this is how pine trees were created. just kidding.
I had to write a folktale for AP World. I think I did it wrong. Based off of the whole thing with the Dalish elves and werewolves in Dragon Age. Loosely. Really loosely. No spoilers here.
In the great Braynor Forest, there lived a small clan of men and women called the Neshkaan. The Neshkaans had no extravagancies and survived by taking as little from the forest as they needed to get by. Pleasing the forest with their frugality, it had rewarded them with its shelter from wandering nomads and the power to understand the languages of the beasts within it. However there was one clan of beasts that even the forest’s supernatural power could not contain: Wselfwulf and his pack of ravaging werewurgs. The werewurgs were terrors to both Neshkaans and the other inhabitants of the leaves, feasting on both man and animal alike and hunting them down in the most savage of ways.
As retribution for the protection and kindness of the forest, the Neshkaans had formed a devout group of hunters known as the Karasid. Their task was to patrol the forest beds and respond to any werewurg threats that were reported to them. Years had passed and the cycle had continued, with Karasid hunters slaying werewurgs and werewurgs depleting their numbers in return. Until one night, a young and boastful hunter by the name of Conifer decided he would end the circle once and for all and bring peace to the forest.
“It is with this bow and these arrows,” he roared to the crowd of Neshkaan gathered around him, “that I shall piece the heart of the foul Wselfwulf and send the rest of his kin far from of these trees, never to return!” The Neshkaan danced around the clan fire and sang songs of prayer and luck and gave Conifer food and supplies to aid him in his quest, but the village elder was not amused by Conifer’s boasts.
“I have seen many men and women of greater caliber than you venture off into these woods claiming the same victory you seek,” he spoke slowly to the man. “And as many of our clan that have ventured off, as many we have lost to either the claws of the beasts or the shame of their own failure. I hope, dear son, that you understand what you are pitting yourself against when you leave the sanctity of our outpost.”
“Of course I hold this knowledge,” the brave Conifer replied to the elder. “It is with the knowledge of the past’s failures that I wield the ability to succeed in my quest. I swear on the safety of our village that I will return with the pelt of Wselfwulf or give my life to the forest.”
The elder bowed his head for a moment in understanding and then brandished his arm towards the darkness that lay beyond the fire’s light. “Then go, child, and give meaning to the claims you have made this night.” And with this last remark, Conifer trudged forward and was swallowed into the darkness.
Weeks had passed since Conifer had left the safety of the clan village, and his quest had not been fairing well at all. Despite the overheard whisperings of the birds and sorrowful howls of the untainted wolves, he had found no sign of even the lowest of the werewurgs, let alone Wselfwulf. It was as if the monsters were playing tricks on him, knowing his task.
It was in these long periods that Conifer began to lust for his home. The supplies he had brought with him had quickly diminished and the man pined for the clan, where he would be fed by the clan cooks. The forest beds he had created for rest could not compare to the comfort of those in the village. And most importantly, he longed for the companionship of another human, tired of the loneliness he felt seeing the animals of the forest roaming together in packs of their own. That settles it, Conifer thought. I will slay a random beast of the wood and claim that I have taken the life of Wselfwulf. The village will know no difference; I will become a hero, and be rewarded with all I have missed of the village and more.
It was later in that day when Conifer stumbled upon a lone wolf filling its belly with the remains of a felled deer. Conifer kept himself hidden from the animal and watched as it feasted, reminding him of the fullness that his own belly missed. The coat of this wolf can be likened enough to that of Wselwulf, he thought and without hesitation, shot a single arrow into the wolf’s heart. He then quickly skinned the beast and headed back in the direction of the village, chilled by the sudden winds that had begun to pick up but determined to make it back.
As Conifer expected, the people of the clan were overjoyed to see his return, waving the pelt high above his head and calling to anyone who could hear him, “I hold in my hand the furs of Wselfwulf! His tyranny lasts no longer!” A great feast was held in celebration and Conifer was treated the finest the village could offer, with overstuffed pillows and a warm bed close to the central fire.
However, it was not only the people of his clan who heard of his “victory”. The nearby birds chirped amongst each other, who were then overheard by the deer, who then spread the tales amongst the squirrels, who then chittered to the wolves, who then howled songs of defeat throughout the forest. These howls and the tales within them eventually reached the den of Wselfwulf, who was greatly amused.
“We shall let them play their games,” he ordered his pack of werewurgs. “There will be no attacks on any being of the forest for a time. And then, we will strike at them when they are most unexpecting.”
True to the word of Wselfwulf, the werewurgs kept to themselves for a season, resorting to devouring the flesh of their weakest once hunger had begun to take its toll. Finally, one day when the mood was right, Wselfwulf and his pack stalked their way to the Neshkaan village.
It was the middle of the night, when all of the Neshkaans were snug in their bedrolls when Wselfwulf bellowed loud enough to be heard from miles around, “Foolish humans. You assumed that a single of your brave and courageous hunters could defeat me and now you will pay the price for your naivety.” With a powerful howl, Wselfwulf led his pack into the village and together, they began to devour and maul any Neshkaan in their path, saving the boastful Conifer for last so that he could witness the destruction his lies had cost his clan. Satisfied with the decimation of the Neshkaan clan, Wselfwulf and the rest of the werewurgs retreated back to their den.
The werewurgs continued to be led by Wselfwulf for hundreds of years, until a group of rebels slaughtered him in their lust for power. However, the werewurg pack was unable to survive under the unsuccessful leadership of the rebel werewurgen and eventually died away.
It is this story that the still-surviving clans of the Braynor Forest tell around their campfires to warn of the dangers of deceit and to also explain the falling of leaves seasonally, with all of the leaves of the trees of the forest dying every winter only to be watched in their death by the coniferous trees of the woods.
In the great Braynor Forest, there lived a small clan of men and women called the Neshkaan. The Neshkaans had no extravagancies and survived by taking as little from the forest as they needed to get by. Pleasing the forest with their frugality, it had rewarded them with its shelter from wandering nomads and the power to understand the languages of the beasts within it. However there was one clan of beasts that even the forest’s supernatural power could not contain: Wselfwulf and his pack of ravaging werewurgs. The werewurgs were terrors to both Neshkaans and the other inhabitants of the leaves, feasting on both man and animal alike and hunting them down in the most savage of ways.
As retribution for the protection and kindness of the forest, the Neshkaans had formed a devout group of hunters known as the Karasid. Their task was to patrol the forest beds and respond to any werewurg threats that were reported to them. Years had passed and the cycle had continued, with Karasid hunters slaying werewurgs and werewurgs depleting their numbers in return. Until one night, a young and boastful hunter by the name of Conifer decided he would end the circle once and for all and bring peace to the forest.
“It is with this bow and these arrows,” he roared to the crowd of Neshkaan gathered around him, “that I shall piece the heart of the foul Wselfwulf and send the rest of his kin far from of these trees, never to return!” The Neshkaan danced around the clan fire and sang songs of prayer and luck and gave Conifer food and supplies to aid him in his quest, but the village elder was not amused by Conifer’s boasts.
“I have seen many men and women of greater caliber than you venture off into these woods claiming the same victory you seek,” he spoke slowly to the man. “And as many of our clan that have ventured off, as many we have lost to either the claws of the beasts or the shame of their own failure. I hope, dear son, that you understand what you are pitting yourself against when you leave the sanctity of our outpost.”
“Of course I hold this knowledge,” the brave Conifer replied to the elder. “It is with the knowledge of the past’s failures that I wield the ability to succeed in my quest. I swear on the safety of our village that I will return with the pelt of Wselfwulf or give my life to the forest.”
The elder bowed his head for a moment in understanding and then brandished his arm towards the darkness that lay beyond the fire’s light. “Then go, child, and give meaning to the claims you have made this night.” And with this last remark, Conifer trudged forward and was swallowed into the darkness.
Weeks had passed since Conifer had left the safety of the clan village, and his quest had not been fairing well at all. Despite the overheard whisperings of the birds and sorrowful howls of the untainted wolves, he had found no sign of even the lowest of the werewurgs, let alone Wselfwulf. It was as if the monsters were playing tricks on him, knowing his task.
It was in these long periods that Conifer began to lust for his home. The supplies he had brought with him had quickly diminished and the man pined for the clan, where he would be fed by the clan cooks. The forest beds he had created for rest could not compare to the comfort of those in the village. And most importantly, he longed for the companionship of another human, tired of the loneliness he felt seeing the animals of the forest roaming together in packs of their own. That settles it, Conifer thought. I will slay a random beast of the wood and claim that I have taken the life of Wselfwulf. The village will know no difference; I will become a hero, and be rewarded with all I have missed of the village and more.
It was later in that day when Conifer stumbled upon a lone wolf filling its belly with the remains of a felled deer. Conifer kept himself hidden from the animal and watched as it feasted, reminding him of the fullness that his own belly missed. The coat of this wolf can be likened enough to that of Wselwulf, he thought and without hesitation, shot a single arrow into the wolf’s heart. He then quickly skinned the beast and headed back in the direction of the village, chilled by the sudden winds that had begun to pick up but determined to make it back.
As Conifer expected, the people of the clan were overjoyed to see his return, waving the pelt high above his head and calling to anyone who could hear him, “I hold in my hand the furs of Wselfwulf! His tyranny lasts no longer!” A great feast was held in celebration and Conifer was treated the finest the village could offer, with overstuffed pillows and a warm bed close to the central fire.
However, it was not only the people of his clan who heard of his “victory”. The nearby birds chirped amongst each other, who were then overheard by the deer, who then spread the tales amongst the squirrels, who then chittered to the wolves, who then howled songs of defeat throughout the forest. These howls and the tales within them eventually reached the den of Wselfwulf, who was greatly amused.
“We shall let them play their games,” he ordered his pack of werewurgs. “There will be no attacks on any being of the forest for a time. And then, we will strike at them when they are most unexpecting.”
True to the word of Wselfwulf, the werewurgs kept to themselves for a season, resorting to devouring the flesh of their weakest once hunger had begun to take its toll. Finally, one day when the mood was right, Wselfwulf and his pack stalked their way to the Neshkaan village.
It was the middle of the night, when all of the Neshkaans were snug in their bedrolls when Wselfwulf bellowed loud enough to be heard from miles around, “Foolish humans. You assumed that a single of your brave and courageous hunters could defeat me and now you will pay the price for your naivety.” With a powerful howl, Wselfwulf led his pack into the village and together, they began to devour and maul any Neshkaan in their path, saving the boastful Conifer for last so that he could witness the destruction his lies had cost his clan. Satisfied with the decimation of the Neshkaan clan, Wselfwulf and the rest of the werewurgs retreated back to their den.
The werewurgs continued to be led by Wselfwulf for hundreds of years, until a group of rebels slaughtered him in their lust for power. However, the werewurg pack was unable to survive under the unsuccessful leadership of the rebel werewurgen and eventually died away.
It is this story that the still-surviving clans of the Braynor Forest tell around their campfires to warn of the dangers of deceit and to also explain the falling of leaves seasonally, with all of the leaves of the trees of the forest dying every winter only to be watched in their death by the coniferous trees of the woods.