“Stand fast, my Warriors!” a large woman bellowed to a crowd of ragged soldiers as they stood in an ice laden field. Her salt-peppered mane glistened in the winter sun, and her verdant emerald-colored eyes pierced their souls as she met their gaze with her own.

The woman in question was large, standing near two heads taller than many men, with the musculature of many mighty warriors of old. Where many would shy away at her figure, those before her stood in reverence. They knew her as a warrior with no equal, a master of all this is martial, and skills that can best beast and man alike. Her form was filled with differing forms of weapons, of each aspect, that she wore on her body.

She rallied them her men, for if she led, they would follow. To reaffirm that notion, calls and hollers, sounds that mimic the fiercest of beasts, were sounded, filling the ice-chilled air that enveloped them. Besides her, a warrior stood, offering guidance to the attentive and focused female warrior.

“Lady Yorlana, scouts have taken a vantage point of the encampment with bows and stand downwind. They simply await our advance,” said the warrior. The female before him nodded as she waited for their preparations to finalize.

He donned muted colored furs that sat at his waist and were layered in an asymmetric fashion that reached just past his knees. He was also equipped with rusted armor on is torso and shoulders that were reinforced with treated birchwood that reflected the sun, offering a snowlike appearance. Finally, the warrior wore atop his head a felled wolf-like beast hood that had a winter coat. At his waist, he wore a long and thinly curved blade encased in a rotting wood sheath with a hilt wrapped in well-worn leather from the beasts that ruled them. Upon noticing a presence from behind, the large stature woman dismissed the warrior to meet with his group.

“Very well. Ready your men, Orme. Our battle is nigh,” said Yorlana. After he left, the presence behind her grew until it met beside her, with both looking out into the field and towards the beast-ridden camp.

“Are we ready, Yorlana?” a gentle voice spoke beside her. It was a woman whose form could be swallowed by the whole that was the mighty Yorlana.

Her appearance was small and meek, but she held on her person a clasp book with a spine that was the color of ice and an ordinarily carved wooden staff, with the center portion wrapped in a worn leather. Her hair was of a peppered-white and was long and waved that reached down to her thighs. Like her daughter, she shared the same emerald green eyes, and wore drab-colored furs to aid in her resistance to the cold.

“Of course, Mother,” replied the warrior with a gentle bow; an act contrary to her stature.

Before them, in the distance, was a camp made at the base of a mountain pass, with the mountains extending far to their north and south. A trail of deep welled imprints were seen at their feet that led towards the camp. The prints were abnormal and inhuman. Yorlana then reached down, investigating the prints indent.

“Fiends, Fey, and Undead, at least. Are you sure Aunt Saren is here? Surely, she must have perished-” Yorlana the Warrior was silenced by her mother simply by raising her finger, which to some may seem comical when comparing their frames.

“She’s family, Yorlana. I do not wish for her to suffer any longer. Now ready the warriors. We don’t have much time before they reach us, and we must reach the strait before end of season,” spoke the small framed woman.

“That again? How are you so sure it exists?” questioned Yorlana. “If the strait doesn't exist, then that will mean the end of not just us, but our entire clan!” Frustration was apparent in her voice but was calmed by the woman.

“I’ve told you many times, haven’t I? That every two-thousand years, a bridge of ice connects a chain of islands to a new world! This time one without ice, warm lands of trees and grass,” exclaimed the woman, her bated breath growing ragged from her passion of the subject. After calming herself, she continued, “It may not always form to the minute, but enough for us to be able to save Saren, and head to our new home.”

Yorlana resigned to her mother’s pressure, and began their silent charge, addressing the warriors before her. “March on. And keep an eye out for fiends and fey that wander the fields. I trust we can rely on your magic, mother?”

The woman in question nodded, “Of course, my dear. Now let us go, I fear we do not have much time.” The warriors were all clad in furs from slain arctic beasts, both natural and demonic, which provide apt protection against the cold with woven pieces of incomplete sets of armor on their chest and legs.

Of her warriors, she stood the tallest, which by no means indicated that they were small. The warriors leading the attack were just half a head shorter than herself, with the majority being at least a full head smaller. But that was the standard of the men of their clan, as they towered over their female counterparts, who, even at their shortest, were still a head taller than the woman whom Yorlana called mother.

As the group closed in on the camp, they paused, as far as a stone’s throw. The outside was relatively unguarded, with most of the patrols wandering near the middle of the camp. As they moved closer, Yorlana began to receive reports of noise coming from the tents, which only grew louder as they crawled through the bone chilling snow.

Most were female in nature, and the words of their yells were that telling an unknown party to stop, followed by further screams and unwanted moans. Even closer, the sounds grew, and with it, so did their vision. From there, they saw the silhouettes of beasts mounting the frame of women, with the motion of their wastes going to and fro, with the screams following with each thrust.

Anger, Fury, Rage. All emotions on the spectrum of disgust and hate filled their hearts. And without a need or an order, they charged.

Orme, the first to charge, used his sword, wielding it with two hands, and slashed at the tent fabric large enough for the large warriors to flood the tent. Before them was a scene of horror and abomination. The floor was littered with half-eaten human remains, and those that were still alive were subject to the continuous torment of a beast mounting for pleasure. The warriors wasted no second delivering a piercing strike to the beast’s neck, causing it to panic.

“Damned beast!” yelled Orme as he raised his sword from the neck, cutting through the spinal cord, severing it. It yelped momentarily before going limp, to which the warrior lifted the corpse away from the woman as she tried to regain her senses. He directed her to the opening he had made, where others of the group waited to regroup the captives.

Instead of moving toward the tents, Yorlana made her way to the center of the camp where chaos had now erupted. As each tent was liberated, numerous captives ran to the outskirts, where those not in combat awaited, to clothe them and to comfort them. As more and more were liberated, the tents that were once propped up were now reduced to ash or ruin, but among the victims, she had not yet seen Saren. However, of all the tents, only one remained after their onslaught. It stood in the center of the camp and numerous beasts surrounded the tent in a defensive posture. It was larger than the ones previously, so Yorlana believed that to be where Saren was held.

Surrounding the tent was a mix of undead and fey, most notably a hag and two beasts with sword-like claws, with a small group of upright wolven beasts and human skeletons donning rusted weapons and armor. Her warriors had already descended on the beasts and undead, making quick work of both enemies, but their progress was halted with the erection of more skeletal warriors after each one was felled.

Yorlana turned to the Hag that stood at the entrance, which gave a sinister grin as she stared into its fogged eyes. The clawed beasts that flanked her had already departed to try to deal with the warriors around the tent as they fought off the seemingly continuous horde of skeletons; which seemed to come from those found in the tents and those littered about the camp itself.

With their long and razor sharp claws, they tore flesh and bone alike to the unsuspecting. With their attention now also on the large undead, Yorlana focused on the hag that delivered its continuous grin. As she swung with her axe at the beast, it became blurred, causing her to miss and drive her blade into the ground. The hag noticed this and began to conjure a spell of flames that generated a swirl in the palm of its hand. Without missing a beat, Yorlana let go of the grip and reached for her long sword that was sheathed on her right hip. In one fluid motion, she gripped the sword’s hilt, and unsheathed it with swift speed, driving it into the hag’s left hand in which the spell was originating.

She felt its warmth almost rise to its zenith, but her attack landed in time for her to interrupt its casting. Instead of a grin upon its face, it now exhumed fear, and shock. But Yorlana did little to yield, and continued her flurry of attacks on the hag, with each attack interrupting a cast, until finally, a disembodied torso lay skewered on her sword.

As she was going to move to deal with the clawed beasts, she saw that they were already dispatched, this time with her mother present and the effects of ice dissipating from her staff.

“We’re done here, Yor. Quickly, to Saren!” she affirmed, and turned to the entrance, retrieving her axe on the way. To not risk hurting any captives, Yorlana ordered her warriors to not strike against the tent, but to wait for her call if she needs it.

As she entered, her small framed mother entered as well into the space, but unlink the tents previously, this one was lavish, with numerous high-quality furs on the floor. Several fire urns placed around the room with purpose, their flame warming the space and a central stone table. On the nearest end, a large individual stood, with their hips thrusting into a silent vessel.

It was large, with a scaled tail, had hooves for feet and donned worn armor that looked like it was falling apart. It had horned adorned the top of its head and towered over Yorlana by nearly two heads. The robes it wore, along with its armor, were similar to reports from weeks prior; the individual who was seen taking villager women and razing the rest of the villages.

“TARISK!!! YOU WRETCH!!” screamed Yorlana as she charged the beast, but before she could deliver a blow, the beast turned, revealing a limp woman, still connected to his waist as it held her with a single hand. She had ashen brown beast colored hair with her eyes flickering revealing red irises and pointed ears, unlike her brethren and mother.

The woman in question groaned as he removed her from his waist, tossing her to the side on a set of furs. He grabbed a large sword that rested beside the central altar, and unlike a pointed tip of a standard sword, it was flat, giving the blade a rectangular look.

“Fine. I was done with her anyway. But you look like you will fit nicely,” he said in a sinister and lustful tone. His face was unlike those around, and was reminiscent of a dragon, except with his upper teeth exposed that were red from a recent feast.

“I will fell you like others before you. You shall die here, beast!” commanded Yorlana. “Mother, take Aunt Saren. I will take this beast and deliver him a swift end.”

Instead of rage present, she had contracted her emotions shown prior, and now a Stoic expression was the only emotion she exhumed.

“HA! Try as you will, human. No matter how mighty the warrior, I will not be bested by such an inferior race!” Rebuked Tarisk as he lunged toward Saren and the small woman.

However, Yorlana met his blade with her own, causing it to deflect to the side. The woman braced over Saren to shield her from the blade, knowing well it would have cleaved them in two. But her worry was subsided upon the successful deflection.

“Go, mother! Regroup with the warriors and resume your course!” Yorlana delivered a secondary strike against Tarisk with the use of her axe, swinging it up with her left hand, catching its edge on his armor worn on his right arm. “Go! Begone!”

She did as her daughter ordered, dragging the unconscious Saren to the entrance of the tent as hardened steel rang behind her. As she neared the exit, a warrior stood by, as if eager to rush in.

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“Lady Oria!” sounded the warrior as he took Saren into his custody; it was the hooded warrior who stood beside her daughter before the battle, Orme.

“Lady Yorlana has yet to sound a call, shall we rush in to assist?” He was indeed eager, even after having succumbed to damage himself, as evidenced by a red stain on his right forearm that bled through the pelts.

But Oria only shook her head, “No, we must depart. Gather the men and the survivors. We make for the strait,” she said, applying her magic to seal the wound from beneath in a burst of blue and teal colored light. The warrior clenched his fist in response, noting the lack of discomfort and functionality he now regained.

“Thank you, Milady. We can move now,” replied the warrior as Saren was placed on a cart with flattened rails beneath and with the survivors of the camp. As they left, the sharp sounds of metal clashing rang throughout the snow laden field, causing Oria to stop and turn. Surrounding the large tent, the ruins of the surroundings habitations were now reduced to broken sticks and wet pelts. Shea readied her staff in her right hand, and opened her tome in her left, channeling within her, power.

As she channeled her power, her tome began to glow, and the written text began to glow a bright orange and yellow until a ball of fire hovered above the book; as if taking care not to burn the tome from which it came. Oria then took the tip of her plain staff and held it to the ball of fire until it began to glow blue. When she was ready, she took her staff and directed it towards the lone tent, then she spoke the words to send it forth.

“Sphaera Caerula Ignis!” Her call resounded throughout the fields, causing many in her group to face the caster in question. A mass of fire that matched the landscape of icy blue, but contrasted it with the intense warmth that flooded them, causing many to bask in its warm. However, as quickly as it appeared, so too did it vanish, and the mass of fire was sent to the tent where her daughter fought.

The ball of fire was quick, in that it didn't waste time in the distance it took to travel the distance of their band, to the tent, but when it made contact, a flash of light appeared. Followed by a concussive wave that sounded with a boom, the mountains opposite of where they stood had their snowy peaks relieved in the form of an avalanche. It was too far to reach them, but it wasn’t a risk she wanted to take. She motioned for the rest to follow the valley of mountains that led east.

“Go, I will wait for her,” she added. At first, Orme was hesitant to leaver her, but did as she requested and led the party at her request onward.

Several minutes elapsed when from the rubble of the explosion, a silhouette appeared. Due to the haze of the growing blizzard, it was hard for her to see, until it was close enough for her to recognize the victor.

Donning furs, various weapons and a shield, and a mane of long salt-peppered hair, the person in question stood before Oria. Her clothing was charred and still smoking, but a blackened shield took the brunt, along with her armored shin guards that were now black. On her sword, skewered upon it, was the head of Tarisk, his mouth agape and the whole of the blade protruding from his mouth.

“He won’t be trouble anymore,” Yorlana sounded, almost tired. “But did you need to cast such powerful magic? I don’t know if I heard right, but did you cast a fireball?” Oria grew stiff as a board to her daughter’s deduction, knowing well how powerful it was, yet still decided to cast it.

“W-whaaat? I think you might be mistaken. Now, let's go! The rest of the group is awaiting your return,” she replied with a dry laugh, as if to deflect her questioning. After regrouping with the rest of the tribe, they set out to the Strait, where only a tundra existed between them and their destination.

They continued their travels for several days, meeting frigid winds and deadly nights. As they crested a hill, a call from a warrior was sounded to the rest of the group that laid in the shadow of the hill of the now rising sun. When they neared the top, sounds of awe came from the other warriors and from the non-fighters.

From the hill, it was a gentle decline down towards the coast. From there, they also noticed a sting of relatively distinguishable landmasses in the center of the waterway. Access to the landmasses was connected by a tapered mass of earth that let to the largest mass, with subsequently smaller islands the further east they peered. As far as she can tell, the islands were large and full of ice and snow, yet still connected by a bridge made of large mats of Ice. Oria grew ecstatic of this knowledge, knowing that her rumor was real.

“It’s…true,” Yorlana sounded in disbelief. As she looked, far beyond the islands, were the tips of mountains that crested the horizon. Same as the mountains to her left and right, they too were snow-capped, which made her mumble in frustration.

“I told you it’s true, did I not?!” Oria said, reaffirming her earlier words. She then stood beside the now lucid Saren who only sat in silence. She ignored this, telling her of their new freedom, “Saren, look.” She directed her sister’s eyes to the barely noticeable mass of mountains to the east, and following the coast south, more land was present, this time without the whites of snow, but with the greens of trees. Saren’s eyes reflected a melancholic emotion, doing little to humor Oria, who continued to speak to try to comfort her broken sister.

“It’s a new home. Far from the troubles of old. We can start anew!” Saren waved her sister off, prompting her to become silent. Oria knew she still needed time to recover, and without wasting a moment, advanced her people forward.

They left for the coast, but upon seeing it up close, many were left skeptical at the sight. As described, it was a field of ice with many of the larger pieces still anchored to pieced of the coast. But it was noticed that the iced bridge was nearing the end of its cycle, and soon the large pieces still anchored the raised ground below would no longer hold.

As they proceeded onto the mats of ice, they did so with utmost caution, as every step felt like it was going to break beneath them. They had traversed the initial path with ease, as it seemed to be the widest and best supported, but trouble arose when they crossed the first land mass, as they were en route to the second island connected by ice.

Howls of beasts were carried by the wind, and with it, their stench. Yorlana turned to it, as did many of the capable warriors, with Oria at the forefront. Yorlana was going to speak, to rally her troops, but was denied by her mother before her.

“No, Yorlana,” she said softly. She pointed her staff to the growing mass of beasts whose dark silhouette covered the white of the snow. From what she could tell, they were practically clawing over each other as they rushed towards them.

“Their numbers are too great, even for your warriors, my dear,” She turned to her daughter, relieving her tome to Yorlana, its cool sea colored metal clasps shut and locked. Yorlana knew her tome to be her life’s work of magic developed from mentors of old, as well as some of her creation. So she was at a loss as to why she would receive it.

“Mother, I don’t understand. Do you not need your spell tome for your magic?” she beckoned.

As the howls grew louder, she readied her blades, as did her followers, but Oria simply shook her head, “Not for what I am about to do. Now go, you may not survive if you stay.”

Yorlana reluctantly agreed with her mother, ordering her warriors to stay their blades as they returned to the rest of the group that had continued onto through the second glacial island towards the next connection.

As they crested the peak of the second island, she turned to her mother, who began her preparations for a spell she had not seen cast. She looked at the mass of beasts that ran to meet her, but returned to her group, with nothing but worry in her heart. As she made her way through the second floating island following in the tracks of the earlier group, she came across them in a crevice near the water. As they huddled around an object of interest unknown to her.

When she reached the group, she was greeted by a middle-aged man, and a carpenter by trade, “Lady Yorlana! Look what we’ve found!” She followed the trace of his index finger to a beached wooden construction with curved wood that lined the bottom, with several wooden poles that protruded from the center. It was long, and plain, but was large enough for their group.

The man spoke again to three smaller ones of similar construction, but their addition was enough to fit the rest of their supplies and a crew. “One of the Youngkin found it as we descended. Look there,” he pointed to the far off horizon in the east where large mountains protruded with their snow capped mountains, and apparent abundance of trees.

“We might not make in on foot, since much of the ice connecting these glaciers is crumbling. I would say it would still be another tenday before we could reach the coast. We’ve heard the howls, they’re close, aren't they? And what of Lady Oria?” Yorlana nodded, sadness apparent in her eyes.

“She’s buying us time to get away. Can we use these then? What of the people who manned them?” The man pointed to a pile of furs that were loosely wrapped, and placed in hollow graves in the ice.

“Perished, I’m afraid. But we’ve looked over the construction, no holes, and plenty of paddles to use to row us to shore.” It was better than walking, and she wanted to expedite their departure. She then ordered many of her warriors to assist in the quick transfer of goods and people aboard the wooden boats.

The smaller passengers carrying personal items and cargo were the first to depart, with her men still pushing against the boat to release if from its trapped state. The howling had grown louder and several sounds of explosions were felt, but it was enough to release the ship’s bow from the clutches of the ice, and was then boarded.

Using the long and worn paddles and pressing against the icy wall, the boat gently rocked as it began to float. At first, she was wary, but when it was clear that the ship had no signs of sinking, she relaxed, taking a seat as her warriors began to row to the east.

Yorlana looked back to where she had left her mother, angry for having left her in the first place. As she looked on, the clouds above darkened over where her mother held her stand. Only the sounds of smaller explosions filled the air as the sounds of howls began to diminish the further east they traveled.

She feared for her mother, but within the dark clouds, lights exhuming bright orange and yellow fell to the earth with a plume of dark smoke that trailed behind, landing on the icy pathways. The bridges connecting the glacial islands were the first targeted, easily disconnecting them, resulting in them drifting wildly from the wakes caused by the explosions. But even on the island they had just left, the beasts roamed, looking for a way to leave, but there was none.

As they scoured for an exit, more stars of the sky began to fall, this time with even more frequency, expanding almost from coast to coast, enveloping islands of the strait. As each star fell, it crashed violently into the floating islands, reducing them to mounds, until eventually, back into the water from whence it formed. Where there was once a bridge of ice was now reduced to nothing, yet still, the stars continued to fall, and the waves created from their crashed assisted the rest of their band towards the coast.

“Dear sister…” muttered a lucid Saren as she stared into the absent sea, with both beast and sister nowhere to be found. But instead of sadness, she shared thoughts of a sinister origin, “I won’t forget you and all that you failed to do…”

“What… Do you mean, Aunt Saren?” Yorlana beckoned, only with the red eyes of her aunt piercing hers, with her ashen brown hair and elongated ears.

They were features she found different compared to the rest of the tribe, but exhumed a different air of nobility when she walked, but now, she was indifferent, cold even. But she couldn’t blame her, for her situation was more than anyone person could reasonably endure. She only hoped in time that she would heal in their new home…

… “Before long, our great ancestor, Lady Yorlana, and Lady Saren would arrive here in the Tundra Peaks of Orellius,” spoke an aged man in vibrant and well cared robes. A small hand rose from the rows of children before him. Her eyes were green, and her hair was salt-peppered, tied into a half tied ponytail.

“What happened to Saren?” asked a young girl meekly. Her hair was of platinum and of similar emerald green eyes as described.

“Perfect question, Ayla,” he directed his hand to a map of the lands to the south. “As you know, Yorlana founded our Realm of Oria, in honor of her mother, north of the Orellius Tundra Peaks. But, due to a falling out shortly after arriving to a new Tundra, Saren left, along with many of the victims beyond the Tarengi strait, towards the south.”

He pointed to a section of the worn map more east than it was south, to a territory named ‘Saren’s Vale’, “She went and founded a nation of her own, beyond the boreal valley.”

Satisfied, she sat as the man continued his lecture, when he noticed a listless child near the back. Unlike his kin, he had ash-brown hair and red iris’ amidst a sea of salt-peppered hair and emerald eyes.

“Well, I think that’s enough history for one day, right kids?” The old man then lifted from his seat, and directed them to a door that led to the outside. The lone child with beast ash hair was last to leave, to which the old man stopped him with a grasp of his shoulder.

“Fable, is there anything you want to be when you grow up? We have plenty of jobs, so it shouldn't be difficult to choose,” he said, with worry in his voice. The child shook his head, denying the basic jobs suggested many times prior.

The jobs were mundane, and there really wasn't anything to do except grow food, mine ore, or blacksmith. Very little offered much in the way of adventure, except for one.

“A Shrine Guard,” the boy said, causing the old man to look confused.

“The Shrine guard, eh? Well, you know how to become one, right?” The boy's eyes lit up at the confirmation, nodding fervently.

“Then you gotta train, and become a warrior! Like Lady Yorlana and her band of warriors,” said the elder. The boy nodded with aspiration filled eyes as he went out with the other children towards the Grass Plains north of the school. The elderly man stood by the door as he saw off the children as they waited for the young boy.

“Curious, a boy with ashen-brown hair and flamed eyes of red. I don’t believe Lady Saren bore children to the village, but perhaps the Temple Priest may know how best to use him,” muttered the aged man.

He then departed to the northern part of the village, to where the Temple was founded, and from there, the fate of the ashen haired and flame-eyed child would arise.