Kjell Isenvacht's page

I was born in the land of Irrisen the only child of a proud pair of Ulfen. We lived in a small hamlet called Paddheim, as most people of that land do. I was raised a warrior, just like the rest of my small tribe, taught to hunt and keep myself alive in the unforgiving land. It was a terrible way to live; some starved, some were killed by the lands feral beasts, and still others by the capricious witches who rule there. Yet somehow we kept together.

My parents were both members of The Heralds of Summer's Return, an underground resistance group in that land which fights the witches' rule tooth and nail. I was raised a member as well. We knew that life in constant winter under those damn witches was not something we would simply endure, and we strove constantly to oppose it. However, they had an iron grip, and resistance was hard to form against those who can read your minds. Still, we were a small village that was not passed through by patrols often, so we were able to act as a small base of operations for the Heralds.

I was only 15 when one of the Witches came to our hamlet with a small guard of ice trolls and fey. He was only there to remind us of who ruled the land, but we had other plans. Through a cunning ruse, we ambushed the witch and killed him before his guard could react. Though the fey quickly followed him or fled, those ice trolls were damn powerful; the two of them took out ten men before succumbing.

We celebrated our victory in battle only very briefly, for it was a small victory. The Witch we killed was only a minor noble, our numbers were significantly reduced by the combat, and there was no way that we could fight whatever the Witches were to send in response. We decided there could be no staying in the area; we packed and hastily departed, cutting a path toward the border of Irrisen. It was a terrible march; the enemy was never far from our tail, and most of the weaker tribespeople died along the way. My own father was lost in the march; he suffered a terrible wound from one of the trolls which grew infected as we walked until he could carry on no longer. We left him with a crossbow and words of love. I hid the tears that froze to my face as we hustled ever onward.

We reached the borders of the land after a week's march, only fighting a few smaller patrols on our way. At the border, as the sun rose on the horizon, we spotted a lone rider silhouetted by the sun, and the tribe panicked. It was the White Rider, one of Baba Yaga's legendary servants. We bolted like a herd of animals, and the rider was on us faster than possible for a mortal, cutting down man after man. I struggled to stave off the exhaustion and sprint as I heard the screams of agony draw ever nearer.

And then suddenly, it stopped. We turned to see the Rider with its red-soaked blade staying still at the border, its mount stamping furiously. It carefully ran its hand down the wet blade, and the blood froze in front of our eyes. It then purposefully turned and rode back toward the sun, past eight of my tribe's fallen warriors. We took several moments, then continued moving.

After our tribe got out of Irrisen, we couldn't decide what to do next. From our original numbers of fifty, only a score were left. My mother was urging the tribe to continue the fight, but at that point most (rightly) saw it as a suicide mission. The tribe's leader decided we would travel to the closest settlement in the new land we arrived in, the Land of the Linnorm Kings. My mother reluctantly joined as we made our way to Losthome.

Luckily for us we were not the first refugees from Irrisen that Losthome had met, and we were treated well. We told of our attack on the minor Witch, and received congratulations from the locals, which felt rather hollow. From there we spent some time recovering and debating what the tribe's next move would be.

We did not have much time to debate. The scouts of Losthome against the borders to Irrisen reported a large incoming incursion of malicious fey, trolls, and winter wolves, led by another of the Witches. The people of that fort-town prepared for war, and we prepared along with them. We had no doubt the Witches sought to retaliate for our insolence, and we would not hide while others died for us. We met the army from the walls of the fort, they had also brought a massive mastodon armored in some type of magical ice which served as a living battering ram. The ensuing battle was hard fought, but in the end we pushed the Witch's army back to Irrisen. As she left, she vowed that we had not escaped the wrath of the White Witches.

After meeting that army sent by the Witches, it was obvious that we needed larger numbers to stand any chance of opposing them, as well as better equipment for fighting them. We learned that the people of the Lands had not forgotten the Winter War, and most were eager to overthrow the Witches, which served our needs well. We traveled out to Kalsgard to meet with Sveinn the Linnorm King and see what assistance we could get. Unfortunately, after meeting many struggles along the way and finally reaching Kalsgard, Sveinn informed us that he was in the midst of a civil war with King Ingimundr of far-northern Bildt, and would not provide any help to us. Though we warned him that the White Witches grew more bold, he dismissed us, saying the Blackravens had held the border from Irrisen for centuries and they would continue to do so.

With no help from Sveinn, we sought to petition the other Linnorm Kings. The majority of our tribe, now numbering eighteen in total, stayed in Kalsgard, while a group of four left for Jol in the south and three of us, myself included, boarded a boat headed to Halgrim, domain of the Linnorm King White Estrid. Along the way our boat suffered a raid and an attack by skum, but we arrived in Halgrim nevertheless. White Estrid, on her throne with a living linnorm laying as a pet behind her, greeted us. We told her of what we had been through, and of the danger the White Witches presented. She considered our request for assistance for one day, then gave us a proposition: if we could sort something out for her, she would agree to send aid.

Estrid told of sailors coming to her with reports of something emerging from the legendary Black Tarn on the island of Dragon's Rib. Supposedly it was a malevolent spectre, or else a beautiful sea-witch, or an angry snowstorm. Whatever it was, it was routinely emerging to kill the crews of passing vessels, and Estrid needed someone to stop it. She had sent several groups of warriors to that island to deal with the issue, but none returned. Having no choice, we agreed to the attack on the Black Tarn. She gave us three magical necklaces which would allow us to stay under the water much longer than normal, and sent us along our way.

The Black Tarn turned out to be the residence of a coven of sea hags, led by a particularly powerful and tricky green hag. We fought through their minions and barely destroyed the coven, one of my companions losing his life in the effort. The hag's lair had many interesting items, including a suit of linnorm-scale armor and a particularly fantastic-looking sword. As I touched the sword, something warm embraced my entire body. My remaining living ally told me later that my body glowed as with a white fire, and parts of my flesh withered before his eyes.

As the white fire came over me I saw a vision of a man who I somehow knew to be Arnlaugr the Fearless, one of my ancestors. He told me that I was destined to great things, and that through connecting with my ancestors I would be capable of things beyond mortal men. A power came into me then, and my consciousness came back to the realm of the living, where my companion was looking at me with a mixture of curiousness and horror. It was not long before I saw my reflection in a mirror inside the hag's abode, and realized that large sections of my flesh had seemingly dissolved away, leaving me looking like a hideous leper. It was also not long before I realized that I had unlocked oracular powers, given to me by my ancestor Arnlaugr the Fearless.