Telon Scrapbook

Vkori Ursinwolf stands gripping an axe in a paw like hand. Air heaves through his lungs as he wipes splinters off from a worn in tunic. Muscles beneath his fur are sore from chopping wood for the wintery nights. Spring is less than one moon away. It shows in newly budding leaves upon trees that have been naked since the end of autumn. His tapering ears perk at the sound of birds returning from warmer climates south of Thestra, where it is said many uncharted islands can be found. Still, the nights are chilly. Dampness rolls through the settlement of Dahknarg low to the ground. This winter has been fighting for an extended stay.

He stares at a wall made of the tallest wooden posts surrounding the settlement. Then to the rocky hillside where fencing is impossible. Vigilantly the structures, natural and homemade keep the Bloodhowler Clan from invading. Enemy vulmane who belong back during the time when orc and wolfen folk were allies. Not now. Not among clans that long ago either laied down their arms or didn't get involved with the Orc Wars in the first place.

The cub within stirs, trying to look passed the walls. It was thirty years ago the Ursinwolfs were nomads like all the wolfen clans. How he remembered the stories of when grandfather traveling Thestra from one end to the other. How he remembered the last years of grandfather's life when he still led them along the coastal regions to the south. He then remembered shortly after the painful memory when his grandfather would lead on the prime material plane ever again. It was shortly after that when the dead began to rise from their burial grounds and haunt nearby caves. Never had the spirit stones that marked the land ever been so vibrant as spirits used them to communicate with the living.

In his belly it feels like the nomad within stirs while trying to look passed the walls. Not for the first time in many many moons has this occured. Why now should the nomad within be turning in its slumber?