///Warning long tale follows.
As the sun sets over the Wyvern bridge a fair skinned copper elf and human friend rest her feet around the campfire just south of the bridge. They seem amiable to those about the camp fire, introducing themselves as Sylvia and Davion. Sylvia invites travelers off the road to take a moment to listen to her tales. As the dark of night sets in she wraps her cloak over her shoulders for warmth, the crackling fire glows the faces of its audience. The copper elf speaks up, her tone darker than earlier.
“Although I believe life should be filled with joy, we should be reminded of the darker sides of life. So we might truly appreciate what we have and where we are now. I share with you tonight a tale gifted to me by a hardy man, he said it an old wives’ tale to scare troublesome siblings of his tribe into getting along with each other. There may be some truth to the tale though, as we will find out.”
She pauses for a moment. Looking between the faces of her audience she takes a moment to compose her thoughts. She leans forward in her seat as she beings her recitation.
“The man who told this tale to me was no ordinary man. His skin thick and weathered, scars littered his arms, each with its own tale of battle to tell. He was a hard man. You would have to be to live in the lands he calls home. The bitter, desolate lands of the far north. These indurated men and woman form tribes to survive its harsh winters together. This tale takes place upon a place called Raven Rock, where two brother tribes called home. The Greywolf and the Blackwolf tribe.
It is said that the two tribes were once one, supporting off of each other’s strength. But a bitter rivalry between their chieftains caused the tribes to splinter. The two tribes became distant. No longer would they share fires with tales of battles and competitions of strength.”
The copper elf pauses for a moment to brush her rich brown hair to a side to reveal the forlorn expression upon her face, perhaps a foreshadowing as what is to come. She takes a glance over to Davion before continuing her tale.
“A myriad of winters came, and passed. Without their brothers assistance the Blackwolf tribe struggled to survive. Their chieftain Bjern walked through his camp with a depressed face as he looked upon starving children, their bones showing as their mothers tried to comfort them. Hunting wolves fought over the dried bones of a kill almost a tenday old. Another night without meat, Bjern loathed the thought. The harsh call of winter was approaching and they had not even begun to stockpile food to survive through it. Something had to change.
The winds however blew more kindly to their brother tribe, the Greywolf. Their wolves caught more deer, their wives birthed more children. Their warriors became renowned for their strength. Despite having all they would wish for in these harsh lands, they longed for more. ‘Why should I bother wasting my time hunting for food when I could simply take what I want from the other tribes of these lands.’ It was not till when a young man, slaying the previous chieftain to claim it for himself, named appropriately Svaglar ‘The Brutal’ did the tribe act upon this thought.”
Over the crackling of the fire a low droning hooting of an owl fills the atmosphere. Some may have noticed that the copper elf’s ears have moved, tilted downwards, their tips pointed horizontally. She continues on with the story, her voice gloomy but it holds clamors of emotion.
“Svaglar and his warriors marched down from Raven Rock and confronted the other tribes of the land. The tribes were helpless to stop Svaglar from taking what he wanted. Those who did show resistance to the chief and his warriors were shown why he holds the title ‘The Brutal’. They would return to camp dragging behind sacks of supplies, sometimes young children who showed promise in becoming mighty warriors. The Greywolves grew fat and complacent. No tribe dared stand up to their might. They did however hold a shred of compassion. They left their brother tribe, the Blackwolves unmolested.
Bjern knew of his brother tribe’s prosperity. Though he did not quite agree with the means to it, his tribe was in need. Along with a few of his warriors he made pace to the Greywolves camp. Around his camp Svaglar welcomed his brothers. ‘What brings you to my camp Bjern?’” She speaks in a deep burly voice trying to imitate the Greywolves chieftain’s voice. Many would be surprised that such a voice could come from a creature considered so cute, but since her story begun that cuteness has been masked by her expression upon her face. “Irritated, not knowing the means to the visit. ‘To simply share battle tales like the days of old, my brother Svaglar.’” She imitates a lighter voice, Bjern’s. ”Tales of battle were told, Svaglar haughtily boasting skulls of the beasts he has faced. Bjern’s more humble, the mood was amiable.
‘You have grown fat my brother.’ Bjern bluntly stated taking a glance down at Svaglar’s plump belly. The massive man rose quickly, towering over Bjern and his men an aggravated look upon his face. ‘Do you wish to challenge my leadership Bern?’ Saglars voice bellowed over the camp. ‘Your leathers do not hide your scrawniness Bjern, my own son-’ He motioned to a healthy young boy looking to be the age of elven. ‘Could wrestle you with an arm tied behind his back’ Trying to ease the tension Bjern spoke calmly. ‘It is not the reason I have come my brother, to ask for your help is-.’ Cut off from finishing his plea Svaglar bellowed out over Bjern. ‘The Greywolf did not grow strong by asking for help. Leave Bjern, before I show to you why I hold the title The Brutal.’
Bjern and his warriors were shooed out of the Greywolf camp empty handed. The sight of an overflowing tent full of food churned Bjern’s stomach, he and his men could not return to their camp without some of its spoils. They waited just out of sight of the Greywolf camp as night dawned. To their dismay the night was lit bright by a full moon, it illuminated the Greywolf camp. Bjern and his shabby warriors waited anxiously as the fires of the camp died down to embers. They could see no one standing watch, it was then they snuck forward.
The complacent Greywolves did not bother to set watches at night. Moonlight glistened off of Bjern and his men’s battle axes as they crept forward. Their eyes set upon the overflowing tent, the food that will feed their children and let them survive the imminent winter. To their luck their footsteps were silent, the Greywolf camp slept soundly as Bjern and his men strapped their axes to their backs and took in their arms as much of the food as possible. A sigh of relief washed over Bjern as he and his men made their way over to their side of Raven Rock.
This feeling did not last long as a roaring of life echoed in the night behind them. A restless young Greywolf had snuck into the food tent for a midnight snack, his cries of finding the tent empty awoke the whole camp. It was not long till Svaglar, his blood burning in a rage set on hot pursuit of Bern. Bern and his men were not as fit as Svaglar’s, slowed down by their heavy sacks it was only a matter of time before they were to meet.
And meet they did, only a hundred yards out from his camp Bern hear a voice calling out behind him. ‘Bern you coward, come and face me as a man.’ All sense of hope faded from Bern, he dropped the sack and held his battle axe tiredly in both hands as he watched Svaglar and his men approach. ‘Bah! That’s the way my brother, drop the supplies, bend your knee and I might consider sparing your life.’ Bern stood unfailing as Svaglar approached. Svaglar’s eyes bloodshot red, the moonlight flickered as he adjust his grip upon it.”
Syvlia pauses for a moment, her face turns white. She glances down at her lap for a few seconds before looking up, eyes gazing at the chaos of the fire before her. She begins to sing in a solemn tone.
And who are you, the proud chief said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a wolf of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.
In a coat of grey or a coat of black,
a wolf still has teeth,
And mine are long and sharp, my chief,
as long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that chief of Raven Rock,
But now the rains weep o'er his camp,
with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his camp,
and not a soul to hear.
/// Hashed from "Rains of Castamere" From the "A song of Ice and Fire" series
She lets the distant hooting of an owl linger as she pulls her cloak in close about her arms.
“That night Raven Rock ran red with blood. Svaglar did not spare a soul of his brother tribe for their insolence. Without remorse Svaglar and his men made their way over the rock carrying gore soaked sacks of food. It is said that night the tribespeople of the rock were not the only ones witnesses to the onslaught.
Some say Malar was entertained by the bloodlust of Svaglar and his tribe. He gifted them his boom, the ability to turn into the most horrendous mindless creatures every full moon, so they might entertain him once again.
Others say Selune wept watching brother slaughter brother under her grace, so she cursed the tribe. From that night whenever the tribe laid their eyes upon the full grace of Selune that they be reminded of the mindless creatures devoid of empathy that they are. It is said she also lifts the curse from any tribespeople who is born with compassion that recognize the tribe’s brutality and leave it.”
At this she lets out an exasperated sigh.
“It was then the hardy man who shared the tale with me lifted his shirt. His chest and back were strewn with claw marks. He told me ever full moon their tribe hid their children and kept a wary eye out for the beasts that roam the night. The scars were of battles past with the beasts defending his tribe. The tale of how the Greywolves became were-creatures may or may not be true, but there is no denying their existence.”
Sylvia exhausted from the tale scoots to her side, leaning into Davion’s side who wraps his arms about her. They chat idly with each other and the others about the fire about the tale, but try to steer the conversation to a lighter subject before they retire to their tent.