Tuleria

The kingdom of Tuleria had always been one of brutality, endless wars combined with the unforgiving landscape of wast boreal forests and harsh winters made survival of the fittest the only way of life. There was no room for the weak or feeble as they would be eradicated by the fickle whims of the gods. Instead the gods of the cold north favored the bold and fearless. This unforgiving climate and unyielding and relentless nature had breed a warrior people who had no fears of the mortal world. Why would they? The hunt selects the warrior not the other way around. But yet one obstacle remained in their path. One that made even the mightiest warrior quake in his boots.

Fimbul or as it was refereed to in the new strange tongue of the southern lands, wolf winter was an endless winter that not only made it colder but impossible to farm it was as if Nordiskir with his frost breath killed the seeds himself. For three consecutive years the cold had only gotten more intense and showed no indication of stopping. The winters even had started living up to it's southern name as now the hunter was the hunted. Nature turned on man, Brother turned on brother and chaos was spreading as the kingdom was collapsing. Fortunately the wise woman of your tribe understood the signs, the gods were angry with your people's complacency. They wanted blood, lust and thunder of old not this weakness that was on display. So she sent you to reclaim some of the gods favor that now seemed to dwell sorely in the bountiful southern lands.

You are Ture, son of the protector. The last of an expedition party sent south to find regain glory for your tribe. In previous years you had proved your manhood by slaying different champions from neighboring villages in Holmgång thus making your tribe the strongest in southern Tuleria. Winning a battle wasn't the end of the fight most times as the will of the opponent needed to be completely broken. Everyone who entered Holmgång knew of the price of losing to another opponent. To be sexually conquered. Many shieldmaidens and battlebrothers had fallen to your meat sword. Such practices made other races look at you as nothing more then savage brutes. But what do they know of honor? Their tricks and magics have rendered them weak. They didn't know the true cost of survival.

It was no coincidence that you had gone wining out of your fights seeing as you were not only an excellent fighter with the axe but you were built like a bear. Strong broad shouldered and 6 foot 4. With a sizeable lower appendage to match.

You don't have anytime of thinking of your past accomplishments as your are right about to enter the first stop on your journey. The boarder town of Rädna, that tied you and the elven country of Damerika together.

As you get closer to the town itself you can't help but be gawk at the Elven building traditions. Even in the dusk the contrast to buildings from your homestead was amazing. In the north buildings were rugged and built to outlast winters while here it seems like the buildings where living breathing art made out of great oak forests. All of the buildings had distinct carvings symbolizing their intended purpose the houses were so elegant and refined. This wasn't just the type of town people survived in but actually thrived.

The only question is where do you go now? Your throat is dry but right next to the bar stands a tantalizing elf waving at you.