I have always loved the howl of the icy wind, the bite of the bitter cold of Everfrost. It invigorates and renews my energy each time that I set foot back home. I have traveled all over the lands, and for many years, but there is always that trek through the mountains and frozen peaks towards Halas that really let me know where my home truly is.
I can't say that I've ever been the typical Halosian, but I'm not that far off either. In the early days, I started just as any other young man would. I had my practice blade and wooden shield, but I never really took to it. Don't get me wrong, I am always striving to learn new fighting techniques, I just have always leaned towards a more feral path.
My father sensed this, I believe, and he quietly allowed me to ignore my swords and dagger training with the other warriors. Instead, I learned in my own ways. While my brethren slashed and thrust at the hordes of gnolls and goblin whelps that plague my homeland, I chose to kick, bite, and punch. I didn't choose that way, it just felt natural.
While they chose to guard the lands at strategic canyon openings, I chose to traverse the tundra and strike at my foes at my own chosen battlegrounds alone. I've never regretted it, the solitude. It was during one of my treks that I met my one, true companion.
I had crested a large snow bank. The wind was excessively brutal that day, flinging shards of ice at my face. It felt good. As I headed down the backside of the bank, I saw a ferocious battle being waged. A horde of goblins had surrounded a young wolf. I assume that the harsher than normal weather had limited their hunting, and they chose to go after this wolf.
I didn't really have the intention of going in to save the wolf. I've always thought they were beautiful creatures and felt some sort of connection with them, but at this point the goblins mattered more to me. Halas is my home, and I don't think I can every truly rest until I have rid the lands of the goblin plague. They have long killed our people, and over hunted a scarce population of game animals. Without some sort of control, my people would be gone whether it was by an overwhelming rush of goblins through city streets or a cruel death by starvation.
Sneaking up on them wasn't that hard. A childhood friend, Jaeph, had taught me a bit of the stealthy arts when I had decided that the warrior life was not for me. Even without that, the goblins were more concerned with the idea of a fresh kill upcoming. I leapt into the fray, wrapping my arms around one goblins neck. The head twisted almost too easily, and I moved to the next. A kick to the stomach sent that one flying and out of the fight.
I can't recall exactly how long the fight took, or what all exactly happened after I joined the fight. I do know that after my battle rage had subsided, the goblins horde was dead or running. That was more than enough for me, as I was barely standing myself.
The wolf seemed to have a much tougher time of things than I had. I'm guessing that they had hoped to score a quick kill and run off with their bounty before they had to fight me. Goblins have never been known for being excessively brave.
The wolf lay on the snow, bleeding from several serious wounds and many more that were not as serious. It was very young I realized, just a cub. She was amazingly large for a wolf, about the size of one full grown already. Even with the wounds, she was incredibly beautiful.
I thought about just ending it quick to ease the suffering while she was unconsious, but decided for some reason to try my meager healing skills. I had learned a bit of bandaging in my times training to be a Halas warrior, and I did what I could to stem the flow of bleeding.
It was obvious that would not be enough, so I cradled the wolf in my arms and took her towards my hometown and our shamans. As I carried her through the snow, I was told to stop by a voice I did not know. Looking to my side, I saw one of our shamans beckoning me towards him. At his side was an old human.
"Lay her down," instructed the shaman. He began chanting, and I could feel the pulse of healing magic flow into her body. The raspy, ragged breathing soon became very strong and peaceful. With a sudden start, the wolf leapt to her feet and stared at the three of us carefully. With a low warning growl, she turned and ran to the wilds.
"What is your name, boy?" the human asked. I looked at him, not really accustomed to seeing too many humans in this harsh land. He was in superb shape, though much shorter than I am and not nearly as solidly built. He had quick, smooth movements, and seemed to be far more calm than any other humans I had met.
"I am Kiember, and thank you for help, "I answered. "You knew that wolf? She looked like no pet to me. I'm willing to guess that you may have lost a finger or three if you had tried to stop her leaving as well." I stared at the shaman, who seemed to have decided to speak for the two. I may of said that more harsh than they deserved, as I was the one that had needed their help.
"You are correct. I don't know why I tried to save her. It just felt right, for whatever reason that may be." The shaman nodded at my answer, and instructed me to remain still as the human had begun to wrap up my wounds expertly. The shaman too joined in, softly chanting the very same healing spells that had just before healed the wolf. "The two of you are of one, I can feel it. There is no need to get angry, by the way. I am Lowen, and the human here is a monk of Qeynos. He goes by Jiet."
It was those same two who have been the major foundation on my battle skills. I never felt comfortable with either of their professions as my own, but I did enjoy taking bits and pieces from each to refine my own. The shaman taught me the basic skills of his craft: small little beneficial skills to strengthen my body and make it faster and how to summon small icy storms to strike my foes. They were nowhere close to the power that he commanded, but they were deadly enough for me.
I learned just as much from the monk. He did not try to push me away from my way of fighting as the warrior guild masters had. Instead, he refined my wild skills and taught me how to fight with deadly precision. He equated things with that of the wild. The fang s of a wolf was not much different than a dagger in my hand. Bladed claws were similar to a wolverine or polar bears, and could be used the same.
I didn't really learn as much as I should have from the two. Like any youth, I was headstrong and thought I knew it all. I was indestructible, and nothing could stop me. I did not need them to teach me more than the basics. That same foolishness almost led to my death.
I had decided that a mammoth was a fair challenge for me. It would also provide more than enough food in the upcoming months for my family, and an excellent hide to make clothing from. I charged the wooly mammoth, intending to end the fight quickly.
It towered over me, and I ran under it stabbing upwards at its soft belly. The beast roared in pain, and instead of keeling over charged me instead. A huge tusk slammed into my side, flinging me out onto the hard ice of the river. I'm not sure what did it, the tusk or landing so hard on the ice, but it felt as if all the wind had been slammed out of my body. It felt as if my ribs had been smashed in two.
The mammoth charged at me before I even landed, intending to make short work of me. It swarmed over me, stamping down with massive feet. The ice cracked as it tried to trample me, and it was really just a matter of time before I was crushed or sent into the frozen depth below. I rolled back and forth, but my injured ribs prevented much of any movement other than just barely avoiding my fate.
A loud growl startled me out of my funk. I had already started envisioning my impending death. Before I knew what was happening, a huge streak of white leaped into the air, grabbing hold of the mammoth's massive ear. The mammoth reared back, shaking his head back and forth to try to get rid of the new assailant. I took advantage of the situation, and scrambled to my feet on the slippery surface.
I looked up, and from the mammoth hung the very same wolf that I had rescued several months before. I could of ran, and tended to my wounds. I coughed a bit of blood up, and it was evident that I didn't have a long amount of time myself before I drowned in my own blood. I didn't even consider running.
With a snarl, I slashed at the mammoth, aiming each blow to be deadly. The wolf let go of its hold, and we attacked the beast in unison, a two pronged attack. She leapt, bit and harassed the mammoth as I ducked, yelled, and stabbed. In a final concentrated attack, she ripped at the jugular vein while I sliced at the other. With a thunderous thud, the mammoth was brought to the ground.
We ate well that night, and we both knew that never again did we wish to fight alone.
