The Great Wolves of Ealdormere

By Colyne Stewart (MKA Todd Fischer)

AS XXXV (2001)

Long ago, when the northlands were naught but wild expanses of field and snowy forest, when the people were fractured into separate clans and tribes and fought with each other, when the Dragon from the South roamed our woods with impunity, lived the Great Wolves. These Great Wolves were lord of the forest, glade and glen, huge beasts larger than a bear, with thick pelts and paws the size of a man's head. Of all things in the north, only the Great Wolves struck fear in the Dragon from the South, and he took great pains to avoid them.

The greatest of the Great Wolves were a mated pair, called Gar and Weyra. Gar, the male, had a coat of smoke grey, with fierce yellow eyes and a scar across his back. He was the strongest of the males, the alpha, and had won many victories.

The female, Weyra, had fur like newly fallen snow, with eyes the colour of a crisp winter sky. She was gentle and compassionate, but as fierce as her mate when the need arose.

For many years the Great Wolves and the humans of the northlands lived in peace with each other, though the humans kept fighting amongst themselves, a thing that filled the Wolves’ hearts

with sorrow. And all the while the Dragon of the South preyed upon them all.

Among the Great Wolves there had long been a prophecy, that one day two members of their kin, though not of their kin, would lead them alongside the men and women of the north into battle to drive the Dragon from their land.        

And so it came to pass that one Twelfth Night, as Gar and Weyra ran through the woods, they came upon a scene of slaughter.

A family of northmen lay scattered about a smoking fire, their bodies shredded by great claws, their gifts to each other smashed to pieces.

A noise from a toppled tent reached their sensitive ears.  Within the tent, they found two young humans, a male and a female, clinging one to the other and crying in fear.        

Taking pity on them, Gar and Weyra adopted the young humans as their pups. They called the boy Clave, and the girl Bisret, though humans would later call them by other names.

In the years that passed, Clave and Bisret lived as Wolves, learning to hunt, to track, to fight, and to respect life.

Gar and Weyra loved their odd pups but knew, deep in their hearts, that their adopted children yearned to know others of their true heritage. And so they took them, silently, to watch the tribes and clans of the north.

When Clave and Bisret saw other beings like themselves, beasts who walked on two legs, they were filled with joy. But Weyra, with sad eyes, bade them watch on. And soon they saw the clans and tribes wage war amongst themselves.

Then they took Clave and Bisret to see the den of the Dragon of the South, where he encroached on the lands of the north. There they saw him torture and kill northlanders and knew, deep within their beings, why they had been spared by fate so many years ago.

They must drive away the Dragon.

The following Yule, Clave and Bisret called on all the tribes and clans of the north to a moot. And they came. Those who followed the bear, and those who followed the ram, and the hare, and all the others. All came, for all had heard of the two raised of Great Wolves. All had heard of Clave, of his powers of arms, of his justice and righteousness, for Clave was second amongst the Great Wolves to only Gar in power. And all had heard of Bisret, and her strength and love of those born in the north, and knew she was second amongst the Wolves to only Weyra in compassion.

There, in a great circle of pine trees, the people of the northlands talked, and all were swayed by Bisret's heartfelt pleas to set aside hostilities, and to love each other as siblings. And all were swayed by Clave's proud words, and united behind him as a single force to drive the Dragon of the South from their lands. And the Great Wolves came from out of the trees to fight alongside them.

That Twelfth Night, twenty years since Clave and Bisret's family had been murdered most foully, the Great Army of the north marched on the forces of the Dragon of the South. But the Dragon had learned of their plans, and his army was ready to meet them. Worse, he knew that the Great Wolves were on the march, and had called to him famed hunters from a far off country, hunters who had killed kappa in the Marches, and wyverns in Drachenwald. Nothing frightened them, no animal or beast alive, and they set  a trap for Gar and Bisret.

The Dragon called them out for single combat. He would fight with Gar on a snowy plain, called Lythredd, while Weyra stood second. For his own second,  the Dragon chose the strongest of the hunters.

Gar and Weyra met them on the plain, while their armies watched. The Dragon of the South danced about Gar, refusing to engage him, and instead luring him towards the trap. For the hunters had found  a large hole in the earth, and had placed great spikes of banded wood within it, and covered it with reeds, and covered the reeds with snow. When Gar's heavy foot fell on the reeds, he crashed into the pit, and, at that same moment, the hunters rose from hiding, armed with bows. As Weyra ran to the edge of the pit she became impaled with arrows and fell herself into the hole.

And, knowing their leaders had died through treachery, all the Great Wolves howled in sorrow and fell lifeless themselves into the snow.

The Dragon of the South was now sure of his victory, but he did his enemies discredit. Rather than flee the field, the people of the north rallied behind Clave and Bisret. So too did all the animals of the north: the bear and fox, the badger and squirrel, the raven and jay. For they had loved Gar and Weyra and would avenge their death.

In the face of such a determined foe, the Dragon of the South knew his cause was lost, and retreated back to his own lands, losing fully a third of his army as he ran, including his hired hunters, who fell to Clave's own sword.

And then, with their lands free from tyranny, the tribes and clans and even all the animals swore fealty to Clave and Bisret. As the oath was sworn, the spirits of the Great Wolves joined with them; Gar with Clave, Weyra with Bisret, and other Wolves with all who swore fealty. From that day forward, the Wolves lived within all those born in the northlands, the lands that would one day become Ealdormere. They still reside within us, if we but listen.

And even unto today, the Great Howl, let loose at the moment of the Great Wolves' passing, can still be heard on cold, clear, winter nights, by all those of true Ealdormeran birth.

Dedicated to the rulers of Ealdormere,

Past, Present and Future.

The Parable of the Fox

Colyne Stewart, October AS XXXVII (2003)

There once lived a fox, short in stature, who dwelled in the lands of Ealdormere, though he knew the name naught. This fox often felt alone in the snow-clad woods of the north, though he did have a loving mate. For although his vixen offered him all her love and support he suffered from a melancholia where the poor beast continually doubted his self worth.

One day the fox, who was passing by a lodge, did hear within it the sounds of much merry making. Timidly he peeked within and saw a great number of beasts and men engaged in various activities, all laughing and singing and shouting. About to turn away and slink back into the night, some of those within espied him and bade him enter. He did so, though with trepidation. There he met a great many people who talked with him and laughed with him. Never before had the fox met so many who shared his interests and his dreams; no one other than his vixen. And lo, his vixen was also in the room, for she had followed him, and they both felt at home.

And so the fox and vixen would often visit at the lodge and made many friends. However, the fox would look at the work and the art created by his new friends and acquaintances and would despair, for his hands were not so skilled. Also he would watch as some trained in the arts of war and again he bemoaned his fate, for he had been maimed in a trap while young and his paws and back were oft wracked with pain.

Still, the fox tried not to show these feelings of inadequacy to others, and he went with them to visit another nearby lodge. There he was introduced to a great white bear. And this bear did intimidate the fox for it was ferocious and fierce. He was therefore much surprised when the large creature spoke in a gentle voice and bad him sit by her. The fox did so, and soon he had developed a great love for this bear, and for the land she represented, which was called Septentria. This bear, who ruled with a calm but indomitable badger, did come to influence the fox very much. For they were generous and loyal, strong and brave. The bear praised the fox and vixen much for the state of their fur, which pleased them both no end.

And yet still the fox did doubt his self worth.

Traveling then to a stretch of the north where great rams stood sentinel, the fox did meet the wolves for the first time. These wolves were the right and regal rulers of the north, that land known as Ealdormere. They were noble and graceful and the fox was much impressed again. Over time the fox would travel to the home of these two wolves, after they had handed the responsibility of ruling to their pups. Under the male’s tutelage both the fox and the vixen were trained in the arts of war, though before they could stand with an army they would have to pass a test. Here again the fox’s self-doubt crept and he was afraid to stand the test.

A year thus passed. In that time the fox met many folk who inspired him in many things, but also saddened him for they all seemed to surpass him in all skills. What could he do that would equal what they could do? He met a flock of ravens who were great in the arts and sciences, as well as two sturdy oaks who were likewise skilled. Also a bison and a kestrel and many more besides who could produce great things with their hands. And he met dogs and wolves and rams and hares and boars who were skilled at war. And he hung his head in shame at his own feelings of jealousy and inadequacy.

After the fox had dwelled in the land those twelve months he found himself called forth before an assemblage of the populace of the north. There did the bear and badger ask him and his vixen to be their bard and sing the songs and tell the tales of the land. To this they accepted, though they both feared they would not be up to the task. Then the ruling wolves of Ealdormere did call the fox noble and award him arms and he was shocked for he had not thought he had done much, if anything at all worthy of praise.

These two things did hearten the fox and he did stand his test of war. For his test he was set to battle with the badger and they fought hard and long. Though the fox’s maimed paws did cause him much pain, and though the fox did have a gaping wound on his side from an earlier lesson, he did somehow persevere. He did pass his test of war, and did best the badger in battle. His vixen, also now ennobled, did likewise pass her test of war.

The fox then began to compose tales and poems though he tried not to sing, as his voice was such that only those who enjoy screams of torment could listen. These tales and poems he began to tell and soon he was known across the land as a storyteller of some skill. Under the guidance of several other bards, such as the great plaid bear and several southern rams, he learned that the craft of words was indeed an art and worth no less than any item formed by the hands of others.

And also the fox marched south to War in the land of Pennsia where he stood in the shieldwall with his brothers and sisters at arms. Though great feats of arms may be beyond his skill still he fought and protected the lives of many, though he himself was sore wounded.

Now that fox has learned to accept himself and his limitations. He does refuse to let others define him and does what he can, as he can. And he is much happier for it. (As is his long-suffering mate.)

The Tale of the Badger Broccan1

Colyne Stewart, February AS XXXVI (2002)

Once long ago, when the animals of Septentria could still speak, there lived a badger called Broccan². This badger was often ridiculed by the other animals because of his small size, for when he was a pup he was no bigger than a mouse. For the first years of his life, Broccan would only emerge from the family den to forage for food, for he feared the taunts of the other beasts.

Then one May’s Eve a stranger came to the land. It looked like a great black bear but with the grace and agility of a cat. This, everyone soon learned, was Brindle, the Garbear. He came from lands even farther to the north, beyond even where the Skraeling³ lived. Some whispered he was actually an evil spirit, and not mortal at all, while others said he was a demon. Whether he was spirit, demon or mortal all could agree that he was cruel. For Brindle began to encroach on the territory of the other animals. Some he chased off, some he enslaved, and some he devoured.

Utenka⁴ the Great Wolf, king of the animals of the north, marched on Brindle. The wolf’s forces, consisting of many brave animals, such as the northern hare, the southern ram, and the great white bear⁵, were very intimidating. Brindle, however, called upon his dark allies, and many answered his call. Against garwolves, tygres, dragons and drakes the animals of Septentria did not prevail. They fought with bravery and courage but sometimes that is not enough⁶. Using savagery and cunning, and sheer force of numbers, Brindle’s evil army crushed all resistance, locking away Utenka and his lieutenants in cages of bone.

No one had noticed, but Broccan had marched with his country folk. When he had learned of Brindle’s cruelty he crept out of his hole and marched with his cousin the fox⁷. The fighting had been thick near him, and Broccan had killed a few weirdlings on the enemy’s side, but the tide rose against him. His cousin had been sorely wounded, and Broccan stopped to pull him from the field, hiding him in the roots of an oak tree. By the time he had returned the battle was over. He watched as the three rams of the south were locked together in a small cage. He watched as the great white bear was finally taken down by trolls enlisted to Brindle’s aid. And he watched as Utenka fell to a poisoned dragon claw⁸.

Upon his victory, Brindle had the Great Wolf’s court converted to his own. Tapestries were torn down, shrines were desecrated, heirlooms destroyed. Broccan watched it all, impotent with rage. What could one small animal do, where so many other larger animals had failed.

So Broccan watched the twisted courts of Brindle as he passed sentence on the ‘traitors’ who had fought against him. He watched as they let loose their base desires. He watched as Brindle and his allies gorged themselves on food. Then, one day, while watching Brindle eat, Broccan conceived a plan. He had now seen Brindle eat a thousand times, and had noticed how he rarely chewed his food. So greedy was the garbear that he swallowed his food whole⁹.

Going to his cousin, who had now recovered from his wounds, Broccan told him his plan. Reynard, who himself was a cunning beast, was impressed with the plan and agreed to help.

So it was that the next day Reynard presented himself at Brindle’s court as a supplicant. He was thrown at the garbear’s paws, who loomed over him like a black wave. When the usurper king demanded to know Reynard’s business the fox began to flatter the garbear. He told him how impressed he was by Brindle’s prowess on the field, and that he wanted to bind himself to the garbear’s service. Brindle drank in all the flattery happily. Then, when Reynard offered him a cloved orange as a gift, Brindle greedily popped it into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

Smiling, Reynard then told the conqueror that all of Septentria’s animals were his, from the largest to the smallest. But he warned him that eternal vigilance would be needed to keep so strong and brave a people under his heel. Eternal vigilance that had already lapsed.

Brindle looked at the fox quizzically, then howled in pain. His allies watched on in horrified amazement as blood began to flow from his mouth. The garbear lurched about, trying to catch Reynard, but the fox kept slipping from his grasp. And all the time the blood flowed until finally, Broccan, who had hidden himself in the orange, came clawing out of the garbear’s throat in an explosion of gore. Brindle fell dead to the ground, and his allies, terrified, fled.

The badger and fox then freed their country folk. A great feast was held in Broccan’s honour, and Utenka declared that the name of Broccan would live long in Septentrian lore. Anyone, he said, would be proud to bear the name and display the attributes of Broccan. For though he was the smallest animal in stature, he was the largest in heart and courage¹⁰.

1. This tale is written in the tradition of the animal epics of the Middle ages, primarily using the Reynard the Fox tales as its inspiration. While they were usually written in verse, I have chosen to write in prose.
2. Broccan is based on the Old English word Brocc, which means badger.
3. When the Norse first arrived in North America, they encountered natives, likely Inuit, whom they called the Skrealing. The Barony of Skrealing Althing combined this with Althing (Iceland’s parliament) to create their name.
4. Yes, I know. Utenka is actually a North American Native term for Wolf. However, since we’re kind of overlapping the European Middle Ages on North America in the SCA over here, I have decided to keep this name.
5. The animals of Skraeling Althing, Ramshaven and Septentria respectively. (Like you didn’t know.)
6. In almost all Medieval tales, the hero wins because he fights bravely. Nothing else often matters.
7. In the Reynard tales, the fox and badger are indeed cousins.
8. You’re free to read whatever you want into that one.
9. Oh-oh. Everyone should know that Greed is one of those seven deadly sins that’ll do you in.
10. This tale is, obviously, inspired by Theign Cynred Broccan 4^th Baron of Septentria. Cynred, small in stature (and often called the Gnome Baron) is nevertheless a brave and courageous fighter. He is chivalrous and kind, a giver of compassion in times of need, a warrior and a poet. Long may he reign with Gaerwen, Baroness of Septentria.

The Parable of the Animals’ Moot

Laird Colyne Stewart (2003?)

There was once a gathering of animals upon a precipice overlooking the inland seas. These animals came from far and wide, though many were native to the cliffs on which they met. These beasts had gathered for a great moot, for several had issues to raise and matters to be settled.

As Lawspeaker the creatures elected the turtle, a wise old thing that had once, it was whispered, known how to fly. Now his ancient head sagged under the burden of time and his shell was thick and cracked with age. He sat on the very edge of the cliff and all others ringed about him.

To the turtle’s left there sat a group of young animals including foxes, snakes, a great many young wolves, a scattering of hares and bears, a boar or two, rams and an aardvark. To his right sat a pack of ancient wolves whose fur was long in places and missing in others. Their shoulders were stooped and theirs eyes withdrawn but much strength still resided within their lean frames. Between both groups sat many other animals of intermediate age.

Once the turtle opened the moot in his deep and slow voice, the old wolves began to voice many complaints against the young pups. These youngsters, they felt, were changing things too quickly and not showing their elders the proper respect they deserved.

To this the younger animals angrily retorted that the old timers were too set in their ways and opposed to any change, no matter how beneficial. They accused the old wolves of trying to control all aspects of life in the forest.

When the third group of animals, who were those of intermediate age, asked why the two groups could not try to get along in peace they were accused of being cliquish by both the youngsters and the old timers. They never, it was argued, took an active hand in anything but had many opinions on how things should be run.

As voices and tempers rose, the turtle tried to call for order but the others could not hear his voice. And as they argued, they clustered together before the turtle, all imploring him to take their side. For now personal resentments and agendas were blossoming amongst the moot participants and all were fighting.

Slowly, ponderously, the turtle tried to back away from the other animals but there was nowhere to go. It withdrew its head into its shell but still it could hear the angry accusations and the even angrier retorts.

Soon, the ground about the turtle began to crack. The foxes heard it first, and tried to warn the others but no one could hear them. They began to push their way through the crowd and as the cracks widened others finally saw the danger. Quickly they all rushed off the precipice, but not before it split from the cliff and fell tumbling into the sea, taking the venerable turtle with it. A terrible sound came from below, as the turtle was smashed to pieces on the rocks.

The animals all hung their heads in shame, for their obstinacy and anger and unwillingness to see another’s side had resulted in the death of an important personage of the forest. The old wolves and the young pups and those of middle years did all pledge to try to work together so that such a tragedy would never again occur.

That is why all animals must try to see both sides of an argument, for there is no telling the consequences bad feelings can generate.