did not hurry, he would surely be overwhelmed. There was no hurry left in Dorian. For two days and three nights, he had tracked and chased his prey over winding paths slick with ice and framed with jutting sharp stone, through thickets of tangled thorns and throngs of twisted tortuous trees. Thrice, hard-packed frozen snow had turned to mounds of fresh fallen fluffy flakes that buried him up to his waist when he had the misfortune of a misstep. The biting cold, the lack of rest, and the treacherousness of the path left Dorian with a great weariness but the howling that haunted his every step drove him forward and kept him from rest.
This was not his place but theirs. From the very first he knew those howls to be his death if they overtook him for these were the call of The Cailleadh, The Wild Wolves of The Black Forest. They were raiders, murderers, sorcerers, and savages, who would sneak out of the vast yronwood forest of the far north into the lands of his people, thieving and killing until they either slunk back to the wood or they met their end. They were the ancient enemy of Dorian’s family and the Wolves of The North. The hatred they shared went long back before a single human ever set foot on Islimore and they would soon be upon him.
“Do not go.” His mother had pleaded when he made his intention known to those closest to him.
“Surely, Alpha, you need not go into The Wilds for this.” Said his grandfather. The Alpha of Clan Mathan was tall, grey, and exceedingly well-groomed, his hair went well past his shoulders and had been grey for ages but remained thick, his beard was long and braided with a golden bracer tying it at the end that sat comfortably near his middle.
“Your grandfather speaks true, cousin. No, Alpha has begun their trials in The Black Forest for generations. None, have done this since Beor Wild-Born walked out of the yronwood trees to challenge for the seat in HardHaven.” Vali, his cousin explained. Vali was thin and hard as a spear. “Your own father took his trial in The Wolf’s Wood.” Vali had soft grey eyes and an even softer voice full of concern. He was Vataeos, a member of the most learned, a keeper of histories and lore, and knew much.
Dorian had been named Alpha of Clan Kanaka weeks earlier and he wished to delay his coronation no longer. For this to happen he must undertake the trials of Durin. Durin’s Trials were the ancient rites performed by the Alpha of Clan Kanaka, where they would follow in the footsteps of their Clan’s legendary founder Durin I, facing the challenges he was said to face in the saga songs. The first and most direct of these challenges was for the new Alpha to travel alone in the woods with a spear and hunt a boar, the same as Durin I had done when he felled the great God-beast Vidar in The Black Forest.
“It must be in the yronwood.” Dorian had told his councilors. “Just as Durin had done it.”
“But why?” His mother asked. “What difference does it make? What would be gained by you going into that place and not coming back out?”
“We would know I was not worthy.” Dorian said.
“Which of them do you need to prove worth to?” His mother asked.
“Myself.”
Dorian had found tracks on the third day in the yronwood forest. The howling had started the night before. The third morning after discovering the tracks is when Dorian found his prey. A massive boar, five feet tall if it were an inch, it looked like a boulder covered in thick black scouring wire, Tusks longer than Dorian’s arm jutted from its face, and gales of steam poured from the creature as it knelt over, feasting on a tauntaun carcass.
With his prey so close at hand and danger so close behind Dorian had not been cautious in his attack. Charging from his vantage point Dorian, son of Durin, Alpha of Clan Kanaka, ruler of The North hurled his spear at the great black boar. A roar of fury flew from the mouth of the creature as the spear struck deep. It did not die. Wounded and surprised the boar did not flee but flew forward, swinging its massive tusks at Dorian who was only just able to avoid being skewered.
The creature charged once more and again Dorian was able to narrowly avoid being pierced by its tusks.
It will die soon. He thought. My aim was true.
If it won’t?
if it wasn’t?
Never throw your spear. The voice of his father reminded him from lessons long ago. A thrown spear is no more useful than a feather. Once it has left your hands it may as well be a thousand miles away.
The howling came again. So close now the boar snorted and spun around in a tight fearful circle before charging again. Dorian could not just avoid the monster this time. Instead of leaping away as he had before, Dorian lept sidelong and toward the beast, reaching for the spear shaft. He missed. The force of the boar ramming him full force as he lept sent Dorian hurling through the air twisting and spinning until he hit the ground with an embarrassingly painful thud. He got to his feet and immediately felt searing pain in his left leg and sparing a glance saw a wide red gash running the length of his thigh, from knee cap to hip bone. Blood poured from him and could put no weight on the leg.
The boar charged again and Dorian pulled a small hunting knife from his belt, the only weapon he had remaining to him. Dorian and the boar clashed once again. The monster’s great tusk pierced his abdomen causing Dorian to cry out.
In the end, the snow fed greedily on the hot black blood of the beast as it lay dying from a knife wound to the neck.
And now his hurry was gone.
So it was that Dorian knelt next to the dead boar and with his little hunting knife, hacked and sawed through the beast’s neck until his arms were tired to work and then beyond, decapitating the creature’s corpse. He removed the insides from the head and stuffed it with snow before taking spear in hand and sitting on the still-steaming body. The howling had stopped and there was no more chance to run.
From all around him they melted from between the black yronwood trees. A dozen Wolves. Most were in fact traveling through the forest as wolves but a few, four at Dorian’s count moved as men.
The wolves were of varied colored coats but were mostly ruddy brown and grey. The Lupo that had chosen to remain human in their appearance were more distinct. There was a blonde-haired male barely older than his younger brothers holding a short spear, A female roughly the same age as the boy. Her head was shaved and she was clearly very pregnant. There too was an older female, hair black as night, a pup on her hip, one at her breast, and from the look of her another in her belly as well. It was however the oldest male that caught Dorian’s attention most fully. Black of beard and hair with the sides starting to grey, he was a massive Wolf though he could not match Dorian for size, there were hardly any who could save for The Alpha Brynjar.
“You are welcome to the boar.” He told them. “I only need its head.”
“You do not recognize me?” The older male asked Dorian.
“No, Should I?”
“I recognize you,” he said. “I was there when you killed Rik.”
Nearly a decade ago Dorian had put a bloody end to Rik, a wildling who styled himself ‘The Gallow-King’
“You are one of the cowards that slunk back to The Wilds after your king was dead?” Dorian asked the Wolf scornfully.
“I am no coward.” The wildling answered. Several of the wolves bared their teeth.
“You must be a coward for I found you here and not buried in the red grass of the Gallows Wood like your king.”
Suddenly and violently Dorian was thrown from his seat atop the carcass and was staring up at the tops of the trees. A three-foot black haft of wood stuck out of him from where the younger wolf’s spear had struck him in the shoulder.
Never throw your spear.
Dorian tried to stand and found himself unable to do so. The world around him was fading slowly to black as every beat of his heart pumped more of his blood out from his body. He tried again to stand and fell back into the pool of blood beneath him. As the world faded away, he wondered if they would weep at his funeral as well. He thought of Astrid and the way she looked at him when…
And it all went black.
