It was a dream, and it was so much more than a dream. On that day the spirits of those who resonated with the Vanfrost were drawn to the great loom in Norlund that weaves together all the threads of fate. From there they looked upon the land of Midgard and how the people there, those who were once Jomsvikings, had spread across the untouched, fertile and to found their own communities. Tugging on the threads of fate the heroes of the Realms were able to make manifest their own wills and through them create the stories that would define the lives of these people. These are those stories.
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| Eaglesville |
by Stephen "Laika" Sanford
The town of Eaglesville started out as a group with an abundance of spirituality, all fueled by the Monument of Light, which was a large boulder with a natural hole in the center which the light of the sun shined through onto the town and gave it warmth. Throughout the year the village had many strifes including, Old man Jenkins riding a dino into the Monument of Light, Bat Lover Kyle doing what Bat Lovers do, Vampires, The Church of Tychesaurus declaring war on the village and of course when these problems come together the creation of Vampire Dinos. The High Priestess known as the Radiant One with her Dino Slaying sword and ritual that empowered the a Crystal in the center of town rid Eagleville of its Dino Vampire plague right before the end of the year.
At the end of the year, a rumble from beneath the town shook and from it sprouted a large root of what we can only assume Yggdrasil. The root shot straight up from the center of the town destroying most of the nearby structures and leaving everyone homeless. The Radiant one gathered the villagers and evacuated to the nearby nomad colony in order to regroup to rebuild.
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| Strifelake |
by Ryan "Orion" Welch
Written Account of a Dream
Date of Dream: 23 October 1021
I don’t sleep often. When I do sleep, I infrequently dream. When I dream, I rarely take notice.
I took notice of this one.
I dreamed of a small village in Norland. A few dozen people settled along the edge of a lake fed by a river. The last of the winter ice was melting and Spring was rolling in. On the other side of the lake was a field of animal bones. What was the cause of this landmark? My dream state did not provide an answer. Beyond that field, the remains of a raider camp. The raiders had been recently driven off by the warriors among the townsfolk, and there was much rejoicing. After barely making it through the Winter, these people were eager for the new life of Spring. They gathered lumber from the nearby forest to build a sturdy bridge over the river and a hospital to make use of the medicinal herbs which were sprouting in the lakeside mud.
Time passed quickly as I jumped from moment to moment. The river flooded with melting ice and revealed a deposit of magical stones along its banks. A mage arrived in town suspiciously quickly as word of the discovery spread. A powerful whirlwind ravished the forest and felled a great many trees, but the resourceful townsfolk continued to make use of the lumber.
In Summer, strange happenings in the animal boneyard sparked tensions in the town. A bounty of crops promised a stronger supply of food for the coming year. A fishing boat was constructed and questions about the mage passed from house to house. Among the skeptics, a leader emerged. The mage herself became more bold. Outside the town walls, bands of kobolds riding dinosaurs were another source of stress.
As Summer turned to Fall, the mage was suddenly found dead, stabbed by an unknown killer in the middle of town. Soon after, her rival’s corpse was found under equally mysterious circumstances. A young boy was killed in a quarry accident, but then returned to life under even more mysterious circumstances. An earthquake sent the boneyard sliding into the lake as the social fabric of the town began to fracture in its own way. Rallying around their slain leaders, the townsfolk split into two factions. But somehow, with Winter looming once again, the people came together and cast out the most fervent followers of the mage and the undead child.
The long frigid nights were filled with danger. A group of the raiders from the previous winter returned to seek peace rather than to make war. The people of the town, once again united in their vision, welcomed the newcomers and hurried to create more shelter. Meanwhile, the kobold kavalry had tripled in size but were rendered immobile by the thick snows. Up the river, the undead child and his few followers gathered their strength (and madness) in an abandoned mansion. Under the lake, animated skeletons of long-dead triceratopses threatened the town.
Spring again. A year of watching this town and its people had passed through my mind in an instant. As I wondered how much longer I would be stuck in this ethereal state, a mighty rumbling shook my whole being. A massive tree branch shot through the frozen lake like a bolt from a ballista. Huge chunks of rock, dirt, and ice fell upon the town and very nearly laid it to waste. The contents of the lake rushed through the puncture wound in the lakebed as I was mentally shaken from my dream state. While this place faded from my mind’s eye, I heard a voice imbued with magical intention call out to the bedrock and raise a wall, stemming the flow of the river in order to protect the town from catastrophic drought.
I woke not with panic but great curiosity and concern. The unusual dream had felt so real, as if I was not watching an illusion but indeed an actual record of events. Even now, days after the event, the visions remain vivid in my memory, though I can feel them slowly eroding as all other memories do. As such, I have committed them to writing in order to have a more permanent account. I can’t shake the feeling that this information will be important again.
In the meantime, I am left with one question which stands out among all others: was this dream a promise… or a warning?
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| Aestonia |
by Eric "Rosetta" Willisson
A small community of about 50 Norlunders settled at a river junction. They were inspired by the beauty of their surroundings, but needed food, and felt unmoored by a lack of tradition. As Spring got underway they began to explore the world around them and irrigate their fields. While they found some useful dinosaurs and friendly neighbors, they also soon discovered a mighty Chonkosaurus which had scared away most animals in the northwest and was on a path towards to their village. It dominated their attention for a time, leading to a defensive wall and the evacuation of mermaids from a nearby lake. Meanwhile, sources of magic waxed and waned, as water-giving crystals were dug up from fathomless depths, and a tradition of theatrical mages rose and then was wiped out by a volcano.
In the Summer, Sir Aeston of Rhiassa appeared, and inspired the community to come together, and form a militia to defend against the Chonkosaurus. In gratitude the village named itself Aestonia. They traded with their neighbors, hunted and domesticated nearby dinosaurs, and built infrastructure, including magical wells in every tent. Later, when Winter arrived, they had yurts made from dinosaur leather, drainage ditches for snowmelt, warmth coming from fire-people who had come through a portal to settle in the volcano, and even a sauna. There were setbacks, such as a war with lizardfolk, floods ruining food stores, and pterodactyls making trips to the west hazardous, but overall, they prospered.
Through the seasons, the Chonkosaurus continued to threaten. At one point, an altar to appease it was almost erected, before it was abandoned during a period of obsession with oven-making. A villager named Neville snuck past the Chonkosaurus and tricked it into turning around, finally putting the village from its mind. He was the hero of the village and was given the title "The Aeston". However, the power went to his head and he and his followers attempted to suppress dissent and keep him in charge. They were discovered and temporarily thrown out, before regaining power with a bloody nighttime coup. Finally they were replaced with a democratic council once Neville went missing in the Winter snows, never to be seen again.
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| Pack Rock |
by Ethan "Prisoner 73" Goldman
Peace is short lived. Violence flowers easier than any weed. Perhaps it is the fault of fate, perhaps it is the fault of man. Indeed it is hard not to rest some of the blame upon Squidlum Wormdenger and Floki Redbeard for the bloody fate of Pack Rock.
After all, they were the ones who placed the town next to a giant hole.
For a time all was well, giant forests were found and hewn, lakes were surveyed, and a great church to Vivant was built near the pit, to show that hope shined even near the darkest places. Perhaps that is what upset the tentacles so much. The Green Beast was vast and mysterious, for a time doing nothing but wiggling in its abyss. Some were fearful but Squidlum and the priests of Vivant were sure it was a sign. For if such a beast was evil, why had it not attacked, not done harm unto them? So a crane was set up to feed the beast. This was cautioned by Old Man Doomed, a weathered hermit who was here before the town, for he claimed the beast was cursed, it was as evil as that wretched stone he flung upon the pit years before.
The Old man was ignored however, at least by Squidlum who set about trying to raise the beast from the abyss. Further to the north other eyes watched, a castle was found to loom above the cliffs, and the Jotun Seidkona Svarj was found among the Greatwood, trading dreams and sleep for alchemy and futures. And then the troubles started.
Before the first leaves fell the church did, a fell storm brew over the pit, and disaster started in its wake. Squidlum’s was claimed by the tendrils, dragging the priest to the depths below. Though this only emboldened the Priests, who saw the mutters of the skeptical villagers and the militarization of the border to the pit as an attack against their faith, and the storm as much an abandonment by the gods as they were abandoned by mortals.
In the end this wrath is what saved the town, as an old statue of Fenrir was found. Bitter and baleful, the Squidpriests cut the throat of a stag upon the stones, and from the dirt of glenn wolves began to hunt and crawl. Yet to the ire of the vindictive the village embraced the wolf curse in a way they refused to for the Greenbeast. The wolves were fed, traded even, and the priestfolk, eager for power and place, found the wolves were not mere beasts, but as intelligent as any mortal. Many of the priests abandoned the squid for fairer pastures, building great grey standing stones around the wolfstone.
Then disaster struck three times. The Jotuns of the north, divided more then Pack Rock thought, had a tribe ambush the townsfolk, sowing confusion and fear upon the men, as a dark elf warlock commanded the dinosaurs with a magical orb of similar shade to the ancient orb of Old Man Doom, the same hermit himself, having set out to see the truth of the gems, went mad and seemingly died to his own broken mind.
Then, as mutterings against the Greenbeast turned to action, as a great cannon was aimed at the monster, the beast struck back, causing a great storm to fall against Pack Rock. The Village, to its wits end with the priests, barricaded them against the village walls, letting the magicians die, and with the end of many of their number came the end of their patience.
The Squidpriests struck out, occupying the great mines and the abandoned throne of the warlock. They muttered their magics in secret as Floki redied blade and blackpowder against the beast. Twice the Great Bombard was fired, and with the help of the wolves, the Greenbeast lay dead, the great gem flickering beneath the cavern.
While the war against the green waged, the Wolf Priests encountered even greater fortune, with their temple allowing them to assume the shape of wolves, and the wolves the shape of men. Such was their prestige that, as Floki’s forces balked against the forces of the Northern Squidpriests, the wolves grew to replace Floki as leader. Upon the grey brow of a heavy timber wolf was the crown of king given, and the title Goodiest Boy became the great king's moniker.
Finally the Squids were felled, and the Jotuns cowed, and like a sign of hope, Old man Doom arose from his grave, dirty and wise. Apparently he was never dead, yet with the squid gone the man was at least able to reclaim his magic, and the great blue orbs that lay in the mine, their secrets never to be known by the village.
The year ended with the great wedding of Old Man Doom to Svarj, the greatest mages of the village united in matrimony. So great was the joy of the family that a giant root of Yggdrasil sprouted from the mountains. Yet with it came great swarms of dinosaurs, herbivorous giants that razed the land… Yet in doing so they saw their doom.
These were no peaceful farmers, Pack Rock had killed more than farmed, were more teeth than talk. Every problem was solved in blood, and these beasts were by no means exempt. The town embraced the teachings of Fenrir, and herded great swaths of the beasts south, down into the bottomless pit the squid once sat, the cleverer of the beasts escaped south. The stupid were sacrificed upon the wolfstones. The City had become more wolf than human, both in shape and attitude. Yet the city stood, its Pollysaur herds safe, and its river reddened yet wide. They did what they had to, but the other tribes had little to fear.
After all, in the end, the citizens of Pack Rock were Good Boys.
