-[ Morngarde's Lore and Records ]- (DNR)
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-[ Morngarde's Lore and Records ]- (DNR)
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Posted 2023-12-16 10:53:35
2.] Wolves of Importance 3.] Pack Rules 4.] Territory Descriptions 5.] Stories + Logs Notes for Me -Stories can go with logs -You got this 💪 " Welcome to Morngarde, a pack steeped in Nordic traditions. Led by the formidable she-wolf Jarl, Yrsa, Morngarde is a pack known for its fierceness and unwavering loyalty. Yrsa's protective spirit resonates through the pack, creating a tight-knit community that thrives on the strength of its members. Embracing the wild spirit of the North, Morngarde roams the wilderness with determination and the echoes of ancient howls. " 
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 HoppingHare #131199 |
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Posted 2023-12-16 11:24:36
The FoundingIn the rugged expanse of the mountains, where the wind whispers ancient tales, Yrsa and Aran, a formidable she-wolf and her fiercely loyal mate, embarked on the arduous journey to found what would become the renowned Nordic wolf pack, Morngarde. Yrsa, with her stoic demeanor, possessed a quiet strength that resonated with the echoes of the mountains. Her eyes held the wisdom of the wild, and her heart beat in sync with the untamed rhythms of nature. Aran, a wolf of strategic prowess and unwavering loyalty, complemented Yrsa's qualities, forming a partnership that would weather the trials of founding a pack in the harsh wilderness. Their journey was fraught with challenges from the outset. A rival wolf pack sought to drive them away from the coveted territory where Yrsa and Aran envisioned establishing Morngarde. Faced with fierce opposition, the duo exhibited resilience and determination. Through cunning strategies and sheer perseverance, Yrsa and Aran overcame the rival pack's attempts to thwart their dreams, solidifying Morngarde's foothold in the mountains. Guided by their deep connection to Nordic heritage, Yrsa and Aran instilled within Morngarde the rich tapestry of Norse customs. The pack members bore names reminiscent of ancient Viking lore, and the traditional hierarchical structure of Jarls and warriors became the backbone of their social order. Yrsa, as the wise matriarch, led with a balance of stoicism and kindness, earning the respect and loyalty of her pack. The pack's den, nestled within the craggy peaks, became a sanctuary echoing with the howls of Morngarde wolves, a testament to their triumph over adversity. The Spýja Cave, dedicated to the scout wolves, stood as a symbol of vigilance, while the Veiðimaðr Cave, home to the hunters, resonated with tales of strategic hunts and shared victories. As the seasons unfolded, Morngarde thrived under the leadership of Yrsa and Aran, embodying the spirit of the Nordic wilderness. The legacy of their founding journey, marked by challenges overcome and traditions upheld, became woven into the very fabric of Morngarde, a testament to the enduring strength and resilience of the pack that bore the echoes of the mountains and the spirit of the Norse. Yrsa's BackstoryGrowing up, Yrsa had a rough life. Her mother was not present in her life, with her father, Geirr, and her two siblings - a sister named Dagsbrún(Dawn) and a brother named Ókvíðinn(Fearless) - being all she had. Her father did the best he could for his family, trying to feed himself and his three children, though it was filled with hardship. When Geirr went out to hunt, Yrsa would often trail along, eager to learn the ways of the Hunt. The pup would stay a little behind him. She would watch closely how her father crouched, the way he sniffed the air. The way his silver fur rippled from the muscle. Instead of watching her younger siblings, keeping them safe.That would be the worst mistake she had ever made. One day, when Geirr had gone hunting with Yrsa trailing along, a hungry fox came to their den. The memory would forever haunt the young she-wolf, as when she arrived back, she heard a howl full of sorrow and anger pierce the air. Her father's howl. With a worried yelp, she ran out of the bushes to her father's side. Her amber eyes widened. The den they stayed in was a small burrow in the side of a hill within the coniferous forest. Crimson dotted the den floor, small puddles scattered here and there. Dagsbrún and Ókvíðinn were nowhere to be found. Her father dropped the squirrels he carried and whirled around to face Yrsa with a snarl. "Why didn't you stay behind with them!? You're 10 months old!" She shrunk back, tail going between her legs. This was her fault. And her father wouldn't let her ever forget about it. He left her to die. Geirr was filled with rage, accusing Yrsa of being just like her mother - unresponsible and careless. Something she never thought she would hear. The next few years were full of challenges as Yrsa was alone now, trying to fend for herself in a harsh, cruel world. The thick furred wolf would often sleep in different places almost weekly. Exhaustion began to take its toll on her - evident by the bags under her eyes and the ribs that poked through even her thick fur. That's when she met him. She was scrapping with a fox over some food one winter. She had the fox - or so she thought - within her grasp when the wily thief wiggled free and grabbed her throat. If he hadn't shown up that day, she would have died. A blur of brown and white flashed past Yrsa as she collapsed to the ground, crimson drops beginning to stain the snow beneath her. All she could remember seeing was a snarling mass of fur shred the fox with fierce snarls. Eventually, the fox's squealing quit. The wolf approached Yrsa, nosing her gently to her paws. "I've got you," the voice murmured softly, letting her lean against his shoulder. "The name's Aran." Aran's fur was similar to the one of a husky when it came to the pattern. Brown fur with snow white fur on the underbelly and piercing blue eyes. Those eyes captivated Yrsa. After that, they began to stick with each other. Yrsa grew to admire his loyalty to friends and family, and the wisdom he had. Aran grew to admire the fercioity Yrsa possessed in battle and the compassion she had for wolves that suffered, even if she was serious most of the time. And after all that? Well, you know the rest. |
HoppingHare #131199 |