The Scourge of Eldermoon

Far to the North of where most consider livable lies the land of Eldermoon, a vast frozen wasteland in which only the insane or the very brave would chose to live. The near lack of human settlement has left the vast forests in the region intact, and well populated with Balverines, the wolf-people of the forests. Though most clans are peaceful toward humans, the Luna and Tropa Balverine clans that populate the Eldermoon woods have a reputation for being incredibly barbaric and bloodthirsty.

Many of the people who populate Eldermoon villages and towns who do not wish to become helpless victims of a raid will at least once fight a Balverine in their lives, though the bravest and craziest among them become hunters; warriors who intentionally travel into the territories of the two Eldermoon clans and fight them alone. My father was one of them.

My father, Olan, often told me tales of Sir Karthias the Valiant, greatest of the Balverine hunters. Karthias was a giant of a man, 7 feet tall and built like a wall. Once, during the clan wars, he waded into the center of an immense battle between the Luna and Tropa Balverines and killed every one of them before walking away without even a scratch. As his fame and experience grew though, Karthias became egomaniacal. He discarded his thick silver plate mail, his shield, and his silver longsword. He commissioned a silver knife from the blacksmith and a magical silver-woven tunic from the enchanter’s guild, boasting that his skill was so great that he did not need armor or suitable weapons to fight Balverines. Karthias left town to attack the Tropa clan in response to an earlier raid, but he would not be the same when he returned.

The shredded, bloodstained tunic and broken knife of Karthias were found in the woods among the corpses of four Balverines wearing the Tropa insignia on their armor. That evening, a nearby village was attacked. Only a handful of people survived and most of the buildings were reduced to splinters. The few survivors told of the experience; an immense black Balverine had come from nowhere. This creature did not carry a weapon or wear armor as most Balverines do, the beast didn’t need them. Using only claws and fangs, the black Balverine was able to rip mithral plate mail apart with a minimal effort. Any wounds made through its hide were superficial at best; nothing seemed capable of stopping or even slowing the destruction. The most chilling part of the description, however, was that the beast wore the Amulet of Valiance, a magical item that had always been worn by Sir Karthias. All Eldermoon villages immediately stepped-up defense. Some even merged with other settlements or built walls.

As these stories filled my head over the years, I grew to both admire and despise Sir Karthias at the same time. I had become certain that the Valiant Balverine-hunter and the black Balverine were the same person, a commonly shared conclusion. One day our village suffered an uncommonly strong raid, and many Balverine-hunters were killed. The Tropa and Luna Balverine clans, usually more concerned with fighting each other, had teamed up under the leadership of the black Balverine.

To avenge the deaths of that dark day, my father set out to kill the black Balverine. Armed with an enchanted adamantium claymore and covered from head to toe in 120 pounds of magical silver armor, he still feared for his life as he set out on his quest; he did not return.

Enraged by this travesty, I made it my goal in life to destroy the black Balverine. I was reluctantly trained by the Balverine-hunter’s guild; I equipped myself well with silver weapons and armor. I was given a magical quiver full of poisoned silver darts by the mage’s guild. Once I was able to begin my hunt, I pushed myself to kill at least one Balverine every day in the hope to find Karthias one day.

On an unusually cold night with a full blood moon as I topped a hill, I saw him. Over ten feet tall and covered in matted black fur, his claws and mouth stained with human blood, shreds of armor stuck in his fur. His form seemed to project pure power, as if he could rip an entire castle in half without trouble. I became very fearful, but I drew a poisoned silver dart and tried to steady my hand.

The black Balverine looked up and saw me then, seeming to stare through my soul with the burning eyes of a demon. Karthias rushed up the hill on all fours, fangs bared and ready to shred my armor and rip out my throat. I took aim and let my dart fly, hoping he would not reach me before the missile found its mark. I shut my eyes tight, assured I would die only a moment sooner. Suddenly a deafening howl of pain tore through the air. I opened my eyes to see my adversary desperately trying to pull the dart from his skull as the magical venom on the tip rapidly stole his life force. I watched as the being who was at the same time the Balverine-hunter I had admired and the Balverine I had hated collapsed and writhed in pain for a few moments before finally expiring. I stepped forward and drew my sword, taking his head as a trophy.

Exuberant in my success, I returned to town with the head of the black Balverine mounted on my shield. Having avenged my father and countless other Balverine-hunters and having slain a best that was more infamous than even the dragons of old, I myself had become a legend.

Without their leader, the Luna and Tropa clans returned to warring against each other and sending minor raid parties after human villages. Over time, with the assistance of Eldermoon mediators, they were able to end their blood feud and find peace. Now the Eldermoon Balverines live peacefully among the humans, either keeping to themselves in their forest cities or actually moving into human settlements to make a living. I’m an old man now, but I’m grateful to have lived to see Eldermoon become like the rest of the world.