Hannar Stormwolf, first of his line

  • This is the story of Hannar Stormwolf, first of his line, Druid of Mythantya – passing 6 generations prior to the first great shattering.  Son of fabled craftsman Coledun Stormwolf, father to the great warrior priestess Caragh Stormwolf.  For 874 cycles of the seasons, Hannar managed his great household in the shade of the great Falmyrys, in service to his kindred and in harmony with the natural world.  He fell in battle against the Do’Etryan war chief Carvazel Va’unthir during the Battle of Autumn’s Crown.  His legacy, however, lived on through the blood line of the Stormwolf clan and remains to this day. 
     
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    Although it is difficult to separate family legend from historical fact in these days, so many years beyond the first collisions that shattered our world, we do have the revered Testament of Hannar; a tattered family heirloom with notes of wisdom, records of battle, and insights into the mind of Stormwolf patriarch.  It was not uncommon, in her later years, for Hannar’s crusader daughter to engage the family in a story of her father’s history.  This is one such story.
     
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    Moonlight crept through the thick canopy of trees above Hannar’s head.  He was roughly three days removed from his homeland, but still quite comfortable navigating the roots and branches of the thick western forest.  Although still quite young by his people’s standards, Hannar had been tasked with leading an expedition of resident Rangers, Druids, and Bards through the dense tree-land in an effort to hunt down a party of Do’Etryan renegades who had engaged his people days earlier.  It was not uncommon in these days for the Do’Etryan tribe to venture into contested lands, but direct conflict was often avoided.  These Do’Etryan, however, had raided a borderland commune at the behest of Markel Travosa, a Death Knight scourge and no savior to his own people.  His band had long survived on the outskirts of the entire Etryan society, but had risked open war with their latest act.  In the midst of their most recent raid, likely what was intended as a simple robbery, the Do’Etryan scum had struck down three Fal’Etryan children as they played within the trunks of the massive supply stores found carved into the forest trees.
     
    Hannar scanned the horizon, East to West first, knowing that the Do’Etryan party was unlikely to be skilled enough to navigate the treetops like their Fal’Etryan kin.  Even if they had managed to do so, Hannar had dispatched six Rangers into the branches above, while a party of Bards soothed the crack and sway of the ancient woods to provide silence in their search.  Six members of the Do’Etryan party had been located earlier in the day and were dealt with swiftly and justly.
     
    Hannar shifted on the ground, sitting with legs crossed.  He guided his hands over the damp mulch of the forest, summoning forth a swell of disease and contamination.  He could feel the soothing of the forest around him as he extracted the power of nature’s decomposition and set it forth.
     
    Now that the Do’Etryan leader had been located, it would not take long for the Rangers to secure the last of the raiding party.  It is unlikely that any would surrender, but even less so that they would outrun Hannar’s skilled Rangers in their natural lands. 
     
    Hannar leaned against the trunk of a tree and again whispered words into the air around him.  Swarms of beetles, gnats, and worms gathered around Hannar, ensnared by the magic of his words.  He chomped at an apple as he sent them forth.
     
    No order had been given to return survivors for questioning.  The Fal’Etryan were more interested in sending a message that their borders were secure and their rule sovereign rather than learning anything about their dark skinned kin; even less concerned about the information a fringe group of rebels might offer them.  Hannar’s preference was to erase the memory of these Dark Elves rather than reinforce his knowledge of them.
     
    Hannar stood, opened a journal from the waistband of his tunic, and read aloud a final call to the forest around him.  Great twines from the forest floor swarmed up and entangled the Dark Elf standing in front of him.  The great vine started encircling the dark and demonic symbols cast into the Do’Etryan’s plate boot, then continued even through the tightly constructed rings of his chainmail.  Tiny branches and thorns stuck the Elf, as vines began to choke the last of the life from him.  Truthfully, he was thankful.  He had endured the pain of Hannar’s work for well over an hour, as the Druid slowly drained the life from the Dark Knight; a final payment for his crimes.  As the final cords began to reach around Markel’s neck, Hannar took the core of his apple and crammed it into the mouth of the pained Elf. 
     
    With a smirk he gave a final punch with the butt of his scimitar squarely to Markel’s forehead.  The Dark Elf plummeted to the forest floor with a deep thud, the clank of his armor muffled by the vines that had grown around him.  As Hannar sheathed his scimitar and turned, the death beetles he had summoned began to consume the Do’Etryan scoundrel, even while he still lived.
     
    “Bring me the last of them, and let’s be done with this,” he ordered the remaining party resting behind him.  Purge the forest, and let us be home. 
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