The Story of House Falorne

  

The Story of House Falorne





I bid you sun, sir. Allow me to tell you about my people.

We are the clansmen of the mountains. We brave these forests like none do. We know each course of the rivers and where every animal dwells.

We and clan Tarwit have lived here for as long as our history tells. We trace our descent from the Elk himself, set foot upon our lands to give us the gift of life. He taught our folk how to hunt, how to live from the land and in exchange, we swore to be the sentinels of his lands and servants.

Our skill in bow is not matched by none – not even our brothers. For thousands of years we have held feasts in each other’s honor, celebrating our bond of blood. We fought together against the savages in the north and the heretics in the south, but the Tarwits have changed.

A hundred years ago, our chief’s daughter was stolen from us by the Tarwit heir, Rhoan. He claimed his love for her was unending, and Thyer in her foolishness chose to spend the rest of her life together with him. But our chief, Maen, would not agree to let her go. Corrupted by lust, Rhoan kidnapped our lady and took refuge in his keep.

And so began a war that would never end. Maen led our armies against our own brothers. We shed our own blood on the ground we swore to protect – we cut down forests to craft us bows and banners, and we murdered doe and elk alike to feed our ever growing warband.

Our armies met at Slowe’s Opening. The battle raged on for five days and nights, and would have not ended so if Rhoan himself would have not been slain. Maen’s son and Theyr’s brother, Uthai, killed Rhoan and took his head into his hand, raising it for all the Tarwits to see. They threw down their arms and ran back to their lands, swearing to never forget the death of their paragon.

Thyer killed herself in the middle of the battlefield, and her body bled forever, and turned into a river that bore her name. Maen became ill and died after a night of sorrow and weeping.

Our enemies still bear hatred for us, even to this day. Our young men urge for us to keep fighting, but the wiser men of old know that hate will not bring good things. Our honor and pride is stained with our own blood, and since that day, we swore to never take one’s life for our own good.

Our chieftain, Jhelen, keeps to his words.

The banner of our clan is a buck laid upon a green field. It signifies our desire for peace, harmony, and our eternal bond with nature. May it always represent us.