Tale of the Wolf Brothers

[Ralth Striklore]

This is a story I made up for the origin of my character and two of my friends that might as well be my brothers in real life.

Some of the story may not be in continuity with actual game lore. I tried to do as much background work as I could, but if you spot something, let me know. I'll appreciate it.

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The cold wind howled through the camp, causing cooking fires to waver in the pits. The sound of whimpering could be heard coming from one of the huts set up on the open plains. A howl of pain came after the whimpers and was followed by more. A lone Vulmane paced in front of the hut, his head down, eyes aimed at the ground but not looking at it. His vision was turned inward, praying that all would be well. Another loud whimper brought him out of his thoughts and not for the first time did he almost enter the hut. He felt helpless. While his mate was enduring so much, all he could do was pace in the snow. He almost wished that the hunting party had left before everything had started. Another cry of pain came, and then everything became quiet.

The pack's shaman exited the hut and clasped the Vulmane on the shoulder with a smile on his face. He nodded towards the hut, sending in the worried Vulmane. The smell of blood was thick in the air, but he expected that. His mate was lying on her side. As he approached, she lifted her head up and looked over her shoulder. She smiled at seeing his face and reached out a hand. He grasped it quickly and was surprised at the strength still in her grip, but that was why he had chosen her. She was strong. She pulled him close, and he saw the most beautiful thing in his life since the day he and his mate had become one. Three pups were huddled up next to their mother’s stomach. Cautiously, he reached down. His entire hand could cover up most of them. He had no idea what to do with something so small, so fragile. He laid his hand on them, "By any power I have, I will raise you to be righteous, just, and fair. I will do all I can to teach you the ways I have learned and live by the code that has been handed down through our fathers. Liberty, Honor, Freedom. Welcome to this world, my sons."

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The twang of bow strings came not long before the sound of arrows hitting their targets. Elssor, Gorrog, and Ralth stood along the firing line, practicing with their new bows. It was their thirteenth name day, and they had all received curved horn bows. Determination was burning in their eyes to prove their skill to their father, and that their gifts were not wasted. Arrows flew well, at first, with only a few missing their targets. Then as the boys wore down, their shots became more careless.

"Alright, sons, that's enough for today. You have done well with your bows. Maybe by next year, you will be good enough to go with us on the big hunt." The brothers let out a cheer and automatically started boasting about who would bring down the biggest prize.

As they walked back to their hut, a commotion could be heard from the center of the village. "Stay close to me, boys." The three followed their father to the village square. A crowd had gathered and was being held back by the larger Vulmane of the community. A group of Orcs stood on the other side just outside the pack leader's hut. Just as Gorrog was about to ask what was going on, the door burst open and the biggest Orc they had ever seen exited. He was a light shade of green, with arms that looked to have boulders bulging under the skin and legs like tree trunks. He was dressed in leather armor with a chain mail shirt. A war hammer rested on his hip and the handle of a sword could be seen sticking over his shoulder.

"We do not need your help, dog." The Orc spat. "The Orcs can stand against anything." He turned to his companions and motioned. They fell in behind him, mounted on horses and rode off.

The chief spoke a few words to one of the Vulmane in charge of crowd control. Ralth recognized him. Trowa had been his father's best friend as long as he could remember. "Closer than litter mates" Trowa had said once. Trowa looked across the crowd, caught sight of their father, and made his way to them.

"Eldarion, the council needs to meet. Trouble is brewing." Eldarion nodded. Trowa finally noticed the boys standing there with their bows. "Hello lads," he said with a smile. "Keep practicing with those. They will come in handy. Sooner than we think," he finished with sadness in his voice.

"Come boys, let's go home." Eldarion led his sons to their hut. When they entered, their mother was working patching a quilt. She smiled at them, but the smile faded when she saw the look on Eldarion's face.

"What's wrong," she asked in a whisper.

"The council is meeting, Zara. I must go immediately." Eldarion moved away from her to their room, and went to a chest in the corner. He lifted the lid to find something he hoped to never wear again. A suit of armor, finely crafted exactly for him, rested inside. Draped over it was a cloak. The black fabric was of the finest weave, and a gold symbol was embroidered on it. He pulled out a small wooden box. The wood was stained dark, almost black. A gold latch was the only thing on it. He opened it and pulled out the crest pin. He threw the cloak around his shoulders and pinned the crest to his tunic. When he entered the sitting room, his wife put a hand to her mouth and sucked in her breath.

"I thought you meant the village council. I did not realize it was this serious." She went to him and put her arms around his torso, holding him tight. "Be careful, my love."

She gave him a kiss and let go. Eldarion then moved over to his sons. He knelt on one knee and looked each of them over. Elssor had come out first, and always called the others his little brothers, even though he was shorter than both of them. But his heart was second to no one. His dark grey fur was a stark contrast to Ralth's bright white fur. Ralth was the second tallest and second to be born. Gorrog had been last, but was the tallest of them all. His fur was a deep brown that most thought was actually a dark red. "My sons, I will be gone for a time. It is up to you to continue practicing your fighting skills, to take care of this village, and the most important, to take care of your mother."

There was a knock on the door, and the brothers' mother answered. Trowa entered, wearing the same cloak and pin as their father. He greeted Zara, and then turned to Eldarion. "Come, Eldarion. The Guardians are needed."

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A year passed after Eldarion had put on his armor and left for battle. Since his departure, Zara always left a candle burning in the front window of their hut, “To light the way home,” their mother had said. Ralth turned to see it burning in the window as he walked through the snow covered streets to meet his brothers at the inn. Upon his arrival, he ordered a spiced cider and sat down with his brothers. They had all moved into the town guards’ barracks, but seldom saw each other for differing patrol schedules.

“Mum is doing fine. I just stopped in to see her. She got another letter from Father. He says that the fighting goes poorly for the Vulmane.” Ralth took a sip of the warm cider. The taste soothed his sadness a bit.

They talked about their shifts, about how things were getting rougher with more Vulmani entering the town as their villages were overrun.

Suddenly, the door burst open. The cold wind blew out the candles that lit the room and nearly took out the fire. A hooded figure stumbled into the common room. The three brothers stood and loosened their swords in their scabbards. As soon as they stood, the darkness in the hood turned to them. He rushed over and grabbed Elssor by the shoulders.

The dim light barely revealed the blood matted face of Trowa. “Ah, it’s good to see you, lads. You’ve grown so much in the past year.” He shook his head as if a fly was buzzing around it, and the look in his eyes changed. “Come quickly! Your father wants you.”

They raced out the door and through the streets. Light came through the windows of their parents’ hut, but the candle was no longer in the window. It’s true, Ralth thought happily. As they entered through the door they saw their mother sitting on the edge of the bed; their father lying in it.

Gorrog raced in to him, “Father!” When they all entered the room, a smile lit up Eldarion’s face.

“My boys. You’ve grown,” he said tiredly. The sound of stone grinding metal brought their attentions around. Trowa crouched just outside the doorway, sliding a whetstone along the edge of his sword. The same determined look Trowa had was now on their father’s face. “Boys, we must prepare to move. We cannot survive the flow of the undead coming this way. The message has already been given to the chief. Your mother has told me that you three are enlisted for your term in the city guard. That is good. I would not trust our protection to anyone else,” he smiled again, but it did not last long. “We were not prepared for this evil, this sickness, which has come upon us.” Eldarion sat up a little in the bed and the boys saw now what had been covered by the sheet. Their father’s arm had been cleaved at the shoulder.

Eldarion nodded proudly when none of the boys recoiled at his injury. “The undead blades bite hard and deep,” he said. “We took as many down as fast as we could, but they would only rise up again. We had few enough paladins to sanctify the fallen bodies before they rose again. They will be upon us within two days. Help your mother begin packing. Take only what is needed.”

Zara leaned over and kissed Eldarion on the forehead. “Boys, could you please leave us? I must speak with your father.”

The brothers left the room and shut the door behind them.

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The morning came quickly, and the boys were given permission from the captain of the guard to assist their parents. They packed clothes, food, small keepsakes that could not be parted with. The village was bustling as everyone else prepared for evacuation. In a meeting that had been held at dawn, the people were told of the situation. They had been told that the Vulmane were leaving their lands and entering the elven forests. Some people’s excitement overcame their fear for a short time at the prospect of seeing Elves, but quickly it was back to the business of fleeing for their lives.

When the packing was finished, the brothers talked with Eldarion of tactics and how best to take down the unholy creatures. “A blow to the head is the surest thing to take them down. Losing an arm or a leg, they just keep coming. Have you been practicing your archery?” The boys nodded. “Good. You will need it.” He told tales of the battles he had seen and how he had lost his arm. “My armor was some of the best there. If not for my place in The Guardians, I would not be here today. That armor gave me the blessing of only losing an arm.” A thoughtful look came to his face, and he suddenly stood and went into his room. He came back holding three boxes, each black as night with a golden clasp. Eldarion handed each of his sons a box and told them to open them. Inside was a pin of a noble battle helm, decorated with a dense crown of short-cropped horse-hair running fore and aft.

“These are the crest pins of The Guardians. It is your choice to accept them, and your choice to utilize them. I pray that you will, but it will be your decision. The journey to become a Guardian is an arduous one. It will take strength you may not know that you have, but I have seen it. I have raised you under their disciplines, and I have seen that they are ingrained in each of you. The time will come that these pins will be a signal to someone, and you will have to give your decision to them. Just know that whatever paths your lives take, your mother and I are proud of you.”

The sound of someone blowing on a horn brought the family back to reality. Three quick blows, repeated. Eldarion raced for the window and saw people running through the streets. “Damn them! They’re early. Boys it is time to use what you have learned. You must defend the evacuation. Put those pins on. That symbol has the power to rally the strongest of allies.” The brothers each took their pins and fastened them to their jerkins. As they moved to leave, their mother came to them. She had three bundles in her arms. With tears in her eyes, she handed the bundles to each of her sons. They were capes of the deepest black fabric with gold trimming the edges. “These are my gifts to you, my sons, on the day you become men. Wear them with pride, and if you so choose, wear them as your father has.” She hugged each of them and then hurried them out the door. They fastened the clasps at their necks and ran to the guard house, black capes flying behind them.

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The wind blew across the open planes of Thestra. It was a cold wind that threatened to bring snow, but the sky only held scattered low hanging clouds. Ralth noted the position of the sun. It was just half way up from the horizon. “This will be a long day,” he said to Gorrog, who stood next to him.

“It will be hard day, too. Many will die today.”

Ralth looked sideways at his brother. His expression looked as if his mind was far away, but he quickly became himself again and flashed a toothy grin at Ralth.

“There you two are,” said Elssor catching his breath. Each breath condensed in front of his mouth as his warm breath hit the cold air. “I’ve run along the entire line looking for you.” Ralth and Gorrog chuckled at their brother.

To either side of them, Vulmane spread in a line across the south side of the village. Each guard had a bow in his hand and a full quiver on their back. The three brothers stood watching the horizon. The village refugees were already moving north, but the guard had to buy them enough time to have a good lead on the coming army. The sound of a running horse brought their attention to a mounted guard riding toward them. It was Trowa.

“If I could not see your fur I would swear any of you were your father.” He dismounted and walked towards them. When he got close he stuck out his hand. The brothers each grasped forearms with their father’s best friend. “If I do not come out of this one, I want you to know that it was always an honor to fight along side your father, and it will be an equal honor to fight along side his sons.” Suddenly his eyes caught sight of the pins attached to their jerkins and he smiled. “So, it is time. Well, whatever path you boys choose, always remember: Libertas Ara Amplus.” With that he turned and mounted on his horse. He looked them over again, his eyes resting on Gorrog for a moment and smiled. Raising his fist to the sky he yelled, “Guardians lead the way!”

Gorrog opened his mouth to say something, but a shout coming up the line held his tongue. The brothers looked to the horizon to see a black line forming. It grew thicker as it came across the plains. Crows and buzzards flew over the coming line, knowing they would feed well if they followed the tide of undead.

The wind faltered and died. The smell of decay came to the sensitive Vulmane noses on the line. A soldier down the line from Elssor bent and retched as the stench grew stronger. One of the guard commanders rode down the line on his horse. “Ready your bows!” The brothers simultaneously knocked an arrow to their bows. Sadly, many of their fellow town guardsmen were not as experienced with bows. Arrows fell to the ground, bows dropped from nervous hands. Ralth looked to Elssor and shook his head.

“Many will die today,” Gorrog repeated.

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The smell was the worst part of the battle. Thousands of living dead bodies, even in the cold weather, decayed on their feet. Swords clashed against rusty pikes, lances, swords, axes, whatever the poor soul had died holding. Ralth had been separated from his brothers on the initial charge of the corpse army. The arrows had done nothing to slow them down. Line upon line fell and was trampled by the walking bodies behind them, and they never slowed. They were on a constant, steady march.

Ralth moved as he had been taught. “Flow like water, yield when you need to and crash against them when the moment is right.” Tips from his father came to him throughout the fight. “Strike for the head. A missing leg will only slow them down. Without a head, they are useless.” City guards fell all around him. He said a prayer for all that would lose their lives that day, and prayed he and his brothers would not be included.

There was no order to the attack. It was mass hysteria. For every undead soldier taken down, two filled its place. The sun had gone well past its zenith. Ralth was losing his strength. Noting no higher officer around, he cried out, “Fall back!” The call could barely be heard over the clash of steel as it went through the crowd. The remaining town guard retreated to the city. Barely half remained. Ralth saw Elssor, a line of blood on his arm. His brother gave him a nod to show he was alright.

“Where is Gorrog,” Elssor asked.

“I lost him in the beginning. I don’t know.” Ralth shook his head. He prayed his brother was alright.

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Darkness surrounded the stranger fighting beside Gorrog. Undead bodies flew away with every swing of his mace. Gorrog would have been fascinated if not for being worried about his own neck.

The black armor seemed to shimmer in the darkness that surrounded it. The dread knight was one of the biggest beings Gorrog had ever seen. An undead blade swung at the knight’s arm. He brought his mace around and parried the blade effortlessly. Bringing it back around the mace shattered the skull of the human corpse.

“Come on.” The voice was as dark as the armor. Gorrog fought back anything that approached him, but there were not many, for the dread knight knew how to clear a path. They ran back into the village and stopped behind what had been the butcher’s market.

Gorrog had a chance to look at the knight better. He did not seem as big as Gorrog had first thought, but the power inside of him radiated from his body. “Where did you come from,” Gorrog asked, breathless.

“That does not matter. But it appears I found you just in time.” The knight reached out and touched the crest pin on Gorrog’s jerkin. “A Guardian,” the deep voice said, emotionless.

“My father gave my brothers and me these. He said when the time came, we would be trained as Guardians.” Gorrog looked down at the pin, wondering where his brothers were.

“Then the time has come.” The knight pointed to his chest. Cast in the middle of his breastplate was the symbol of the Guardians, only completely black, and barely discernable against the black armor. “I know your father, Gorrog son of Eldarion. He is a good man. And it will be my honor to train you as a dread knight, if you are strong enough to follow the path.”

Gorrog looked at the helmeted face of the man responsible for saving his life.

That symbol has the power to rally the strongest of allies. His father’s words echoed in Gorrog’s head.

“I accept the task, sir knight. But please I must go make sure my brothers are safe.” The knight looked at Gorrog. Although Gorrog could not see the knight’s eyes, he could feel them. As if they were burrowing into his soul. “I’m sorry, Gorrog. But you must learn to let go of all you know. It is painful, as is the training to be a dread knight. But the rewards are greater than you can imagine. You will see your brothers again, either on this side of life or the next.”

Gorrog listened to the sound of the oncoming army. He looked down at the ground as a tear formed in the corner of his eye. He wiped it away as he looked back up at the knight. “Let’s go.”

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Ralth and Elssor led the remaining guard through the town. Occasionally, an undead runner would catch up and they were forced to fight it off, slowing them down. The sound of the bodies marching haunted Ralth.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said to Elssor.

Elssor stopped, causing the troop to stop as well. “You fought well today, my friends, but there is a time to fight and a time to withdraw. Now is that time. Run as hard as you can as long as you can. Take pride in knowing you fought hard and well and that you allowed everyone that fled this village to survive another day. Dismissed!”

The remaining guards ran past Elssor and Ralth. Elssor looked at Ralth with sadness in his eyes. “We have to leave, brother,” Ralth said. “All we can do is pray that Gorrog is with more of the guard, maybe even Trowa. We will see him again. I swear it.”

Ralth and Elssor broke into a trot, north through the streets of their home. They ran past the last line of houses. They ran until they could not see anything but the smoke meeting the sky over their former home. Elssor put his hand on Ralth’s shoulder and squeezed. They both turned, following the trail their fellow refugees had taken, leaving their childhoods behind.

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