Clan Orvar [Gorundyr Culture]

[MajesticOwyn 334]

Clan Orvar

“Fly High, Fly Far”

 

Music

 

 

((Clan Orvar is based on a pagan human culture I created, inspired by Celtic and Norse Mythology. If you are curious about the gods, other mentions, or just want to learn more about their lore, please consult the Gorundyr lore post in my signature.))

 

Early History

 

Clan Orvar traces its roots back to its earliest peoples through a sacred tapestry from which the origin of the clan is told. It depicts a beautiful woman sitting atop a massive tree which appears to connect the stars to the floating island it sits upon. Lagara, as the Gorundyr call the woman, sits intently as she watches a great eagle descend from his perch on one of the thick branches. The eagle swoops down to the earth with what appear to be children clinging to its wings. It is these children who are regarded as the first Gorundyr people. As the children dismount, the eagle announces that he is Argal, Master of the Sky. It is with this declaration that he spreads his massive wings and takes flight once again, resuming his unending watch over the tree and the evil that lays imprisoned beneath.

 

As the children grow, so does a spark within them; a great desire to explore and discover the mysteries of the land that had been given to them. Some figures are shown to visit a sacred forest where they meet Andarta and her forest spirits. Others are shown climbing the highest mountains, calling to Argal from their peaks. All of the gods are visited and a bond is forged between the Gorundyr and the powerful beings that created them. The desire for adventure has always been apart of Clan Orvar and the other Gorundyr, leading to the creation of their motto “Fly High, Fly Far”. This thirst for adventure calls to all who have Orvar blood within their veins.

 

The Legend of Barid Orvar

 

 

Early Orvar history remains largely unknown as there are no written records of their history, only tales passed down by from past generations. One such tale is of the first chieftain and the creation of Clan Orvar.  Barid Orvar, also known as Barid the Reaver, was born into the clan at its worst. Destitute and crumbling under its own weight, Orvar had very little power and wealth. From a young age, Barid always had a fire in his eye and a taste for glory. A tactical genius and brilliant fighter, he set out to bring glory to his clan and gain the respect that they deserved. One by one the other clans fell to his might, either destroyed or assimilated into Clan Orvar. It was his extreme ferocity in battle that earned him the title Barid the Reaver, a name that would bring even the strongest clans trembling to their knees. Legend says that it only took him two years to unite all of the Gorundyr under his rule. Shortly after the war, the remaining clan chieftains gathered at a moot to discuss Barid. It was no doubt that this man was blessed by the gods and demanded respect.

 

The other Chieftains bent their knee and swore loyalty to Barid, naming him the Yagar, or High Chieftain of the clans. With this power, he ushered in a new era of stability and growth for the Gorundyr. Legends say that he travelled to far off lands and brought back relics of other civilizations. On one of his journeys he met a group of outsiders that taught him many things about the gods. Barid brought these gifts back to his Clan, and the first written histories were created.

 

Treachery struck at Barid as he returned home, however, as his sons laid a trap for their father. Barid entered his long house only to find a grisly scene before him. His wife lay, headless, at the base of the dais upon which his throne sat. Shock held onto Barid as his three youngest children entered the hall behind him, butchering him like a pig.

 

A Mighty Clan Falls

 

 

After the death of their father, Barid's youngest sons began to split the clans amongst themselves. Greed and envy had blinded them after many years of insane jealousy for their fathers accomplishments. Mabon and Ragoros, Barid's oldest sons, condemned their brothers for their actions. They were declared Kin slayers and ordered to be executed immediately. Both sides raised arms against one another, Taranis enforced loyalty towards him with greed, while those with strong and pure hearts flocked to Mabon's side.

 

Civil war was sparked amongst the Gorundyr people so short after being united for the first time. Many claimed it the work of Maratsu, that he was pulling away from his prison. Mabon did not know the truth, only that his three brothers had committed a terrible crime that could only be paid for in death. Long the war waged but in the end, Taranis and his ilk proved unable to defeat the true Gorundyr people. What followed was the first great purge in known history.

 

Mabon condemned his three younger brothers and many of those who chose to follow them to a cleansing by fire. A large pit was dug and filled with coals and fuel. The damned were knelt around the circles edge and made to endure the intense heat while one by one they were pushed into the pit. Named "Gorund's Maw" by those who watched, one by one each man fell and allowed to suffer. The rest could only watch in horror as the screams filled the night air. The Gorundyr believe such a death would destroy the soul of the victim, and so these men were denied a place on the Blessed Isle for their crimes.

 

Fleeing Anthos

 

 

The Scourge, they were called, though the Gorundyr did not know it at the time. The Priesthood declared them the minions of Maratsu and that the raven god would soon break free of his prison to bring about the end-times. The harsh frozen land of the Savaar, a place called home for as long as they could remember, now a living nightmare. The dead rose from their graves in the snow, the demons descended down upon their towns, and the plague rotted at the bodies of the people. Fierce warriors they may have been, the Gorundyr were not prepared for the relentless onslaught that the scourge had brought to their doorstep.

 

Abandoned by the gods, the people of Clan Orvar gathered what survivors remained and, with heavy hearts, left their lands and headed south. What they found surprised them. There were others like them, humans and others, fleeing from the same threat. Their isolation had kept them ignorant of the world around them. Finally, they came upon a large host that had gathered outside a magnificent temple. The Scourge descended upon the host and a mighty battle was fought. Whether these strange folk were friend or foe, the Gorundyr could not be sure. The strongest warriors formed one warband and joined the great host, all of them ready to die so that their people could survive.

 

The Battle raged on, only to be interrupted by a large tidal wave engulfing the land in the distance. Many began to flee at the sight of the wave, pushing into the temples depths. The horrors of Anthos were behind them, just as quick as they had come, and Clan Orvar found themselves in a new land. They saw that the gods had been angry with them, and that the strongest among them had been spared to bring about a new era for their people. Morvan, then Chieftain of Clan Orvar, vowed that the Gorundyr would be a strong and united people once again.

 

Clan Traditions

 

The Blessed Isle

 

 

The Blessed Isle is a mythical land that is believed to exist on the where the mortal and divine realms meet. A unique belief to Clan Orvar, the isle is considered to be the first step in the afterlife for the dead. It is said that Lagara and her legendary Heart Tree sit in the center of the island, connecting the cosmo’s to the earth like a great anchor. Ankou and Argal make their nests in the mighty branches of the Heart Tree so that they may keep guard over the land below. It is here where the worthy warriors of the Gorundyr join the ranks of their ancestors to help guard over the tomb. All those whom are found worthy, warrior or not, are brought to the island and granted a place among the gods for all eternity.

 

The Gorundyr believe that ones soul is gathered by Ankou upon death and taken to the Blessed Isle. Only those who have shown their worth to the gods succeed in reaching the isle and gaining immortality. To house the dead, the Gorundyr build large burial mounds of stone that often go deep underground, or are covered in turf and made to look as if part of the land. In these mounds the bodies of the dead are housed with their belongings and other goods that they wish to take with them to the afterlife. All bodies are buried or sent out to sea whole, if possible, for the Gorundyr do not practice cremation. They fear the flames and believe that if one is burnt alive or too soon after death, their soul will be destroyed.

 

Coming of Age

 

 

For Clan Orvar, and the Gorundyr as a whole, the coming of age is one of the most important events in life. It is an acknowledgement by both their people and the gods that you are ready to take life head on. When a youth is ready to become an adult, he or she is given a great task to accomplish. A pilgrimage of sorts, they must travel and visit three great rune stones with offerings and gifts for the deities that dwell around them.

 

First, they must travel deep into the forests and seek out the blessing of the forest spirits and their queen, Andarta. Said to be one of the cruellest gods, Andarta is very untrusting and has isolated herself away from the others of her kind. If those on their journey are to survive the perils of her domain, they will have to prove worthy of her trust.

 

Second, one must climb to Argal’s great shrine in the mountains. The journey is often one of several days and covers rough terrain. Once there, offerings are made to the sky god; baubles, ornaments and other hand crafted items. It is also common to leave a fish or other type of food behind as thanks for Argal’s protection.

 

Third, and last, the youth must return to their village and visit the great ritual house where the clans history is held. Here they pledge themselves to Gorund, to their clan, and to the beliefs of their people. Next, sacrifices are held, both human and animal. A hopeful warrior would sacrifice to Ankou and pledge himself to his legion in death. A craftsman may pledge himself to Oknar and ask for his guidance in their work. It is also during this time that the older members of the Clan will renew their oaths and pledges, or perhaps seek the blessing of the gods in some new pursuit. At the end of the festivities a great feast is held in celebration of those who survived their journey. Those who successfully reach adulthood are given silver or gold armbands to signify their accomplishment.

 

The Ritual House

 

 

All Clans have a Ritual House which act as a sacred place to commune with the gods. Each temple houses the Gorunprestr and their servants. The inside of the ritual house is often undecorated and houses the histories of the Gorundyr and the respective clan in the form of tapestries and other written forms. Outside the building would often be much more detailed; intricate carvings, bright decorations, and seating arrangements. All sacrifices were held outside and would be followed with a night of feasting and recreation.

 

Human sacrifices are common among the Gorundyr and are viewed as a great honour. These sacrifices are often chosen by the old whom have lived full lives and wish to join the gods early. Only one who is of the blood and follows the faith may be sacrificed at a ritual house, the priesthood has deemed them sites no heathen blood should taint.

 

Finally, it is here where one would visit to commune with the priesthood. Believed to hold a link directly to the gods, the Gorunprestr are highly sought out for divinations and fortune telling. It is the responsibility of the Clan to see to the priesthoods needs, though no individuals are required to give wealth or land to them. They are merely servants of the gods and the Gorundyr believe that all gifts be given directly to the divine beings watching over them.

 

The Hundred Sons

 

 

The Hundred Sons is the name Chieftain Morvan gave to the Warband of Clan Orvar. Named so to represent the last remaining vestiges of his people, the Hundred Sons have established themselves as a group of mighty warriors willing to take on any foe. While previous bands have been lacking in structure and were formed to raid and deal with small scale skirmishes, the Hundred Sons finds itself to be more complex. They practice many tactics, formations, and employ scouts to gather information on the battlefield. The Sons follow the same system of equality and brotherhood known to the Gorundyr people. They look for the best and most trustworthy warriors to fill their ranks and if you have not earned the respect of your fellow warriors, you will be shunned. 

 

The Sons are often sought out as mercenaries and they will make contracts with those who are willing to pay. Gold, weapons, supplies, the Sons not only value wealth but also the glory that comes with fighting. They seek to find worthy opponents on the battlefield and to defeat them under the eyes of their god of death, Ankou. Battle is not as simple as to kill the man at the other end of your spear, not for the Hundred Sons. The Sons are steeped in traditions that go back to the early days of the Gorundyr. Hymns, chants, and rituals are common sights in the lulls of battle, and nothing is more frightening than the deep bellow of their war horns.

 

As for equipment, the Sons are often varied. The most common weapons are the Danish axe and single-handed sword, though weapons such as spears, battle-axes, and bastard swords can be found among the warriors. Shields are also crucial to the fighting style employed by the Sons. Large and round, they are often lined with either metal or leather, and covered in hide. The shields are fastened with a single grip that sits behind a metal boss in the centre of the shield. This allows for more mobility with the shield, adding to its defensive and offensive capabilities. Additionally, the Sons adorn their shields with self-chosen sigils to represent themselves as individuals. 

 

For protection, the Sons use lamellar or scale-mail along with boiled leather. This offers relatively good protection and allows them to be mobile on the battlefield. Helmets would range from small caps that protect the upper face and head to war-helms that offer more protection for the entire head. These helms would be adorned with wings or horns and could even be used as weapons if the situation called for it.

 

 

 

Clan Members

 

Direct Bloodline

 

Morvan Orvar (MajesticOwyn) - Born to the icy wastes of the Savaar, Morvan’s arrival coincided with the first scourge attacks on the Gorundyr. Helpless against these demons, the people of Clan Orvar took his arrival as a sign from the gods. They had given them one who would lead them safely from the maw of the scourge. Morvan’s birth took a severe toll on his mother. As she sat losing blood with a crying baby in her hands, she saw a spectral figure enter the hut. She claimed it spoke to her in the ancient tongue of the Gorundyr and carved a small symbol in the baby's forehead. After it turned to leave, it spoke to her in the common tongue and declared itself to be Ankou. Morvan believes Ankou gave him a piece of his divine soul and he has pledged himself to being worthy of his touch.

 

Torkel Orvar (shields12347) - Morvan’s eldest brother and rival. Torkel is a mighty warrior and proved his worth to the clan during the flee from Anthos. He is 26 years old.

 

Hafgan Orvar (professorshields) - Second youngest brother to Morvan. He is 17 years old.

 

Aeron Orvar (sargeblub) - The youngest child of Clan Orvar. He was born during an eclipse, an event the Gorundyr hold as a great omen. Eclipse’s are associated with Argal and thus Aeron is believed to be blessed by the sky god. He is 15 years old.

 

 

Ragoros Orvar (HighTinker) - Brother of Mabon, 56 years of age, Ragaros is a widow of some sorts, his wife a Shield Maiden was lost in the final battle at the Savaar. He has two sons, Andartus and Tyke. Back in the Savaar, he was zealous to get into the priesthood, though was denied such right because of his strange beliefs that weren’t traditional Now he lives the life of a shepherd, guiding sheep instead of guiding people to the divines.

 

Andartus Orvar (EidMalacai) - Andartus, so named for his white hair, reminiscent of the white haired maiden-form that the forest goddess Andarta took. He is the son of Ragoros Orvar.

 

Tyke Orvar (Epcidave95) - Tyke is the son of Ragoros and brother to Andartus.

 

Percival Orvar (cman64) - The long lost brother of the Orvar Clan, Percival grew up as a merchant and seafarer. It is said that the sea god Draug guided Percival through the seas and has left his mark upon the man. His blue eyes and crab crest are what binds him to the aquatic world along with his vast skills and knowledge of the sea. He is 33 years old.

 

Senua Orvar (Vacant) - Twin sister of Aela Orvar, her and her sister trained under their mother, the legendary Aventia, as Shield-Maidens. She is 21 years old.

 

Aela Orvar (Cupcwakez) - Twin sister of Senua Orvar, Aela has been fascinated with ship building since a young age. She trained under her mother as a Shield-Maiden She is 21 years old.

 

 

 

Other Clanmates

 

Alberg Geirbjorn (12igon6) -  Alberg is a special case, born of a native Human, Haleth Morin, whom traveled to the lands of ice and wind just before the rise of the scourge.  Carried with him, amongst a bundle of furs, clothes, and food, was a set of boys, no older than a year on the youngest, and five at the oldest.  Haleth was welcomed into the Clan, after swearing fealty to the Clan Chieftan, Morvan’s father.  He died several years later, after changing his last name to a more cultural Geirbjorn.  Alberg took on his father's legacy as a result, a true member of Clan Orvar, but not by blood, but of belief, of loyalty, and of fealty.      

 

Brynjolf Geirbjorn(Mr_Boomer337) - Brynjolf is the brother of Alberg, the two are almost inseparable.

 

Lorin Suttar (Finnadian) - New comer to clan Orvar. After losing his parents to Oren when only a child, he wandered the Fringe looking for a new chance. After discovering Clan Orvar, he chose to join the clan, hoping for a new life, and a new chance.

 

Application

 

((Please send me the application in a private forum message as I do not wish to clutter the thread.))

 

MC Name:

Skype Name(Optional):

Timezone:

Will this be a main character?:

Did you read the main Gorundyr Lore?:

 

Character Name:

Character Age:

Appearance:

Desired Relation to Clan:

Short Biography:

 

((Send me a PM or add Owyn Morin on skype if you wish to discuss blood relation. The only characters available to play within the bloodline are the two twin sisters, and they are extremely bare bone. So, if you wish to come up with their entire history, appearance, what have you.. That is up to you! Just make sure you PM me if you plan on filling one of the vacant characters so I can add your name and prevent others from claiming it.

 

If you still wish to play a character that follows our culture (Gorundyr) then you can still do that. Some ideas for a character would be a survivor of another clan from Anthos or someone who was part of Orvar but not the main bloodline. Example: The two Geirbjorn brothers above.

 

Especially interested in people looking to play warriors that are part of the mercenary band whom also follow our culture. PM me if interested.))

[MajesticOwyn 334]

High above the mountain peaks, a screech rings out in the frigid air. Morvan, huddled in a cloak and assortment of furs, shifts his gaze to the sky. Far above him Falahnyr, his friend and hunting companion, was soaring through the sky. Morvan longed to be up there spreading his wings, just as his eagle companion was. It had been a long hike up the mountain to its peak, though nothing compared to the climb to Argal's shrine in his homeland. The cold here was like a mild inconvenience, even as fierce as the blizzard was roaring around him. Another screech can be heard, louder now. Morvan thought he may even be able to see the bird now. Pulling his cloak tighter, he moves over to the edge of the peak. The view below was stunning, the beauty of the world never failed to amaze him. Together, the gods had crafted a perfect realm and given it to his people, and others like him.

 

Reaching into his pack, Morvan takes out a small wrapped bundle of items. In it is a large egg sized blue gem and a feather, dyed blue and decorated with ceremonial bands at the base. He kneels and begins to dig a hole in the soft snow. In the small crater he places the feather, and upon it he lays the gem. Offerings to Argal so that he may watch over his clan and protect them from harm. With that done, he turns his back and makes for the path that had brought him so far up. A broad smile paints Morvan's face and his eyes are those of a man determined to succeed.

 

In the distance, the call of an eagle can be heard, even closer yet.

[Abeam 511]

"Ever the romantic one", wonders Alberg Geirbjorn, peering across the street, at the entrance of the town.  Morvan Orvar returns to the town they call, for the moment, home.  His bird sitting on his shoulder, the ugly patch of thick leather there serving as a perch of sorts for the winged beast.  Alberg always hated the thing, chirping like an annoying alarm at all hours of night, and if Alberg raised one voice of complaint; there goes Morvan, proclaiming the bird to represent his faith to Argal, and how dare Alberg complain of such a noble beast.  Alberg smirks at the imagined fuss, still rolling out a roll of doe, kneading out the bubbles caused by the excess of flour on the yeast.

 

Alberg continues his day of baking and muttering humorously to himself, always embarrassing his younger brother, and always giving Morvan a hard time.  He never means it though, it's just the way he is.

 

 

[loakmendbe 62]

Ragaros sits on the ground, surrounded by tall grass, bushes, and large trees sprawling to the sky. He looks around, alone. He can see the camp's glow from where he sits "I wonder if there's any sheep-friends around here... I have only seen cow-friends and chicken-friends. And Draug's ink quills." he wonders. He grabs his staff, a dagger tied to the top to make a spear, and stands. Ragaros walks towards the camp, thinking of thoughts of dinner, and whacking people over the head with his staff- Mainly Morvan. As he nears, he realizes he is trapped outside the wall, he groans, trudging his way through the woods to get to the entrance. Perhaps he might find a sheep or two on his way there.

[cman64 66]

As the sky begins to darken, Percival looks out to the water with his line not moving an inch. Sighing, he looks to the sunset, and prays for good winds on his next journey right when the line soon begins its dance within the water. Retrieving the last fish that could fit into the basket, Percival walks back,  enjoying the peace of the forest and returning back to the longhouse to drop off the food he must deliver. Calling upon his trusty pet, Shellyrd to rest upon the log beside him. An abnormally large, tamed Black Noddy, loyal til the end in bringing news, as well as catching a few fish for him.    http://identify.whatbird.com/obj/1030/overview/Black_Noddy.aspx  Hopefully, he doesn't try to steal a few fish in the process, since so many of the clan members nicknamed the bird, The Thief, by his actions.

 

Looking back up to the stars, Percival thanks the gods for his new family, and so the next day comes, another day to be with by the water, another day to shout at shellyrd for stealing his breakfast.  

[Andartus Orvar 20]

Rain hammers down. A sword slashes through, the blade trailing water, and a slice opens up. Wheat puffs up, and slowly trails down, turning gently gravity catches the fine fronds. The sword pulls back against his panting form, as he begins to whisper.

 

"..Oknar, hyour craftsmen prove hyour prowess."

 

The man smiles, turns his blade around, and with a snikt, the blade slides away into a soft leather sheath. He wqipes his forehead, panting ever so gently, a trickle of rainwater spattering off the fanged maw of his wolfskin cloak's hood. Turning, he moves back to his shrines, and continues his work. 

 

Only so much time can be spent on entertainment, when the Fates are disinclined to offer solid futures. It is his task to converse with the Gods, to gather and focus their intents. He makes the sign of Gorund, hands curled around, over each other, thumbs intertwined, before the shrine, and bows his head. His mouth begins to move. Prayers are spoken, almost silently, but Andartus Orvar knows that the Gods can hear them. He knows it. He's the priest, after all.

[loakmendbe 62]

Their Chief, gone. On a pilgrimage through this new land as the others have labeled it, Thales. Ragaros Orvar was left in charge. Days after getting to this land, the Orvar traveled in packs, all heading North. Eventually, they found themselves in a frigid mountain land, no where near as cold as the Savaar, but it will do.

 

Days of chopping of trees, dragging logs, hearing picks hit stone, and hammers hit tools. The picking of wheat, everything seemed to be going according to what little of a plan there was. Everything seemed calm, lush, good. The Orvar's may have found a new home to call theirs.

[Stevie 1598]

The foothills were rocky and barren. They had passed by an attempt at life, but only saw the decaying dirt of what looked to be a small farm. The soil was rough and not particularly favorable, and this was only the outskirts of the mountains. The small company looked up and ahead, looking over the snowy peaks of the mountains known to them as the Altines. They had travelled at a reasonably slow pace, frequently consulting their primitive map, finding their way through landmarks alone. Some spoke with a great sense of relief when they heard the Imperium was sending cartographers to officially chart and map out the new province. The company finally reached the encampment at about midday, a journey that took far longer than originally planned – with the confusing nature of the mountains, the company more often found themselves going in circles. But even though this stumbling path in which the company took annoyed the already tired soldiers, they had been exposed to the real landscape – and the real people – of the Altines. They discovered a sanctuary of tranquility amongst the cold of the mountains, whose people were generous and friendly; they found an abandoned house, destroyed by a fire and the fields sowed with salt; and finally, they found what would look to be an encampment of men – men that these soldiers had not seen before. Weary to open a correspondence, the soldiers avoided the encampment, choosing to report this native encounter with their superiors back at Fort Petrus. Upon their arrival back, they described the natives as tall and strong in build, with great round shields and axes, and they were certainly a new sight to these Imperial men.

 

Word is relayed up to the governor, Edwan Sparrow, and then back to the Emperor himself, who had expressed interest in the natives of the mountains. The Imperium Tertius was not the only formidable force within these mountains, and it interested the Emperor greatly to wonder how this new native tribe has been surviving.

 

A rumor spreads that the Emperor will visit the province of Cisaltine Gaekrin once again to discover these natives with his own eyes.

[MajesticOwyn 334]

 

 

A rolling crash of thunder filled the clouds, matching the pace of the smith's hammer in Morvan's hand. He had fallen into a deep rhythm as his mind focused on the task at hand. A flurry of sparks explode from the metal as another blow strikes true. Ever since returning from his great hunt, Morvan had felt uneasy. The White Stag had been a surprise, to find it in this new land, but in the end it was the being he met in the grove that gave him the most to think about. He had spoken in cryptic sayings, a prophecy of sorts.

 

In fire you were forged, through struggle you were shaped.

Born to lead and doomed to fail, blindly you are driven.

From bloodshed your people will be reborn, a purpose given.

Blinded by greed, fooled by lust, they shall crumble. 

Abandoned by the gods, your people will stumble. 

Wings of midnight shall spread, as those of Orvar are torn to shred.

The Fallen One beckons.

 

 

The creature under the black hood had reeked of decay, the tattered rags of his cloak rustling gently in the wind. A minion of the Fallen One, he was sure. A thought nagged at the back of his mind as he focused on the heated blade in front of him. Working the forge did well for his mind and often distracted him from his troubles. This night would be no different, it would seem.

 

A smile washes over Morvans face as he listens to the clanging of hammers outside his forge. While he had gone to hunt and search for a call from the gods, his clansmen had found a suitable valley to settle in. This land reminded him of his homeland in Anthos and for the first time in a long while, Morvan felt at home.

[MajesticOwyn 334]

Morvan walks out from the keep of Petrus Watch, a wide smile painted on his face. The Son Edwan had proven to be more than he expected, it was a pleasant surprise. The talks within had gone well, and his mind was racing at the prospects of visiting the Capital of Oren. He would meet the Chief of Chiefs again, it would be a nice change of pace for his clansmen to leave their mountain home.

 

In front of him, his clansmen stood, all eagerly looking to him. He knew that they were all eager to fight, they had not had a worthy enemy since the Scourge tore their homeland apart in Anthos. The future looked bright for Clan Orvar and its Hundred Sons, for they had pledged their arms and skill to Oren. With grins on their faces, they would gladly strike down its enemies, for glory and wealth. Ankou would soon smile as the blood ran red once again.

 

 

[cman64 66]

Percival starts to pack his fishing rods, each next to the last upon the small sailboat, capable of traveling long distances. His stores are stocked to the very last package, all enough to feed himself for months on end and more. Looking to the sky, he sighs, and walks off to say goodbye.

Embracing each of his brothers, his uncle, and his cousins, but his chieftain last.

 

“Brother, you ‘ave brought me to ma family. Bu’ the ring i ‘ave is still a mystery. I mus’ search for the answer. I will miss ya brother, ‘nd i will return one day…..” Percival then places in each hand a golden hook, something to signify his promise to return to his family.

 

Walking back to the sailboat, Percival looks out to his home from the sailboat, waving at his family. He walks over to lift the sails in order for the ship’s voyage to take place. The birds begin to swoop into the water for their daily meal of fish, and the fish themselves swim away.

 

This was his voyage, his search to find himself. Percival then prays to Draug for a successful voyage, and sails into the distance as the winds begin to pick up…..

 

((Leaving for 3 weeks at camp. I will miss you all. Also, someone please restock the fish for me when I'm away, and always keep an extra rod or two for when I get back:P ))   

[loakmendbe 62]

A certain sense of shock and awe filled the bald headed, head band wearing shepherd that night. At first, he did not know what to believe. The omens were strong that the Hour of Twilight was upon them soon. The Ink wings coming from the tall broken tower in the distance, the eight eyes crawling out of caves and cracks in the mountains, all the same of what happened before the wretched ones slaughtered Gorundyr one by one in the Savaar.

 

Though this was not the case. Ragaros sat at his desk, drawing with ink and  feather on thin pieces of paper, symbols of the Gods of the Gorundyr people. Whilst there were eight, Ragaros only drew one. The symbol of Gorund, the Invincible light. The rest of his Clansmen laying asleep, he made his way to his overlook wooden balcony on Morvan's family's longhouse. "Jack.. Servant of Gorund, Herald of the End Times." he repeats to himself several times over.

 

He did not go to sleep. Carrying a bedroll tied to a fur backpack, some fish oil, a flint and steel, and some of Alberg's very own bread, he left the valley place that Orvar called their own. He traveled on the sand coast, leaving footprints behind. What stood before him was Ravens Watch, a large tower filled with Ravens. Quiet at night, the birds sleeping like everything else should be. He made his way to the front of it, looking to the spot that him, Alberg, Hafgan, Morvan, and Byrnjolf stood still as at the words they were told just that day and the night before. He looked to the ground, the symbol of Gorund etched deep into the sand. He unrolled his bedroll, laying it down next to the symbol, starting a small fire next to it as well, laying down to sleep.

[MajesticOwyn 334]

 

Morvan watched as each of his clansmen huddled on the deck of the Wavebreaker, a tempest of rain swirling about them. Every few seconds another wave crashed into the hull, each one larger than the last. Wet and cold as they were, they had more to worry about. War had come to Orvar, a war that could not be won head on. With a heavy heart, the Clan had decided to set sail early and join Draug in his realm. Another boom of thunder sounded in the distance.

 

"Do you hear that, clansmen? Argal tries to sink us! His storm is fierce and his cry is loud! Do not fear, the gods smile upon us this day!"

 

A smile crept over Morvan's face as he watched Hafgan and Aela run about the ship, grabbing at the rigging and checking over the sail. After a moment of rummaging in his pouch, Morvan took out a small golden pendant covered in blue gemstones and began to run his eyes over it curiously. With a sudden laugh, Morvan tossed it into the sea. 

 

"Draug! May this offering find you deep in your slumber, a token from the last of the Gorundyr."

 

All around them the storm raged, each crackle of lightning lighting up the Wavebreaker and its occupants, each of them with a smile on their face.

 

((Some additional pictures of the ship are in the spoilers below.))

 

[Glyc 234]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.