"I see the sun... it barely cracks through the heavy clouds. I can hear the thunder rumbling, I can smell the rain that will turn to snow. The winter approaches from the north, and soon Ymir's Hellish Cold will be upon us again. It is time to change the tide of things. It is time to make a stand in this war of wars. Cimmeria is threatened on every front. The Vanir. The Hyperboreans. The Picts. Atzel's Bandits. And from the south... soft bureaucrats seek to undermine the Cimmerian King of Aquilonia. Snake worshipers and devil summoners make their way into our lands from the south. We are surrounded, but we are strong. We will stand. We will fight.

The call has been sent. The war horn sounded.

The Elkhorn will come."

Ahearn, Chieftain of the Elkhorn.

That was his title. That was his station. His duty. His mother had been of the first iteration of the Elkhorn Clan years ago, but had married her way into the Pict-Killers. Indeed, all the shaman had known about the original Elkhorn Clan was what his mother told him. A clan of proud warriors, a clan of bold warriors. Warriors that fought at Venarium, and showed no mercy to their enemies. Warriors that held a deep respect for shamanistic traditions, and held rich tales to be told. Then... just like that. The Elkhorn Clan was gone.

Ahearn Chieftain sat in his large, almost "throne-like" chair inside the great hall of Adharca Village - sometimes called Asharca Cathair - and oftentimes simply called Elkhorn Village. In the old days, the village had once been like any other Cimmerian clan village. The walls were wooden pallisades and huts made of straw, wood, and some stone. This time, with the help of several kinsmen, the village boasted stone and brick walls, sturdier buildings. It was mighty. It showed the strength of the clan. The strength of the legacy of Elkhorn that the Chieftain had inherited.

He had left the Snowhawks, at first to find his own way. His own way had been found quicker then later. The simple discovery of the ruins of the village. The talk with Finlaech and Fearghus, two Cimmerians from two different walks of life. The deal made with Constantius, an honorable Aquilonian soldier.

He had found Lachlan when his loved one Rhianwen spoke of their plight, and how she sought to find him, that he had been long lost. He brought him back from the brink of death, and made the warrior his Warchief. Who knew that on the day of the great moot, Rhianwen, would be made the Huntschief.

Others had been gathered. Some, like Allomi or Victarion, were not necessarily full or any Cimmerian blooded at all, but they felt the need to help. Others, like Carnella and Hulg, simply needed a home. A few, like Balten, Alether, and Ragtor, wanted to see the enemy cut down. Others, like Sirash, Aliandor, Leonias and Vivianna, would see Cimmeria safe, and stay together.

Each had their reasoning. Whatever it was, it was a welcome reason. They had spoken of their reasoning in Conarch Village, sitting about a great pyre.

After a period of reflection, Ahearn let them out, for they would march to Adharca Cathair, a horde of Cimmerians, a band of kinsmen, and a clan of family. Lachlan took up point atop a great mammoth, Alether atop a rhino. Other kinsmen did the same, riding on horseback down the slope into the settlement that belonged to the damnedable coward Torin Chieftain, who would simply hide behind his walls.

The journey was only a little perilous ultimately, for a lone archer - perhaps a highwayman or bandit, perhaps a Vanir, or perhaps even a member of a clan that wanted to start a war - began to fire upon Ahearn's kin. The shaman was not pleased, and so he kept his clan's march together, until such a time when the bandit could not run. Eventually, the bastard had been cut down. Ahearn grinned savagely at the thought. He had been cut down - and smashed - at the same time. The waylayer had tried to start trouble, and trouble had found him instead. Fatal trouble.

They reached the Fields of the Dead.

After a journey, they found themselves with a caravan master, who then brought them to the Adharca Cathair. The Elkhorn Village. Ahearn brought them into the great hall, for the moot was not yet over. He would choose a Huntschief. He would name four Elders that stood above and beyond the call of simple clan duty.

Rhianwen was named Huntschief, the master hunter - or in this case huntress, for the clan.

Allomi, Hulg, Sirash, and Carnella were chosen to be Elders, to be the wards of the clan, responsible for hearing the clan's needs.

Ahearn made it clear however. Should another kinsmen wish to challenge for the right to be Warchief, Huntschief, or Elder, they had that right in the presence of a leader - whether it be himself, one of the two chiefs, or another Elder. He knew the way of things in Cimmeria - he had seen fourty plus winters after all. If a chief or an elder had no challenge on the horizon, it would be tempting to ease off of duty for some time. In a clan such as this. In a clan such as the Elkhorn Clan... there was no time for such ease.

The battlehorn had sounded.

The Elkhorn had come.

Alether's Perspective

An excerpt from "The Memoirs of Alether of the House of Altraeus"

It was the night of the great moot. I admit I was nervous, not only because of the demon over which I was not yet confident of my mastery, but also because I had not yet spoken with the others of my Vanir heritage. I must admit I hate the Vanir as much as anyone. I lived among them long enough to understand their nature. They speak of honor and courage, yet they know nothing of either. My unique perspective only strengthens my loyalty to Cimmeria, my true homeland. However, I feared the others would not understand.

I thought long and hard about how I would present myself at this first moot. I was torn on the decision of whether or not to continue hiding my Vanir upbringing. How could they possibly accept someone who had been raised by people they hated so much? In the end I realized that I had to be honest and retain my honor. Perhaps by being forthcoming, it would be seen as proof of my true blood, ucorrupted by the Vanir dogs that had raised me.

I arrived at the moot dressed in full Vanir heavy armor, each piece taken from the corpse of a Vanir who had met his death at my hand. The boots I wore that night I had taken from a Vanir scout that I had encountered outside the walls of the settlement in Conall's Valley. I remember him well, as he was the first Vanir killed by my blade since my memory had been lost. I remember his cry of agony that echoed through the valley as I plunged my blade into his belly. The belt I found on the corpse of a Vanir by the name of Olaf, whom I had killed at the request of Kincaid, Torin Chieftan's battle chief. The chestguard I acquired from one of the bastards defiling our sacred burial grounds and the leggaurds from his fleeing comrade, who I must say was fast, but not fast enough.

Atop my head I wore a Vanir warrior's horned helm. Of all the gear I sported that evening, this was the most precious. I had claimed it from the severed head of Brynjar, the first Vanir to ever die by my blade; a man I once called father.

Arriving at the moot clad in the armor of the enemy proved to be a suitable choice. In wearing the armor of Vanir, I payed tribute to my Vanir heritage. Although one might think otherwise, I am grateful for my upbringing, for it has only acted to solidify my hatred for those red-haired sons of whores and strengthen my loyalty to my true homeland. At the same time, by wearing that which belonged to my fallen enemies, I figuratively pissed on their graves.

We met at the great pyre in Conarch Village. One by one we each introduced ourselves and stated our reasons for joining Clan Elkhorn. When my turn came, I proudly revealled everything. I was relieved, as they seemed to accept me in spite of my Vanir heritage. No one showed great concern for the demonic presence that I harbored either, though it troubled me deeply. I set my fears aside, however, for Ahearn Chieftan's words instilled great inspiration in me. At that moment, I felt tremendous pride in our new clan, yet I did not entirely feel as though I belonged.

We marched east from Conarch, through Conall's Valley on our way to Adharca Cathair, which was to be our new home. I mounted my rhinoceros, a mighty beast that I call Strorks. I know not how I came upon Strorks. I would theorize that I acquired him in the southern lands after being consumed by the demon and before I came under the power of Toth'Amon. I never did regain memory of that period of my life. I must assume that my soul lay dormant during that time while the demon used my body to carry out its evil designs.

Strorks and I took up the flank and fended off the wolves that threatened my kinsmen. Their yelps could be heard echoing off of the mountains at the far side of the valley as Strorks' mighty horn impaled their furry bodies. All the while I kept a watchful eye over the party, ensuring that all were safe. There was one who seemed to elude my gaze, however. Her name was Allomi, an Aquilonian who had joined with the Elkhorn for reasons I did not understand. She seemed to trail behind, never getting too close. She crept behind us, like a wolf stalking its prey. I found her behaviour to be quite suspicious. I quickly brought my concern to Ahearn, but the Chieftan and his Warchief quickly dismissed my suspicions. I did not press the matter, but from thereon I kept close watch on Allomi. At one point she fell far behind the rest of the party and out of my line of sight. I doubled back to see what ill-intent she was up to and it was then that I was ambushed by a Pict and a Stygian. It was a strange sight to see such a combination wandering the wilds of Conall's Valley. I cried out to my kinsmen, who rushed back to my position and together we slaughtered the attackers. Allomi caught up with the party some time later. I was not sure if she was involved in the ambush, but of one thing I was certain. She was up to something, though I did not know what.

When we arrived at Adharca Village, Ahearn led us up to the great hall. It was an impressive city, by Cimmerian standards, rivalling even Conarch Village. Built on the ruins where Adharca had once stood in the days before the Elkhorn were all but forgotten, the city was a mighty fortress, well guarded from all approaches. The moot went on and Ahearn named Rhianwen his Huntschief. He also named the clan elders, among which Allomi was chosen. A great darkness fell upon my soul when Ahearn spoke her name. Perhaps it was the demon, battling for control in a moment of weakness, but more likely, I reckoned, it was my intuition. I sensed trouble in Allomi. A sudden urge came upon me to cry out accusations against her, but I held my tongue. Ahearn Chieftan seemed to trust her and after all, I had no proof.

I later confronted Allomi in private. I had followed her away from the tavern where our clansmen had been drinking and up to the top of a tall tower. There, overlooking the city, I greeted her. The confrontation was subtle. I approached her with the ruse that I had come to apologize for having had suspicions against her. I then asked her to clarify what exactly she was doing during the journey to Adharca. She explained that the reason for her maintaining a distance from us was that she felt as an outsider because of her race. I could relate to her feeling, as I was also an outsider of sorts. I, however, had marched proudly with my kinsmen. Nevertheless, I accepted her explanation, though I had my doubts.

It was our parting words that troubled me most. She told me that curiosity was the death of the feline and that I could watch her if I wished, but it would be a dull watch. Curiosity the death of the feline? Was this a threat? I wasn't sure. I was sure, however, that she was hiding something.

I returned to the tavern to find it all but deserted. Apparently, the others had gone off to compete in a foot race atop the city walls. I arrived atop the tower serving as the finish line to see Leonias burst accross victorious. "I am the fastest Elkhorn man alive," he touted.

"Fastest man, perhaps," I rebuked. "But I doubt you could match the swiftness of an Elkhorn woman."

"That sounds like a challenge," he remarked.

"Aye, it is," I replied.

It was there as we raced naked atop the walls of Adharca that I first felt as a true Elkhorn. Leonias was a worthy competitor. For a moment, it looked as though he might win, but alas, the man had pushed himself too hard. Mere strides from the finish, he lost his footing and fell from the wall. I dashed through the finish line and claimed the victory.

We went down from the wall to see that Leonias was alright. Fortunately, he was not seriously injured. It was then decided that there would be a wrestling match. Vivianna jested that I might take one of the men as my prize for victory in the foot race. I chose to take the remark seriously. I demanded Sirash as my prize, and I would have him in hand-to-hand combat. The rules were simple: no armor, and no spells or sorcery. We both agreed.

I defeated Sirash, but I could not claim victory this time. As we exchanged blows, I involuntarily cast a curse upon Sirash, draining his life force and endowing it upon myself. It appeared that my control over the demon was not what I had thought it was. I insisted that Sirash accept victory. I argued that I should lose by disqulification, as I had violated the rules, but he refused to bear the dishonor of accepting victory for a battle he had not won. We agreed to forget that the match had ever taken place. I did not forget, however. The events of that day haunted me for a long time, for it had been proven that even my honor was not safe from the demon's relentless struggle to bend me to its will.

After several more matches, none of which I would take part in for fear that I would again be unable to supress the demon, we returned to the tavern. There, Rhianwen asked me if I had spoken to Allomi. This surprised me, as I had not realized anyone had seen me follow Allomi from the tavern. She seemed very perceptive of my concern, even as the Chieftan himself had not given second thought after I had said that I would trust his and the Warchief's judgement regarding Allomi. She was clearly a very observant woman, a quality I admired and respected. For this reason I decided that it would be to her that I would come forward with my suspicions about Allomi. She later left the tavern and beckoned me to follow.

I told Rhianwen of how I had confronted Allomi and what had been said. While we spoke, Leonias, Vivianna, and Aliandor came by to inform us that they were leaving the city to hunt and would be back by dawn. Rhianwen and I finished our conservation and Rhianwen agreed to keep an eye on Allomi.

Rhianwen suggested that I follow Leonias and his company. I agreed, but I did not go to them, at least not right away. My mind was on the wrestling match I had had with Sirash. I needed to prove to myself that I could master the demon. In the pale moonlight, I dashed naked accross the plains. With my bare hands, I savagely tore apart every creature that came upon my path. It was no use. Every creature that I killed was cursed, and as they died, I became stronger. I did not stop until the last ounce of stamina in my body had been drained and I fell to my knees, every inch of my body smeared in the blood of slain beasts. I could feel it sinking deep into my pours, healing my wounds and revitalizing me. I gazed up at the rock face that was now in front of me. I was at the base of Ben Morgh; Crom's mountain.

"Crom!" I cried out in despair. "They say you give us strength, yet you have given me none!" The earth trembled as my words echoed over the plains.

"Go ahead and bring forth your wrath!" I continued. "I do not care! I am weak, but it is you that have made me weak! You have forsaken me!"

It was then that the rocks came crashing down from the heights of Ben Morgh. There was no time to react. I would have certainly died their at the foot of Crom's mountain, had not a slender pair of hands grasped me by my waist and thrown me clear of the thundering rockslide. I looked up and saw a young maiden standing before me, clad only in a gossamer veil. Before I could so much as speak, she dashed up a snowy ridge and was gone, but not before I had recognized her. It was Atali, daughter of Ymir.

I made my way to Brandoc Village, where I clothed myself and departed for the Eiglophian Mountains. I don't know why I went there. As I would later learn, the Eiglophian Mountains were my birth place. Perhaps it was by instinct that I journeyed there, just as the salmon always returns to the very stream where it was born to spawn. By coincidence, I met up with Leonias and company at Dinog village. Together, we fought our way through hordes of Hyperboreans to the Mountain Hunting Lodge where we again parted ways. By then day had broken and the sun shone high over the snowy peaks. It had been some time since I had last slept and the long journey had made me weary. The people at the hunting lodge offered me a bed, which I gladly accepted. Meanwhile, Leonias and the others pressed onward, higher into the mountains.

It is said that bad things happen in threes. Twice in my life had I truly trusted anyone, and twice had I been betrayed. First by Brynjar, the man I called father who had betrayed me to Hyperboreans for a pouch of silver, and now by Crom himself, whom I had thought had given me strength and courage at birth, but apparently not enough to conquer the demon that was within me. I believed the third betrayal was yet to come. (Of course, as I later realized my fear was unjustified, as there had actually already been three betrayals, the first by my blood father. However, I didn't know that at the time). Naturally, I was hesitant to trust anyone. Perhaps that is why I was so cautious of my newfound kinsmen in those early days...