Tördars' Ildra

Our story begins on the ninth night in the ninth month of the ninth year of the first peoples forthcoming.
The moon in the night sky shimmered through the trees and onto the grass, the flickering of a campfire could be heard with many people, both young and old, trying to keep warm around it. Many of these people had been traveling for a year in search of a place to call home, with the sun beating down on their necks and the cold chilling them down to their bones. It was during this pilgrimage that they'd have to fight for every moment to stay alive, but just for this once they were at peace under the stars.

Many of the people in the tribe were scavengers, with few who were experienced in more advanced arts. However, one in particular stood out from this standard. Tördar was one of the strongest men of his tribe, and he worked as a prospector and smith. He was timid, but intelligent. But despite his strength and his wit, Tördar never worked as a hunter, much to the dismay of the tribe.

But in spite of such things, Tördar was a master at his own craft. Often, he’d spend weeks within the mountains gathering materials, and then weeks again within his smithery creating tools and weapons. Several of the men could account for him locking himself into his forgery for over a month, where he would eventually emerge from with a longsword sharper than the fire it was forged from.

On a cold evening Tördar, assisted by few men, entered the mountains far from the camp to retrieve metals for smithing. Deep within the terrain, the wind began to howl. Suddenly, a growl could be heard from the mountain. Fearing what would await them if they stayed longer, the men left. As the men retreated, the growl only grew louder, when suddenly all the snow broke loose. But Tördar, aware only a moment too late, would be buried deep in the avalanche. When the men counted their heads, they would realize the fate that betrothed Tördar. Scrambling to find Tördar, they’d finally uncover him buried in the ice and snow.

As Tördar was carried back to the encampment by the men, the tribespeople looked out upon him from their makeshift tents. As they examined his body, many of them believed that he was dead. Others argued that his weight on the tribe had outweighed his usefulness. The arguing was brought to a halt by a vote, and they decided to leave his body to be reclaimed by the elder forest. The tribe would leave the next morning to continue their pilgrimage.

As the people marched farther from the forest they had come from, they wandered into a valley. The valley seemed to stretch to the ends of the earth, and no man could see the end. But the tribe continued to wander, and a snowstorm had begun to pull in from the eastern winds. In a desperate search for shelter, the tribespeople took refuge in the comfort of a nearby mountain’s cave.

As the frost blew over the valley, so too did the snowstorm make its way to the forests they left off from. And as the snow began to fall and the wind began to chill, the presumed dead Tördar began to awaken from his bed of flowers. As blood rushed to his hands, and then to his legs, Tördar stood up and began searching around. When he realized what had happened, he knew they were gone. And so, without another thought, Tördar had taken up his sword and began to march from the forest, following the tracks of his tribe.

Tördar, marching across the valley, began to stumble, as he dragged his leather boots throughout the snow. As he marched on, his breath began to turn to frost, and his legs began to seize. Tördar was determined to find them, but when the snow had begun to hastily cover the tracks of his tribe, he could no longer find his way. Tördar, now nearly unable to continue on throughout the snow, had begun to collapse, and just as the wind could’ve blown him over, he heard a voice from afar. As he began to look up, he saw the light from a cave glow in the distance.

As he began to continue towards the cave, he could hear the sounds of screaming come from inside. Several men came rushing towards Tördar, stunned to learn that he was in fact alive. The screaming came from deeper in the cavern. Tördar, pushing them away, continued moving towards the sounds. Moving further, he noticed several men laying upon the ground, with large gaping wounds. Then suddenly, Tördar caught the eye of a massive creature from deep within the cave.

Within the clutches of the monster laid a tribesman whose blood curtailing scream echoed throughout the chasm. Several other tribesmen could be seen upon the floor, where their bodies were openly bleeding out. Tördar began to approach the monster, and as he unsheathed his sword, it turned towards him. The creature, with two large fangs sticking out from it’s underbite, opened his gaping mouth and let out a huge roar. As the creature began to charge Tördar, he took his sword and plunged it into the heart of the beast. Turning it on its side, he sliced off the head of the creature- but the blade of the sword was broken in half. The finest blade that would ever come to be, was broken.

As the tribesmen from the front of the cave were about to retreat into the blizzard, the screaming halted. And as the eerie silence began to encompass the cave, footsteps could be heard coming from deep within.

Tördar, and several men thought to have perished were brought to the tribe. And in the hands of Tördar lies the head of the slain beast.

Dropping the head on the ground in front of his people, not a single one of their mouths moved. Then swiftly the silence was broken, with the sound of the men falling to their knees. Not a word was spoken, yet so clearly everyone knew. The man thought to be dead, who had now saved their lives, was standing in front of them.

Gaining their composure, many of the men pledged their allegiance and their strength to Tördar, despite his modesty to accept such an offer. Then, as everyone became quiet once again, they heard the sounds of a songbird from outside the cave. As they approached the exit to the cave, they realized that the blizzard had passed. Once more, the tribe would continue their pilgrimage to better lands, now with confidence never shaken.

The tribe would name themselves the Vigrians.