Bryewuelf (dead)

Davian Druid

Description:

(Killed by Mercenary Guildmaster of Kohlebecken)

Bio:

My mother was Yfritte, she was a witch. In Davinsgrad a witch is not a bad thing. This is something you Southroners and the Allfather have twisted. She was a pillar of the hamlet. My father was Beorn Graywulf, a guardsman, ranger, and devout follower of Ymir. They were both proud Davians.
Yffritte was a seer, and visions frequented her dreams. One night she witnessed a warm wind from the south, one that would melt the snow and ice, drowning the whole of Davinsgrad. The name of this wind was “Allfather”. Soon after she was awakened by the troubling vision, strange men came to our town, performing “Miracles” and talking of saving our people from the pagan and unholy worship of Ymir. Mother feared for our lives, and our people, so she took me and ran to the world stones. I was but a few moons old, when she placed me upon the altar. She prayed through the day, and throughout the night, unfalteringly. Father stood watch nearby. She prayed for Ymir to take me, to save me and our people from the Southron scourge.
With the rising of the sun, her prayers were answered. The Southroners charged from the woodline, their priest shouting claims of heresy and witchcraft. As the minions of the priest assaulted my father, the priest walked up behind Yfritte, his mace held aloft. She only stopped her prayers as her skull was caved in from behind, the force of the blow sent bone, blood, and gore cascading across the altar. They beat my father within an inch of his life, bringing him to his knees, before they dragged him away. The priest left my mother’s body and I to the cold.
He knew not the children of Ymir fear not the cold. I was brought to the old man in the mouth of a lion, and was raised amongst them. The old man taught me to fight, to pray, and to survive. I lived among his packs, sometimes hunting with the wolves, or stalking with the lions. I do not recall him ever speaking, but I know we talked, much as I would talk to the animals. He taught me of Ymir, whom I came to worship, to be thankful for and bless the world. For a long time I lived as such.
As I grew I felt the need to explore, and told the old man such. He merely pointed to the south and wave his hands. I left with a smile, and began to walk the tundra, but not alone. My pack sister Sacha followed with me, and the both of us were kept in the company of our father, Ymir.
We traveled south, coming to Edgetown. It was there I learned the common tongue of men. I lived with an elderly sellsword named Brahjir, who had retired to the north and worked the forests, cutting lumber. He used to tell me that cutting down trees soothed his soul more than the cutting down of men. He trained me in the way of the sword, for the woods in the north are fraught with bandits, and to survive one must know how to kill. I spent two years wandering the woods with him. He named me Bryewuelf. He fell this last spring to a bandit’s axe while we were exploring. After I felled the last one, I said a prayer to Ymir and laid Brahjir’s body to rest, and took to the roads once more. After months of travel I found myself in the Southlands, at the town of Kohlebecken, drying myself near the fire from the rains outside.

Bryewuelf (dead)

Age of Supremacy sirbronson sirbronson