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Stonehowl’s extensive history recap for all the previous grab bags can be found here: http://www.tawmis.com/stonehowl/stonehowlrecap.html Last time, Buren’s father – Balgar, and his female companion, the tribe’s Shaman, Sherala – Priestess of the “Human God” in their frozen lands, Kuraul, was slain by a towering human with black hair and black eyes! It’s true – look over here: https://fathertreeholt.forumotion.com/t1036-september-2020-grab-bag-stories-poetry-art-etc#56536 So how does that tie into this month’s Grab Bag? Hang on. October Suggestions: 1. Spirit/Ghost (for that Halloween vibe) in whatever context you want 2. A Prank 3. Harpy “You have always disappointed me, boy,” Balgar emphasized the word boy, to demean Buren. “All your life, one disappointment after the other. I had hoped you would take up the mantle of Chief. But you were weak. Pathetic. Sympathetic. You never made me proud, boy.” Buren sat up, startled from the dream, and through a haze, his mind still trying to wake up, he saw a shimmering image – a ghost like image – of his father ripple away and he could swear he heard his father’s laughter echoing in his ears. The amber locks of Stream fell to the side, as she slowly turned to look over at her lovemate. Stonecutter, their half elf, half human son, now seven seasons old, sleeping between them stretched and yawned and went back to sleep. “Are you all right,” Stream’s ever so gentle voice whispered as her hand rested on Buren’s knee. He looked at the shadows where he’d thought he’d seen his father’s ghost for a moment longer, then forced a smile on his face as he looked at Stream. “Yes,” he whispered back, placing his hand on hers, “I am fine. Just a bad dream is all.” He laid on his side and felt Stonecutter’s feet suddenly against his back. Buren grabbed the furs tighter as he stared into the void of the shadows. “Just a bad dream,” he repeated. Violent waves slammed against the longship. As the waves crashed against the rows of shields that lined each side of the ship, it would appear as if the shields had been placed there to battle the very elements themselves – but in truth, the shields represented each person aboard the ship, weathering the violent storm. Her wooden sides screamed against the churning ocean as the men inside, heaved and rowed in unison, their rippling human muscles made and bred to endure these conditions. (For those that want a visual of the idea of the ship: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f6/Viking%2C_replica_of_the_Gokstad_Viking_ship%2C_at_the_Chicago_World_Fair_1893.jpg ) Beneath the fluttering tarp stretched over the middle of the ship, one of the commanders approached the leader – an intimidating tall human, with black eyes, and black hair. Even the storm seemed frightened of him, for his hair did not seem to move in the turbulent winds. “Rumdreer, are you positive this is the way?” the command shouted, trying to make himself heard over the howling winds. The stoic figure sneered. “I tortured that priestess, Sherala,” Rumdreer finally growled, his tone guttural and deep. “She swore under the oath of her lost god, Kuraul, that she was telling the truth. She knew she was going to die, and by the foolish vow she made, if she’d lied, her soul would be damned by this false god of hers.” For weeks, they enduring churning waters, to violent storms, to calm seas, where their sails would fall flat, and they’d drift on the open sea for days, waiting for the next breeze. Men and women had fallen overboard, during some of the more turbulent times. Some food was lost. Some were thrown overboard for theft of food, especially during the days the sails had fallen flat. Rumdreer had started this expedition with thirty six men and women, and by the time one of his men had shouted, “Land!” only sixteen men and women remained. Several of the men jumped out and pulled the ship to shore. Rumdreer jumped out, and despite his massive size, hardly made a splash in the water, landing like an arrow shot into the tide. He scanned the cliff side and smiled. There, torn and tattered was the inverted flag of the Frostsail Clan (This is Buren’s father’s tribe; the tribe was named in June 2020 - http://www.tawmis.com/stonehowl/june2020.html ) . The inverted flag has been an indication of “great evil” being nearby and to warn others from approaching. Rumdreer knew they were on the right path. He approached the tattered flag and ripped it from the post and let it blow away in the breeze. (Not expecting anyone to remember, obviously – but the mention of the inverted flag’s placement and meaning was mentioned way back in October 2015 - http://www.tawmis.com/stonehowl/oct2015.html) “Soon,” he growled to himself, “there will be no more great evil here to fear.” He turned to the others, still pulling the ship to shore. “Krass, Jinn, you remain here. Guard the ship. See to it that nothing happens. The rest of you, come with me. Gord, take point. Do what you do best.” Gord was small, even for a human. The others often called him “Squeak” because he was like a mouse; as if his bones were hollow and he could squeeze between the tightest spaces. But Gord was also an exceptional tracker. He’d had his tongue cut out for speaking against Rumdreer many years ago, but had learned to whistle with what remained. Gord scouted ahead, and soon came the whistle that he’d picked up tracks. Rumdreer smiled and gestured to the others to begin marching up the cliff side. Windfetcher had been sitting on the rocks near the cliff side, her eyes closed, lost in her thoughts. She’d not seen the approaching ship that now docked on the beach at the base of the cliff. She had been lost, thinking how she was expected to lead this small band of elves as their chieftess? Most of them knew Wildthorn, who had been a reckless chief, driven by his emotions. Shadow had taken over, after Wildthorn’s passing. Shadow had taken them all across the world, fleeing from humans, encountering other elves, before settling here at the new Stonehowl holt. He had hoped for peace and tranquility here for his tribe, because there’d not been much evidence of humans. But humans came – they came across the sea and brought murder and mayhem, killing several in the tribe. But they’d been driven off, and Buren – one of the children of the chief human – was now a part of their tribe. Not only that, he and Stream had had a child together – birthing something neither human nor elf, but a mixture of both. Similar to how their own bloodline had started, so long ago, between the mating of Elf and Wolf. Now? She looked around her, she could see the tribe not too far away, near their caves. Not a wolf among them, really. The bonds they’d shared with wolves had even become strained and severed over time. Wolves still came and rested with them – but they were no longer bonded as they were before. Everything had changed. Everything she knew when she was younger had all been wiped away for this new beginning. When Shadow and Foxhair left, and said she would be chieftess – she wondered if this had all been some kind of prank? She waited, almost daily, for them to return. But she knew in her heart, in her mind, she would not see them again. Not in this world. An unusual whistle, like she’d never heard before, snapped her out of her thoughts. She waited to hear it again – and it did not come. It was no bird then. She looked around – and that’s when she saw the ship on the shore with two humans. Her panicked eyes scanned the cliff side, and she could see fifteen humans holding steel swords and shields coming up the path. Though they’d lost their bond to the wolves, the elves of Stonehowl still used the wolf howl as a warning – and Windfetcher tilted her head back and howled as she quickly, nearly falling down several times, made her way down the small rock post she’d been sitting on and ran to the caves. “What’s happening?” Vineweaver asked, coming to greet Windfetcher first. “Humans,” she panted. “Many of them. Brandishing weapons.” Stream and Buren were next to approach. Stream clenched Buren’s hand. “You said they wouldn’t come for us because of the inverted flag.” “My father’s people wouldn’t,” Buren said. “What did these people look like? Did you see a ship? Did it have a banner? A flag?” “Black flag, with,” Windfetcher took a deep breath, “red half circle in the center.” “The Bloodtide,” Buren took a deep breath. He shook his head. “This bodes ill. They killed anyone and everything in their path.” “We can’t fight them,” Stream pleaded. “My healing powers haven’t been the same since I saved you.” (It’s true – all the way back in http://www.tawmis.com/stonehowl/sept2015.html - she thought she’d burned her powers out completely. She’s since then influenced her body to accept Buren’s sperm to bare a child, but her powers fluctuate). “If we run,” Buren said, “they will chase us down. They’re here to kill us. This means they’ve probably killed my father – which may explain why I had a dream of him several weeks ago.” “They outnumber us,” Windfetcher said, finally able to breathe, “two to one.” “Fighting them one on one will be a death sentence,” Buren agreed. “And they won’t kill you outright. They will sever a limb and let you die a slow death. We need to use cunning if we hope to drive them off.” “I’ve just the plan then,” Vineweaver said, having only heard the tail end. “Everyone, hide.” Rumdreer and his fifteen men arrived at the caverns and could see that they’d just been used. Embers danced in the sky, fur leathers were still in the caves. He looked around, “Son of the worthless Balgar, your father told me you were among these demons. That you betrayed your own kind in favor of them and their trickery. Before I cut your father’s limbs, piece by piece off, he told me how ashamed he’d been of you. And it wasn’t great evil he was warning others about – it was his greatest shame. Step out and I will give you a warrior’s death – a quick severing of your head, so that your eyes will not have to watch your demon friends being cut down.” Silence. “We killed the Snow Harpies,” Rumdreer went on to say. “You know, those demons that rode the giant snow owls. Not even their magnificent demon beasts could defeat us. Many of my men died, but they died honorably. Their bodies left there on the battlefield so that anyone who came by would see and know who was willing to lay down their life to cleanse the world.” (For a visual of the snowy owls: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4d/A_Snowy_Owl_in_Flight_David_Hemmings.jpg) Silence. “Have it your way then,” he gestured to several of the men and women behind him who began cutting into the various possessions in the cave. “We will make this our home and leave your demons nowhere to go. If they flee, we will follow them and kill them.” TO BE CONTINUED! • Vineweaver (Male Soul Name: Reyk) – Auburn Hair, Blue Eyes (Tree shaper, Soul Mate of Stillbreeze, Plant Shaper) • Stillbreeze (Female Soul Name: Hewl) – Brown Hair, Brown Eyes (Soul Mate of Vineweaver, Tanner) • Echo (Male Soul Name: Ayav) – Brown Hair, Green Eyes (Cub of Stillbreeze & Vineweaver, Magic)- About twenty three years old. • Windfetcher (Female Soul Name: Burm) – Auburn Hair, Brown Eyes (Cub of Stillbreeze & Vineweaver) – About twenty three years old, Chieftess • Snowspring (Female, Soul Name: Tylo – Black Hair, Green Eyes) – Fourteen years old. Daughter of Shadow and Foxhair. • Stream (Female Soul Name: Vree) – Red Hair, Green Eyes (Healer) • Buren (Human, Brown hair, hazel eyes) – About 25 years old in human years • Stonecutter (half elf/half human, son of Stream and Buren – brown hair, green eyes) – About seven years old