Any of you who have been reading my posts for a while will know that I have a hobby of writing short, skyrim-esque books for my campaign, into which I pour lore, information, misinformation, myth, and some humour. My most recent work on this is a book called “The Ancient and the Lost”, which the party picked up when looking for information on the history of the area, including looking for information about a couple of relics which they carry - a wooden idol which seems to be coveted by the BBEG, who keeps sending zombie minions after them, and a rune-carved hagstone which has led the paladin down a series of quests in his dreams to prove himself a hero at the behest of an elf who claims to be guarding the power of the stone.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

This book contains several stories about and information on:

• The lost armies of the Dragons

• The Old Kingdom

• The Dream Seeds

• The Distant Tower

• The Red Water Springs

• The Sentinel of Aren

• Wrath of the Gods

• The Coming and Going of Frost

• A Thousand Floors Below

And will have a couple more which I am still polishing up.

For today, we’ll start with the beginning - The Lost Armies of the Dragons, an informative piece which explains where the Dinosaurs came from, and relates to the fact that Birds in Arenstar have 4 legs - because they evolved from Dragons, not from Dinosaurs.2

The Lost Armies of the Dragons

When the first person took their first steps upon this world, when the gods themselves were young, even then, there were times which were so long past as to be considered ancient. In those times - the Godless times, when the world was raw - there emerged Dragons. They say that the first mind looked upon the world and saw that it was savage and powerful, and it was from this first thought that the Dragons were born. These were not the dragons which were lost to the world today - the wise and the strong, protectors of the weak and defenders of knowledge. These were the greatest and first of the savage and primordial beasts which came before - titanic and bestial, their roars could shatter mountains, their claws could carve valleys in the earth, and the sweep of their tail could level forests. What they saw was weak, they dominated; what they saw as strong, they claimed.

The primordial creatures they shared the world with were equally titanic and wrath - the wurms which coiled through the heart of the world, so large as to be seen by many as the source of the great expanse which lies below, known as the Underdark; the rocs which cast their shadows across continents, and the krakens which churned the fathomless oceans to their will. Great and powerful as the dragons were, their most powerful strength was not in might, but in Magic. Believed to be the first beings to wield Magic with intent, the Dragons sought dominion over the world, and with the magic that they possessed, they forged armies - creations made in their image, each wielding an aspect of their power; wings, or strength, or quick intellect, but never the three combined; born to war and destined for death - known now as Dinosaurs. For these creatures, they formed weaponry and armour from the metals of the earth, and then they sent them to war with the other primordials. Millions of their creations fell, but one by one, so too did the other Primordials, until the Dragons had dominion over the world.

To share the world was not enough for the Dragons, for in their pursuit of knowledge of the world beneath them, they had discovered something which they coveted; a metal which they collected with single-minded tenacity and guarded with unbridled ferocity - Gold. To claim this prize, the Primordial Dragons went to war with one another - sending their armies to fight each other, and to destroy their rivals. It was this which began the downfall of the Primordial Dragons, and the beginning of the end of the Godless Era.

The first Dragon which fell to the ancient armies heralded the end of the arms-race of the Dragons, and began their demise. Their armies were sentient beings - the first to exist, beyond the Primordials - and it is believed that they realised that, if they can slay a Primordial which their cruel masters have sent them to assail, then they can slay the Primordial who has sent them into war, and claim their freedom. The great armies of the Dragons banded together, and began a campaign to destroy their Primordial dragon masters.

For tens of thousands of years, they fought and spread, their kinship with the Dragons that made them lending them glimmers of magic, keen intellect, and great strength. At the end of the first war against the Dragons, there were but 6 of the Primordials left. Five Of these had banded together, and sought to fight the armies to their extinction, swearing eternal vengeance on their subservient creations which dared to turn against their creators. The One other sought to reconcile with them - to share an existence, and share the power that it commanded, to find a peaceful coexistence. These two factions were themselves in conflict, for how could they not? The Five sought to beat back the world, fighting as one to destroy the creatures which had turned against them, and the one sought to protect those same creatures with his might, and to coexist as their ruler and protector; one which the Armies would choose, not be forced to follow.

Change came slowly; the war carried on, and the One Primordial sought ever for peace, and the Five sought ever to destroy their foes and reclaim total domination. Over time, the One grew a following, and bent its power to shaping the world; creating beautiful forests and rivers in which the Dinosaurs could live. Conversely, the Five exerted their power to turn the land hostile; volcanic mountains were thrown up to the sky, rivers of lava and foul fumes suffused the land all around their lair. Ever the Five clashed with the One, and their battles were so fierce that the very sky would ring with it for days to follow.

The world changed. The land of the Five became desolate and barren, and the land of the One became lush and fruitful. The Dinosaurs which had spread so widely across the world revered the One as their protector, and feared the Five as their destroyer. The Dragons, it is said, were born of opinion, and it was this opinion which reshaped them; the Five becoming ever more destructive and wicked, and the One becoming more benevolent and kind, and became strong enough to hold the Five at bay.

It isn’t known exactly what cataclysm was brought down on the dinosaurs, but it is believed that it was something unleashed upon the world by the Five - a world-burning inferno which stripped the land of life and verdancy, leaving behind ash, dust, washed by the Tears of the One. These tears nourished the land, blossoming beneath them and returning it slowly to life, but the Dinosaurs were all but destroyed.

The evidence of these armies are scattered beneath the ground - twisted fossils of ancient warriors, dragonesque of face and claw, oft found with remnants of weapons of ancient design, and draped in such ragged remnants of armour as time would allow to survive, crushed and flattened beneath the relentless passing of time. The museums of Orsilath - the wooden mountain - in Alu Ath Shantir - the Sea of Trees - contain several exquisitely preserved specimens of these warrior beasts - not with weapons or armour, but with colourful clothes, jewellery - signs of lives lived with art and music and skilled craft; singed and blackened, the last throes of the cataclysm which swept them from Arenstar. They say that the Wooden Mountain itself grew from the tears of the One, and that deep beneath its roots, there is a spring of these tears still, nourishing the mountain.

After the destruction of the dinosaurs, the world was rent into two realms - that of the Five, and that of the One. The One is said to have created a power sufficient to combat the Five, and then they fought in a great battle which saw the Five banished from this plane forever. The One then laid down to sleep, wearied from war and grief and loss, to let the world heal, and the era of the primordial dragons ended.

They say that the lands where the Five laid claim before their fall were forever tainted with malice. The world there grew wild, and dangerous. Meanwhile, the lands where the One had reigned grew fertile and strong, and life there thrived - new life, laid down by young gods, seeded the world. Dragons remained, though the influence of their forebears continued to drive them - where the Five had once been in command, the Dragons were fierce and tyrannical, cruel masters of any beings who they could subjugate, and terrible vanquishers of those they could not. Where the One had dominion, the dragons were benevolent protectors of the people, and sought to maintain balance within and across their lands.

Thankyou all for reading! If you have questions, then ask them! I find answering questions significantly more effective than trying to create lore from nothing!

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Welcome to Folklore Friday, where I am taking an excerpt from the book I created, called Hunts of the World, for your enjoyment!

This week it’s the first2 of them - the Au-Roc; a huge, violent, omnivorous bovine with wings. They’re also red, because my players often tend away from taking things seriously, which is to be expected when the campaign started by fighting cheese in cathedral city. Go figure.

Au-Roc

Description

The Au-Roc is a wild breed of cattle. They have large, thick horns which sweep forwards aggressively, short legs, and are on average slightly larger than an average cow, averaging around 7 feet in height at the withers. Their appearance differs from that of normal cattle in three distinct and immediately obvious features. Firstly, they possess a pair of large, thick wings, with which they are able to fly, albeit distinctly without grace. Their fur and feathers are a ruddy shade of dark red, which is perhaps due to their third distinct feature - their mouths are filled with just two wide, curved, extremely sharp, blade-like incisors, almost as though they had beaks within their mouths. This feature is indicative of their diet, which is omnivorous - their sharp jaws are just as able to cut through roughage as thick as a man’s wrist, as they are to cut through a man’s wrist.

Location

Au-Rocs reside in the plains which border the north and eastern fringes of Alu Ath Shantir3. In the summer, they retreat into the cool shade beneath the canopy, and in winter they will range further north, occasionally being seen as far north as the Arenstar Basin.

Products

The meat of an Au-Roc is extremely tough and gamey. The Jerky and Biltong produced from the meat is a delicacy which divides dwarves - some delight in the challenge of a snack which takes hours to consume, whereas others like to get on with their food and get back to what they were doing. The hides are worthy prizes, though the temperament of an Au-Roc tends to leave them scarred. Leather tanned from Au-Rocs hide is both tough and extremely light, making it popular in the production of airship parts and lightweight armour. The red feathers of an Au-Roc have been prized in the past for hats, but they fade to white in less than a year, leaving them less popular than they could have been. They do not fare well with domestication, though it has been said that someone sufficiently pig-headed (and thick-armed) can assert dominance over the beast. On such rare occasions, Au-Rocs have proved an unusual and exotic beast of burden.

Hunting Methods

Hunting an Au-Roc requires preparation. The primary objectives for the hunters are to separate and ground a beast. The hunts of the Elves of Alu Ath Shantir take place three times a year, and see them bringing down the most violent of the Au-Rocs, in an effort to improve their placidity over time (there has been no documented evidence yet of success in this endeavour). The Elves, to prove their skills, will move to separate one of the Au-Rocs from the group, either by driving them toward purpose-built dividers dug into the ground, or through luring one away, if the opportunity arises.

When driving the Au-Rocs, the Hunters must take care to present the correct amount of threat to the herd from the very beginning. The first impression of the Herd is crucial - if the Hunters appear too little of a threat, then the herd will become aggressive, seeking to solve the problem of the Hunters through direct assault. If they appear too great or too sudden of a threat, then the herd may take to the sky. This has two possible outcomes - firstly, that the herd will fly away to seek new grounds for grazing and hunting, or that they will, once overcoming their shock, become aggressive to the hunters, only this time in a situation where there are several hundred tonnes of cattle in the air above their heads.

Once an Au-Rocs has been separated from the herd, the Hunters will attempt to cast a heavy net over the beast. This net is often tied to trees to keep the Au-Rocs from escaping. The Hunters then rely on the strength of the net and the length of their spears to keep the beast from escaping, allowing it to tire itself in the attempt. Once the beast has exhausted itself, it becomes relatively simple for a hunter to cleanly and definitively finish the job.

For the duration of this event it is important that the remaining hunters keep the Herd on the move. If it is allowed to slow, it will hear the distress of the quarry and will run to its aid.

It is possible that Throttling could be applied to Au-Roc’s (see Steepfield Cattle).

Those seeking to subjugate an Au-Roc into a submissive state will have a significantly more difficult task. They must take on the role of the net, grappling with the beast themselves. If they manage to outlast the beast, and retain enough of their limbs and blood to continue functioning, then the beast will become permanently submissive to them. Such a feat occurs once or twice in a cornerling lifetime, though it is attempted much more often. Should the Au-Roc overcome the challenger, as is the likely outcome, it will usually eat them. It is possible that the subservient response to being defeated is due to their lingering anticipation of being eaten - cannibalism is common when fights for dominance result in death.

Re-reading this, I’ll be honest and say that it may bear a little re-writing - I was writing several books at the time and these passages were subjected to a spell check, and that’s about it!

Next time we’ll have a look at two more of these - Bears and Drakes!

Until then, happy hunting!

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The Tale of the Moon

The tale of the moon is as sad and woeful as they come and speaks of the poor choices oft made in love which can lead to ruin and heartbreak. It was told to a group of children in the tavern by a travelling storyteller, and I transcribed it as it was spoken.

The world was once naught but water. The oceans and unending swirl of blue, encompassing the whole globe of the world. And around the world there swung the moon, who loved the world as no one else could.

“O, world” she cried “I love you!”.

A hundred hundred times she swung about the world, and ever did she see the ocean, and never did she see the world’s face, so covered as it was by the sea.

“O won’t you let me see you?” she cried, but if the world replied, she could not hear it through the seas which shrouded it.

Then the moon saw a star that shot by, and on its flaming trail she wished a wish that she could see the world’s face, that she could see the world below the seas, and she looked back to the world with that wish in her eyes, and the star heard her plea, and it granted her wish.

Before her eyes, the seas rippled on the world below her, and wherever she looked, the ocean was turned to stone, which was immediately rent with volcanoes and canyons which split the face of the world, the face she now was making with her gaze. And the moon wept, for she saw the damage her wish was doing to her beloved world, and she wished a wish that her wish would end, but still when she looked, the seas turned to stone. Finally, the Moon turned her back on the world, to forever look away - for her gaze was now as harmful to her once-beautiful world as could be, and she declared she would rather never look upon the world again than do it further harm.

Forever passed, and the land of the World cooled, and the spark of life began, and the ugly, broken lands turned green and beautiful, washed with rain and polished by time and covered in life, and still the moon looked away. On the world there grew many things, but three grew greater than any around them - the Worm, the Kraken, and the Roc. The worm had grown so long in the ground that he wrapped around the world and rested his head on his own tail. The Kraken was so strong that when he deigned to, he could move the entire ocean, and the Roc’s wings were so wide that she could glide about the world without flapping her wings once and could call a storm with a gesture.

One day, the three were boasting of which was the greatest, and as always, they could not agree on a means of measure.

“There is not a rock or hill or mountain I cannot best” declared the worm, and he swatted a great boulder into the ocean to prove it. “I am obviously the greatest of the three!”.

“But there is not one wave that you can knock down!” shouted the kraken, sending the boulder to the shore with the crashing of a dozen great waves against it. “The ocean can push a boulder just as well as you, and I can push the Ocean, so surely I must be stronger than you!” he declared.

“But outside the waves, you are nothing!” cried the Roc from her perch atop the mountains. “In a race to the other side of the world, I would leave a day after you arrive and still beat you!”.

“It seems”, came a voice, and they beheld an Albatross - a big sea bird, as wide as an orc is tall - “It seems to me, that you will never agree on who is the best, unless you all attempt to prove it in a way which you’ve never done so before” she said to the titans, who regarded her with curiosity, for they often forgot that the little things of the world could speak.

“What would you suggest?” asked the Kraken, and the albatross said:

“Each of you has their world - the land, the sea, the sky - and in each you are the greatest, so you must find one more world, and see which of you is the greatest.”

“What other world is there?” asked the Worm in a voice as deep as distant thunder.

“Why, the moon, of course!” declared the Albatross, and the three of them turned to look to the sky, where she was faintly shining. “Have any of you been there? Laid claim to her? even touched her?” asked the Albatross. “Surely, whichever of you can touch the moon must be the greatest!”, and so saying, she took to wing and soared away.

The three pondered the Albatross’ words for a long time, and as the night drew in, the Roc declared “I will surely be the first to touch the Moon, for it is beyond the sky, and the sky is my domain!” and so saying she launched herself from the mountains and into the sky. Upwards and Upwards she flew, around the world and around again, her wings straining to lift her higher than she had ever flown before, the air whirling around her as she clapped her wings again and again and again. And, as the dawn broke, so did she - exhausted and utterly spent, she fell back to the world below, having not once reached the Moon. The air around the world continued to swirl and rush from the force of her wings, and to this day, the skies are never still.

The next night, the Kraken declared “The Sea will bring me the Moon, I will wash it from the sky and into my arms!”, and so saying he began to wash and slosh and swirl the seas around him, sending waves crashing upwards into the heavens, washing it back and forth and back again to send it splashing upwards, but as the dawn broke, so did he, and utterly exhausted, he fell back into the seas to rest. The seas still wash back and forth to this day - twice a day in, twice a day out, from how much he had sloshed it about.

On the third night, the Worm declared “Tonight I will reach the Moon, and I will do so with ease!” and so saying, he burrowed deep into the world, and then he turned around and he burrowed back out of it, stretching high, high into the sky, reaching for the Moon. His tail unwound from the world as he went, and behind it were left huge caverns, which would later be filled with all the dark things of the world. Still, he stretched, and stretched, a great line from the ground to the sky, and as he reached as far as he could reach, he stretched further still and, just barely, he touched the Moon.

The Moon had been asleep, and she was not expecting to be touched. It gave her a real fright, in fact, and she spun around to see what had done so. The Worm found himself suddenly gazing into the eyes of the Moon, and the Moon found herself gazing into the eyes of the Worm, and then the Worm started to turn to stone - for the Moons eyes were still enchanted by her broken wish, and they turned that worm to stone as surely as they did the oceans. Horrified, she turned away again, but not before she left a mark on the world which you can still see to this day.

So saying, the storyteller pulled back the curtains of the tavern window with a grin to show the dusk light framing the Tower; a line of stone, from the ground to the sky, and many of the children gathered about him gasped.

As dawn broke, the Worm did not, for he was now made of solid stone. Such was the end of the Titans. The morals of this story, children are these: Be careful what you wish for. Appreciate what you’ve got. Do not boast idly of what you can do, and do not be so stubborn as to not admit defeat. But most importantly of all…

at this point the storyteller leaned in conspiratorially, and the children leaned in to listen, as well as many patrons of the tavern who were listening in.

“Never trust an Albatross!”

This one is one of my favourite bits of folklore, and is the last from the first volume I presented to my players - but fear not, for already I am filling a second tome, so we will have more in the future! And until then…

…I’m sure I can find some other folklore to show you!

Thanks for reading, and see you next time!

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However, there is a place in the depths of the darkest forests wherein dwells an ancient, malicious evil. Penned in by ancient magig, this malicious presence ever seeks it’s freedom, to spread in the soil and the dark to take hold of the entire forest.

This place is known as the Forest of Green. In game-terms, it is home to a hive-mind1, which controls the endless vines of ivy which cover every surface. These vines even wrap themselves around the bones of the dead, animating them as twisted blights of creaking ivy and bone, the eyes alight with a pale green glow, as the Green speaks to you from a hundred long-dead mouths2.

This is not common knowledge in Arenstar - but that does not mean that there is no folklore associated with it. Here is a rhyme, and one which I am quite pleased with, which gives the sinister connotations of the place. Such a verse is often sung to children who have begged to stay up into the dark hours of the night to listen to the bard singing, and those bards which know it sing it with the goal of instilling a fear in those who hear it. This is true to the origins - for this song came from the Forest of Gwalor, and was a true cautionary tale once, to keep those who walked in the forest from stumbling into the Green. For, whilst the Green is kept in by the magic of the ancients, they do nothing to keep others out.

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The Fall of Aren

The subject of Aren, the lost city-kingdom which once dominated Arenstar (and which gave Arenstar its name) is one which has endured for millennia. The exact location of the city-kingdom is unknown, and many have been lost forever whilst searching in the furthest corners of Arenstar for the mythological city.

Aren is said to have been a city of great magic and technology, which had harnessed sky-flight and hydraulics before the Elves of the wilds had climbed above base savagery and tribal warfare. Aren sat, wherever it sat, as a light to the world around it. The people all around came to join them, and from Aren, supposedly, all language was borne. The influence of Aren spread across all of Arenstar, bringing civilisation and health, healing magics, farming and irrigation, and above all else, control over the elements.

The myth of Aren and its fall starts with the great King Garrelon, the immortal elven lord over Aren, who sought dominion and control over all things. The stories speak of Garrelon’s desire to bring absolute control of the world to bear, to give his people freedom - that they would toil only for crops which would survive, that they would work to build walls which no wind nor storm would attempt to fell. Garrelon sent out three of his high priests of the elements to bring him the power he sought.

The first to succeed was the priest he had sent to bring him the power of the air. Through great toil and trial, they were able to harness the power of the air within a glass cage, which they presented to Garrelon on bended knee. With this power, Garrelon was able to raise his ships to the sky, to calm storms and drive clouds, to bring rain and to bring sunshine, and his people became well fed, and their labours in the fields yielded always the finest of crops each year.

The second to succeed was the priest he had sent to bring him the power of the earth. She ventured deep into the depths of the world, to dark places where none had set foot and none have disturbed since, and she returned with a gemstone of singular and unimaginable beauty. Garrelon, with the gem in hand, could call upon the rocks and mountains themselves to change at his whim. The people of Aren were gifted with beautiful waterways, strong walls, magnificent buildings, fine houses, and tilled fields, and again their wealth and contentment grew.

It was with the final priest that the fall of Arenstar was sealed. He was sent to achieve dominion over the seas, and for a hundred years he toiled, and for a hundred years, he failed. Denied his return until he succeeded, the Priest scoured the world and the sea for something to complete his quest, until eventually he heard talk of an artefact which could give whoever possessed it control over the oceans themselves. This artefact was, he learnt, in the possession of a God-Prince of the Sea. The priest brought himself before the Prince and pledged to him his allegiance, and successfully coerced his way into his palace. There, he stole the artefact and fled back to Aren, thinking his task complete.

The priest was at the very borders of Aren when he felt in the air a change, tasted the salt on the breeze, and turned to behold the ruin of the world approaching - a great wave of dark water, as tall as the sky and as swift as the breeze; trees borne like twigs as the forests were swallowed beneath it. The Prince had come to Arenstar to reclaim his prize, and with him he brought the wrath of the oceans. The priest was met at the gates of Aren by Galleron himself, who took from him the artefact and brandished it to the approaching water, but nothing happened - the artefact did not stop the wave, did not control the ocean. Garrelon, cursing the priest to never find peace in this life or the next, left him on his knees between the unyielding stone walls of Aren and the approaching, pitiless wall of ocean.

A dozen heartbeats later, the wave washed across Arenstar, a great flood which tore down the walls which Galleron had built, a crashing tempest of the wrath of the oceans manifest, thrashing the world beneath it into dust, and when the waters settled, Aren was gone; wiped from the face of the world by the wrath of the vengeful Prince, it’s like never to grace the world again. The earth, freed from the control of King Galleron, threw mountains up to the sky about Arenstar to contain the waters, and the air, loosed from its cage, flew endless circles about the world, bringing with it snow and ice from all of the winters it had been denied, wrapping the world in the bitter chill of winter for a thousand years.

Truth in the Myth

Whilst there is little evidence of Aren left in the world today, there are several aspects of the story which seem to correspond with historical evidence and with other mythos. The thousand-year winter and the coming of the great wave would correspond with some aspects of the tale of Olbanor, which gives mention to the Tower being “choked in ice” below the fifth floor, where his grave still stands. Many historical accounts mention a long period in prehistory where the world was wreathed in ice. Some also attribute the Tower of Arenstar to Garrelon and his power over the earth, to form it as he saw fit - which is a possible explanation for that colossal and unfathomable construction. However, there is another creation myth, formed of a pair of stories passed to me by a travelling elven bard who claimed to be over two thousand years old, which seems to directly explain what the tower is. The story was intended for children, but I daresay that there is more to it than the old Bard even knew.

That story, however, will have to wait until next Folklore Friday!

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In a slight change to the usual stories, this week I have a story in verse for you! It’s not an intricate thing - I would love to be sufficiantly skilled in poetry to achieve something truly breathtaking - but it tells the story quite well.

My goal, when making this, was that I didn’t want the folklore of the world to all be told through the same lens - this is something from my world, not something from outside describing my world, and therefore I wanted it to feel like something from another land - no further explanation, no footnotes; just the verse, and what it makes you picture.

The Swamp King (Verse)

I’ll tell you a tale

of dwarvenly pride

And the balance of nature

Which can’t be denied

A dwarf there was once

Of noblest blood

Who laid claim to a land

Of perpetual flood

A castle he built

Ten stories high

In the swamplands he claimed

Or, at least, he tried

Each year he built up

The castle sank down

Every floor that he made

Put a floor in the ground.

Every coin that he had

Was a coin that he spent

Wouldn’t admit defeat

And he wouldn’t relent

A hundred years passed

and the castle still sank

And the dwarf king still built

And his coffers it drank

As poor as a beggar,

The dwarven king died

And the castle he built

Was just four stories high.

There was nothing for him

To his loved ones to bequeath

Except four floors of castle

With hundreds beneath

His children, they left

And the castle sank more

Abandoned, forgotten,

The folly of Dwarves

They say, to this day

That castle still shows

Just one floor above

and hundreds below

a testament standing

to stubborn insanity

and nature’s contempt

for wealth and for vanity.

-Poem of the Swamp King, author unknown.

This leaves the questions open to the players in my world - is the Swamp Castle out there? What might they find there? Is it worth digging into the library to try and find it?

These questions may be answered, one day - or they may never. Such is a myth!

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The Splinters of Immortality

In the lands of Arenstar, the immortality of the elves is carried in their Lights; fine, glimmering shards of the magic which, in times long past, once kept their entire race in eternal youth. This tale tells a story of how their magic shattered, and forced the elves to catch what magic was left within their crystals.

Long ago, the gods of the world created a cycle of life to inhabit the lands - the Elves. They spread slowly across the world, and they lived, grew old, and died as mortals. One of the gods, Nerull, was charged with the collection of their souls to be reborn into the world again. But Nerull, in a bid to gain power, kept some of the souls harvested, and grew powerful on their knowledge and secrets, becoming the first true god of Death.

Upon discovering Nerull’s deception, the other gods conspired to make the Elves truly immortal, and so deny Nerull his power. This enraged Nerull, and for some time he was effectively banished. However, Nerull set in motion a scheme which would change the world. Nerull infiltrated the Fortress of Creation, and there he worked ceaselessly for a year and a day. Nerull had been creating life - short lived and spiteful, he released the mortal creations onto the world. There they beheld the Elves, and their immortality, and grew full of hatred and jealousy. Not ten years after Nerull’s creation was loosed did a new Goddess appear in the pantheon - the Goddess of War.

Mortals slew Immortals, and Nerull grew powerful again, but War is always fleeting in the eyes of the gods, and soon Nerull was left with only the souls of the mortals to sustain him. The first scheme of Nerull failed, and the Immortal Elves soon repopulated, reclaiming the land and ruling over the mortals.

It was many thousands of years later that an elf named Tae’run, and a mortal named Selfane fell more deeply in love with one another than any being had ever fallen before. Tae’run grew fearful that Selfane’s life was waning before him, that he would face eternity without her, and he sought for a means to share with her his immortality. This quest lasted many years, and always he was met with failure. After searching all four corners of the world with no avail, he fell to his knees in anguish and uttered the phrase that was to doom his race: “Will no-one help me?”.

Suddenly, before him, he beheld a black ram; its coat glittering like dew in the dark, its eyes bright amber and filled with power.

“What is it that you seek?” asked the Ram.

“I seek to share my life with the woman I love. All of my life, not just the meagre portion in which she is with me. My life, not hers.” He declared, wary of the capricious tricks of the gods.

The Ram regarded him with its amber eyes, and then spoke again.

“I can offer you this. If you can strike me down, you can cut the horns from my head with a silver blade. If you do this, you will find in each of them a ring of bone. Any two who rear these rings will share all of their days - half of those that one had left, and half of those of the other. I offer you this, to see you share the life you have been given with the woman you are losing to time, if you can only catch me.” And that said, the Ram turned and bounded into the dark, a black bolt of lightning in the night.

It took the Elf a year and a day to catch the ram, running it to ground tirelessly, across the mountains and plains and peaks of the world, but catch it he did. Taking his silver knife, he cut the horns from its head, and inside he found two rings of black bone, as promised. The ram spoke again: “These rings are born of the same life, and any who wear them will be bound share a life. They are yours now.” and the Ram bowed, before disappearing into the darkness of the night.

The Elf returned home and presented to his lover one of the two rings. As soon as he placed his on his finger and she on hers, the world changed forever.

The Immortality of the Elves was a single force, a binding life which held all of Elfdom beneath its wing. In giving half of his eternal life to his mortal love, the rings shattered the Immortality which had held all of the Elves into a thousand-thousand crystalline shards. The elves found themselves mortal, the elders finding their life-force captured in shards of white crystals, the shattered splinters of immortality, crystals of the weave itself.

The Elves found then that whoever held these Splinters of Immortality would retain their gifts, would live forever. However, those who did not possess these shards were condemned to grow old and die, like the mortals of the world around them. The immortal reign of the elves was at an end.

Nerull laughed, casting aside the black Ram Skin which he had worn. His work was done - the souls of the immortal Elves would finally be his. Nerull’s second scheme had succeeded.

It is said that Tae’run and Selfane lived happily for over a hundred years more and died in each other’s arms at the end of their days, without one regret. It is also said that Nerull went on to take a mortal as his queen, but he did not understand love, and she betrayed him and took his place, becoming the Raven Queen. But that is another tale to tell.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this weeks twinned Worldbuilding Wednesday and Folklore Friday (if you missed Wednesday, it’s worth a look - it’s all about Elves!).

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This week’s Folklore Friday is a 2-parter, answering the question below:

The first part can be found here1:

Head to Part 1!

Today’s post covers the Green Hunt through to the Severing of Lolth, and will again be presented in images of the book I created and plain text below.

As I am unsure of how well this will work, please comment which one you prefer - I’d love to know!

Leave a comment

And now, the Plain Text:

The Green Hunt

The threat of Olbanor was seen by most dragons as a cause for extreme concern, seeing many of them retreating to remote corners of the world with a plan to outlast the scourge of the dragons in isolation and quiet self-imposed exile. Even Ralnor Citybearer, the dragon-turtle on which the wandering city of Ralnoris was built, shrugged off his empire to flee to the coast. Yet, for Thelo’Keireith the Green, Olbanor seemed to present not so much a threat as a challenge, or even an opportunity, for mischief. Thelo’Keireith was a master shapeshifter and fiendishly intelligent, and become something of a taunting spectre for Olbanor, appearing always in the distance to goad Olbanor and his warriors deeper into the forests of Gwalor, there to pick them off with the dangers of the forest itself - leading them to the lairs of dangerous creatures, to openings to the underdark; sending them pitching to their dooms with illusions which hid ravines, which closed as soon as a poor soul fell in; always goading them further. For three years, Olbanor pursued his quarry about the forest, forever three steps behind, and for seven years, Thelo’Keireith whittled down Olbanor’s army with trickery and deceit.

Thelo’Keireith was eventually run to ground when Olbanor purchased a great steed, swift and powerful as the wind - a white stallion from the plains to the south, where the horses can outrun the night. When next Thelo’Keireith was sighted, Olbanor had laid a trap for him, coaxing him to approach his camp by hosting a loud and uproarious party. When Thelo’Keireith emerged, Olbanor charged at him from his tent with a magical lance, and Thelo’Keireith fled into the forest. However, this time, Thelo’Keireith was slower than Olbanor, and as he beat at his heels, Thelo’Keireith transformed back into a dragon, to take to the skies and escape, and was pierced through the chest by Olbanor. It is said that the magic of Thelo’Keireith green blood seeped into the earth and birthed many monstrosities which still roam the forests to this day, including the Shambling Mound and the Vorthgulth; a colossal boar whose back is imbued with the forest itself, and which is claimed to be an embodiment of the rage Thelo’Keireith at being slain through his own trickery.

The Yielding of Shilauthrus

Of all the dragons known from the time of Olbanor, Shilauthrus the Red of the Citadel City of Drakarsbrut was perhaps the most unassailable. Buried deep in mount Kiln on the volcanic island, the lands above her lair were heavily fortified and defended by her slave army. When Olbanor arrived with his army by sea, he looked and beheld a verdant and green land, ringed with high cliffs topped with battlements, and defended by several thousand fanatical slaves. Too deeply entrenched in the tyranny of their draconic queen, the people of Drakarsbrut refused Olbanor’s aid, and he made ready to lay siege to the island.

With Olbanor surrounding the island, Shilauthrus triggered a volcanic eruption which buried the city and left of the island a steaming mountain of fresh stone, her entire kingdom scoured clean and her along with it to avoid facing Olbanor’s army. There is, however, an account of Olbanor and Shilauthrus speaking before this, which was recorded in verse, shown overleaf. The verse implies that Shilauthrus, who had come aboard Olbanor’s ship under the guise of an Elf, laid a curse upon Olbanor, which was linked to the treasure of the dragons which he had accumulated to fund his campaign. It is possible that this curse led to the actions of Olbanor in the final act of his campaign - the slaying of Gryrrad, and the end of the age of the Dragons.

Gryrrad - the End of an Age

The final, and most vexing, battle of Olbanor was that of Gryrrad, the Golden King of Lei’Thengran. The last of the Greatwyrms, Gryrrad was immensely powerful, and commanded an entire monastic army, which was itself deep in the North-West Wilds, behind dangerous terrain. Olbanor led his army up the ancient road that led to Lei’Thengran, and the city of Gryrranor, and there, he was invited to dine with Gryrrad. Fearing a trick, Olbanor refused, and received word that Gryrrad would instead join him for dinner. Gryrrad arrived at Olbanor’s camp and transforming into a humanoid form to better talk to Olbanor, he surrendered. Gryrrad declared that he would simply allow Olbanor to slay him and allow him to have peace. Olbanor, overcome with the urge to complete his quest, slew Gryrrad with his sword, and so ended the age of the Dragons.

Olbanor was not content with his victory. First, he ordered a great pyre of corrosive wood to burn Gryrrad’s corpse, and then he led his army into Gryrranor and, overpowering the monks who dwelt there, gained access to Gryrrad’s vault. In all accounts, this hoard of precious gold and jewels was unfathomably grand, and Olbanor, for the first time in his campaign, refused to gift any of the horde to the liberated slaves of the dragon, and instead ordered that the entire horde be divided amongst his army. With every man and woman weighed down with gold, leaving armour and weapons in their wake to lighten the load, he ordered them to march immediately from Lei’Thengran, leaving the monks with nothing but the ashes of their former king, an empty vault, and the refuse of war.

The age of the Dragons thus came to an end, and the new age - After Fall - began. This was 210 years after Olbanor’s first arrival in Arenstar. This was not, however, to be Olbanor’s final quest.

The Severing of Lolth

Olbanor had overthrown the tyrannical rule of dragons, and in so doing had freed the people of Arenstar to live without the oppressive overlords. However, Olbanor soon vowed to take on a new quest - for in the dark days, the Drow lived under the direct control and manipulation of Lolth, the goddess of the Spiders. She had claim over the souls of the Drow, and corrupted them all from birth into evil beings, driving them to do dark deeds.

Olbanor’s final quest was to free the last of the enslaved people of Arenstar - the Drow - from the influences and corruptions of Lolth. Olbanor saw past the Drow and realised that their whole being was under her thumb and set out to liberate them. He quested deep into the Demonweb pits of the Abyss - a place so far detached from the world we know that many would argue against its existence - and there, with just a handful of his closest, confronted Lolth, but was repulsed and retreated.

Employing tactics laden with martyrdom and subterfuge, Olbanor’s closest warriors made the ultimate sacrifice. They led a second assault on the Iron Fortress, wherein dwelt Lolth, and drew her attention from Olbanor, who used his enchanted sword to sever the webs which linked Lolth to the world, casting her adrift in the Abyss, where she could hold no further dominion over the Drow, overthrowing the curse that had been part of their being for time immemorial, but condemning his closest friends and allies to their dooms.

There is some speculation that, if the accounts of this are true, then Olbanor must have left a single line back to the world on which to escape. It is true that Olbanor returned to Arenstar after this, and the name of Lolth, whilst holding little sway over the Drow any longer, is still one which holds some power in the world at large.

Final Years

Olbanor returned from his final quest and settled to live in The Tower. The accounts state that he “took residence in the lowest of the halls of the great Tower that pierced the realm, for all below remained choked in ice.”. There, it is said that he lived the last of his days in quiet peace and tranquillity, and that when his time came, he was buried in the Dream Garden of the Elves. There, his grave can still be visited by the Elves who are given access to the hidden 5th floor of The Tower, and above it grows the largest, most well-tended and beloved Dream Tree that I have ever encountered.

Thankyou all for reading, and I wish you all an excellent mid-morning2 and hope that you enjoyed this 2-part folklore-worldbuilding-Q&A Post!

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This week’s Folklore Friday is a combination of Folklore Friday and Worldbuilding Wednesday, as I am answering one of the questions I got from , which fit beautifully for both!

Avid readers will possibly have heard of Olbanor the Traveller several times from my posts, regarding his destruction of the dragons. This myth is definitely the most well known in Arenstar, not least because it started the calendar - when the last dragon fell, they started the year 0 AF (After Fall). In the current timeline of the game, this was 3,420 years ago.

Here’s the excerpt from the folklore book I wrote for my party. For the full impact of it, I will use images of the pages, so that you can enjoy the formatting and design of it, which I made using the Homebrewery, which is really awesome for making D&D content!

Due to the length constraints of Substack, this will have to be split into 2 parts. Today, I will cover the start through to the Battle of Lei’Thengran, and tomorrow I will conclude it with the Green Hunt through to the Severing of Lolth.

As I am unsure of how well this will work, plain-text is below the images if needed. Please comment which one you prefer - I’d love to know!

Leave a comment

We’ll have one further ado, and then we’ll begin.

Ado2.

Olbanor the Traveller (Plain Text)

Olbanor the Traveller is revered as one of the most well-known and impactful of heroic figures in the history of Arenstar. An elf from a distant land, Olbanor arrived in Arenstar from beyond the Western wilds, crossing the mountains during a time where the winters were long and the summers brief, over three thousand years ago. His arrival heralded the end of an age - the age of the Dragons. Indeed, his achievements were so profound that they are still used to this day to denote the years of the age - PF for Pre-Fall, and AF for After Fall, with the slaying of Gryrrad the Golden Dragon heralded as the year 0AF - the dawn of a new age. Our best estimates have Olbanor arrive in Arenstar around the year 210PF, with his quest to slay the dragons stretching for over 200 years before its successful conclusion. The death of Gryrrad coincided with the end of the Great Freeze, a stretch of hundreds of years in which the climate of Arenstar was significantly colder. The story of that mysterious time is also in this book.

Ancestry and Origins

Along with Olbanor came tales and stories of his ancestry, which have remained alive in elven folklore and song-stories. One ancestor of note was Olbanor’s grandfather, Theoval the Warlord. Theoval was an elven warlord of prodigious skill, and was said to have fathered no less than a hundred children in his 2,212-year life. He deigned to never pass on his light willingly, and brought up each of his children to fight, training them from as soon as they could walk. Each was offered but a single chance, to challenge him to a duel to the death - giving them one, and only one chance to achieve immortality by besting him in combat. He was eventually slain by his daughter Aeanna, who was only 28 years old, and who went on to rule one of the most peaceful ages of her family as Matriarch, willingly passing her light onto her son, Olbanor, at the age of just 386. It is not clear how long ago this was before Olbanor carried these stories across the Wilds.

Crossing the Wild Mountains

Olbanor led a small band of great warriors from a distant land across the Western Wilds to Arenstar. His motives for doing so lay in the theft of a treasure, which had been stolen from him by a Dragon who had flown across the Wilds in search of wealth, and who had stolen back across the incredibly hostile lands to Arenstar, with Olbanor’s greatest treasure in hand. Olbanor swore an oath of vengeance upon the creature, and began a quest which would consume the rest of his long life.

Olbanor left his mysterious homeland with a band of warriors and led them across the Wilds - a feat which, even with the advent of Skyships and the recession of the Freeze, has not been matched in either direction since. The journey is said to have taken Olbanor over 2 years to complete, and Olbanor’s arrival in Arenstar is famously documented in one of the Prose of Hylar, the bard who accompanied Olbanor:

The Cradle of the Moon is considered to be the most likely peak to have been the one described in the final ascent of Olbanor. The peak itself, regrettably, was lost forever in a volcanic eruption in 2683AF, which left the peaks with the characteristic bowl shape seen below.

There has been no substantiated recorded crossing of the Western Wilds since that of Olbanor. Many bands of adventurers, frontiersmen, and navigators have attempted the feat, but those which have returned have spoken of a land bent on the destruction of any who trespass there.

The Slaying of the Greatwyrms

The greatest achievement of Olbanor was the slaying of the Greatwyrms of the dragons - colossal beasts of such age and power that they had held those who dwelt in Arenstar in their iron grip, acting as tyrannical rulers over swathes of peoples. Olbanor’s campaign against the Greatwyrms began soon after his arrival in Arenstar. Following such trails and stories as they could find, Olbanor and his band of warriors soon tracked down the Dragon who had stolen his treasure, only to find that the dragon, which lay dying in its lair, had been attacked and bested by another dragon, and its horde, including Olbanor’s treasure, had been claimed. At this, Olbanor swore an oath to challenge and overthrow every dragon in Arenstar, to claim their hordes and return their wealth to the land.

Olbanor’s quest began with several adult dragons, including Bei’kethrun the Green, as well as Thr’yring’ard, Helios’rah, Gorrwelryn, and Heiloramnus, the black Wyrms of the Marshes, and also Ster’th’shaln the Gold, and Por’ley’fallor the Sapphire. This first leg of his campaign took place on the south-western borders of the Wilds, and over the course of six years of hard battle, cemented Olbanor’s reputation as a dragonslayer. It wasn’t until his successful infiltration of the fortress on the Moors of Helios, wherein dwelt Niderhogg Fellwing the Black, Greatwyrm of the Moors, that Olbanor’s actions began to cause a stir among dragons. For a band of warriors such as Olbanor’s to successfully bring down several adult dragons was impressive but had been done before. Olbanor’s infiltration of the Fortress of Helios and his victorious battle with a Greatwyrm, alone in the beast’s own lair, was unprecedented. From this date onwards, many dragons began to watch Olbanor’s deeds and prepare their escape should ever he turn his blade towards them.

Bolstered by his successful eradication of dragons across the swamplands of the Southwest, Olbanor continues to fulfil his oath, and brought ruin to the dragons and dragonkin across the Southern swathe of Arenstar. Olbanor’s campaign swept across the land from West to East, and over the first hundred years thereof, eradicated well over a hundred dragons from the regions south of The Tower, effectively removing any powerful draconic presence from the lower portion of the map. The wealth of the dragons’ hordes was used by Olbanor to fund his campaign, and to amass an army to allow him to lay siege to the more fortified and inhospitable North, as well as to provide the people of the lands he was liberating with the wealth of their tyrannical rulers.

The Battle of Lei’Thengran

In the North-West of the world, it is said that Olbanor faced one of his greatest challenges - an alliance between five powerful metallic Greatwyrms who held rule over a mighty monastic city named Lei’Thengran. It was against this alliance that Olbanor pitched his army, and on a great plain they fought against the might of the dragons. Within the battle, Olbanor brought low each of the beasts, and even when the draconic threat summoned forth an effigy of the dread-god Tiamat herself, Olbanor was seen standing atop a mound of corpses from his army, calling the beast out in single combat. Olbanor triumphed over the dragons, but his army was laid to waste about him. The battle of Lei’Thengran set back Olbanor’s campaign by several years, and it was only when he had defeated the Greatwyrms across the Eastern edge of the world that he held enough power and resource to attempt the final push of his campaign, and finally fulfil his oath of vengeance against the dragons with the slaying of Gryrrad the Golden, last King of Lei’Thengran.

Thankyou all for reading, and I wish you all a non-time-specific farewell3, and hope that you enjoy this folklore-worldbuilding-Q&A Post!

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Once there was a giant owl who had the most beautiful wings. It flew high over the mountains and the forests and hunted the cattle that grazed on the green pastures below it each night. So it was for many years, but then the people started to spread, and they started to breed the cattle to become larger and larger, and the owl found that it was not strong enough anymore to hunt the cattle. The owl grew hungry, and so flew away to a lake to try and catch a fish to eat instead. The owl hunted all day and all night, but at dawn, it had not seen a single fish. As the owl made ready to leave, it heard a voice saying, “I envy you”. It turned and saw an enormous crocodile lying on the bank, watching it make ready to fly off. It was the crocodile who spoke, and now it spoke again; “You came for food, and found none, so now you will just fly away to somewhere new. I have ruled this lake for over a hundred years, but now I am hungry, for the people have come and taken the fish, and I cannot fly away as easily as you can.”. The Owl looked over the crocodile, and replied “I envy you, for if I were half as strong as you, I would never be hungry again. My problem is not the lack of food, but a lack of strength to catch it.”.

The Crocodile considered this for a moment, and then spoke again; “Tell me, Owl, would you swap strength with me? For I cannot leave this lake as I am, for the banks are too steep, and will surely starve. I offer you my strength in exchange for yours.”

The Owl only thought about this for a moment, for it could see instantly that this deal was entirely in its favour - the Owl would be strong enough to feast on cattle once again, and the crocodile would be light enough to climb free of the lake. “I accept your offer”, said the Owl.

The Crocodile led the owl to a strange tree which grew from the banks of the lake. “Perch in the branches above me, and we shall both sleep in the shelter of this tree. By next dawn, our deal will be fulfilled”, it said. The Owl did as it was bid, and tucked its head beneath its wing as the crocodile curled its huge bulk around the trunk, and they both fell into a deep sleep.

On the next dawn, the Crocodile awoke feeling strange - where it had felt ponderous and heavy before, it now felt light and quick, and as it stretched out, it saw that it had grown wings - for the true strength of the Owl was not in its talons, but in its ability to fly. The Crocodile flapped its great wings, and its legs left the ground behind as it swooped into the sky, crying out its thanks to the Owl, becoming the first of the dragons.

The Owl awoke later and found itself feeling heavy and ponderous where before it had been quick and light. It saw that its beautiful wings were no more, replaced with great strong arms. The whole beast radiated strength, but the Owl cried, for it had not wanted to give up its wings for this. Slowly, anguish turned to anger, and the Owl raged, tearing up trees with its strength and hurling great rocks into the water. It first raged at the crocodile for tricking it into this, then it raged at itself for allowing itself to be tricked, and then, finally, it raged at the people who had driven it to this - without the people, the Owl would not have come here, the Crocodile would not have been starving. An anger burned in the heart of the owl for all the People of the world, for it was their fault that it had lost its wings.

This Owl was the first of the Owlbears, and so if you should ever see one, know that it is consumed by a hatred for you and all the people it might meet, and be sure to turn and run the other way before it releases its fury upon you.

Just a short one this week, which I wrote a while ago in a fit of inspiration for the folkloric origin of the Owlbear and the Dragon. I hope that you enjoyed it!

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Thank you all, please feel free to comment (I love to hear from you!) and until next time!

The character was a large man, who believed that story telling was all about the ability for a story to stick with a person, and as such he abhorred writing things down. Ironically, his story is one of the first which I wrote in a storytelling way - rather than keeping it to bulletised lists for the ease of the Dungeon Master (they run the game, don’t be weird), I wrote it as a story. It’s a little unrefined and clunky, and I would love to hear what the fiction side of Substack has to say on the matter. You can be brutal - I’m resistant to psychic damage.

Malth Borla was a Barbarian character (for those unversed in D&D, this meant he was a brute who hit things. You know, like a barbarian). He was a storyteller who loved to hear and tell tales, and who was slow to anger and slower to calm down. His name is a dwarvish translation of “Old Bear”. I realised, about 2 weeks ago, that this means he is a D&D-ified version of one of my favourite childhood TV shows. Those of us who were biting ankles in the late 80’s and early 90’s might know it:

“Please tell us a story, Old Bear…”

The Tale of Malth Borla

Once there was a dwarven village, which stood beside an ancient forest. The dwarves of the village would work the fields and travel back and forth to their mines, but never would they venture into the forest, for it was said that the forest was home to a fearsome and dreadful creature, Vurth Brinskla, the forest Monster. Seldom did those whose wandering led them to those trees ever return, and some within the village claimed to have seen a great beast on the outskirts of the forest at night, gauging which of the villagers would make his next meal.

In this village, a girl was born named Glimda. It was said that her voice was so pure and fine that even her cries as a child were soothing to those that heard them. As she grew, so too did the strength of her voice, and soon it filled the village every day with a beautiful song. Soon she became the priestess of the night & the day, an honourable role in the village, and one suited to her beautiful voice.

One night, as Glimda was singing her farewell to the sun and her greetings to the moon as she did each evening, she noticed something moving beneath the trees. She realised with a shock that the great shadow she was seeing was Vurth Brinskla, and by the glint of his eyes, she knew that he was watching her. As her singing abruptly halted, she watched the shadow of the beast move slowly away back into the forest.

The next night, Glimda sang away the day earlier than she normally did, and she kept one eye on the forest. As the dusk fell and the shadows deepened, once again she saw the beast creep to the outskirts of the forest and watch her, a darker shadow in the darkening woods. Again, she stopped her song, and the beast faded back into the forest.

On the third night, Glimda sang her song once more, and once again she saw the beast’s shadow within the trees, the glint of its eye as it watched her. Again, she stopped singing, and for the first time, she heard the beast respond – not with a roar, as she might have expected, but with a deep sigh, filled with mournful sadness, as the beast once again turned to move back into the forest.

Glimda felt that sigh through her very soul, the ripple of melancholy that it had conveyed shook her and squeezed a tear from her eye. She stared in silence as the beast started to fade back beneath the trees, leaving the village as it had done these past three nights. But before it could leave, Glimda had started to sing again. Her beautiful tones rang out into the falling dusk, and the beast stopped once again, shifted around to stare back at her.

Glimda sang for the whole night, singing songs of joy and sadness, of light and darkness, and as she sang the beast remained unmoved as she drew steadily closer to the trees. She was singing of loss and loneliness when the sun started to peek once more over the horizon, and she looked up from where she stood to see the beast towering over her; a great bear, its coat iron grey with age, its paws each the size of a cartwheel, but its face locked in an expression of the utterly lost. As she finished her song, the bear shed a single great tear, and as it splashed upon her cheek, Glimda was struck by the bears loneliness, and knew that he was the last bear of these woods. With the end of her song, the bear locked eyes with her. She saw in those eyes a great sadness, but something else behind it – a warmth of some sort which seemed to hold the sadness at bay. They stared at one another for some time, the giant bear and the dwarven woman, then the bear turned and walked back into the forest, leaving Glimda alone and moved on the edge of the wood.

Each night after that, Glimda would sing to the dusk, and Vurth Brinskla would come to the edge of the forest to listen. Each night, Vurth would come closer, and each night more of the dwarves would come to see him sit in the field between the village and the woods to listen to her song. Eventually, Vurth would leave the woods during the day when she sang, and the children of the town would leave him fruit, so that they could watch him eat. Over time, the village renamed him: Malth Borla – the Old Bear.

The village prospered for some years, with the forest open to them and the Old Bear tamed, sitting placidly in the fields as Glimda sang, a remarkable playmate for the children of the village, his heart softened entirely. But, as with so many things, peace was not to last. A horde of Orcs from the highlands descended upon the village, sparking a swift and desperate battle with the dwarves of the village. Glimda sang her songs of war and hope, to inspire the dwarves to fight harder, but with more and more Orcs appearing, it seemed hopeless.

In the forest, Malth Borla awoke to the sound of a new song. The words, with no meaning to him, seemed to incite a passion in his heart, and he found himself moving swiftly through the forest as he had not done for years. As he approached the edge of his home, he heard the percussive ring of steel and the clashing of weapons, the war-cries of orcs and the bellows of dwarves, and above it all, this stirring song which lit in him a fire that he had thought quenched.

Malth Borla burst from the forest as a thundering avatar of wrath, a colossal avalanche of fury and fur which fell upon the Orcs like a scythe through wheat. The song of the priestess filled the emptiness that loneliness had left in his heart, and untold numbers of Orcs fell to his mighty claws and crushing teeth.

They say that the day could well have been saved by Malth Borla, that he might have single handedly slain the invading Orc army, were it not for one stray arrow, one gust of wind, and a hundred other moments which had to come together to send that arrow straight through Glimda’s heart. As her song stopped, the Old Bear turned to see her fall, and his heart, which had been so full of fire, broke entirely – for what Glimda had not known was that Malth Borla had fallen in love with her. Malth fought his way through Orcs and Dwarves alike to get to her and died spitted on four orcish spears with Glimda wrapped in his arms.

This tale may end sadly, but there are many lessons to be learnt from this. That a beast can be tamed through understanding. That no matter how tame, a beast is a dangerous thing.

This is not the end of the story for Malth Borla. In the aftermath of the battle, the messengers of Odin, the Norse god, were collecting the souls of the brave dead to dine with him in his hall, when they found Malth Borla, dead from so many wounds and having slain so many Orcs. The Valkyries took his soul, along with those of the warriors who fell to defend their village and brought him before the god himself. Odin told Malth Borla that, had he not been a beast, that his actions would have earnt him a place of honour in his halls. He told the Old Bear that he would be given one more chance, to prove that he was deserving as a man, not a beast. The god sent the bears soul back, to be reborn as a man, and to prove that he deserved this second chance. Odin said that he would be watching, and that he had not only to be a great warrior, but a great man also.

So ends the folklore of Malth Borla!

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