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Warwood

Warwood men are not born; they are made, and not with ease...

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The cold was a chill that I welcomed; there was no need to avoid anything that was inevitable. It’s what I had told myself when I departed, when day transmuted to night, and when the snowflakes had turned heavy. The weather erected a great blockade between the intended destinations. Each step I made sank deep within the blanket of snow, slowing my stride. The winds sung songs of danger, foretelling chants that the cold would get worse, and with each blow of wind that passed I was forced to shiver. There was no relief from it. When I touched a tree, my hands kissed snow, and my eyes were constantly watching the diagonal pattern of intense flakes fall downward. 

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To fight towards the inevitable was worth it. When the time passed, I would be the Warwood of the village. It’s only defender who had gone through the trials of Aiza, god of man. The title would give me thousands of brothers across the sphere and a million sisters to protect if they needed me. The others in my tribe had claimed that we don’t need one. They said that all trouble came from when southerners fought southerners on the continent of Midler, and we had no need to protect ourselves from wars that had nothing to do with us. I was inclined to believe them when I was young, but far too many hunting parties had left and never come back. 

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I had always been tall, but by the time I had aged into manhood at sixteen, I was the tallest amongst everyone that I knew and stronger as well. I had seen what happened to those who wasted the gifts that the gods blessed them with. Tam the fishermen spent his days cutting holes in ice, pushing a string within it, and hours passed waiting for one to bite.

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 Although I had never seen him use it, there was common knowledge that he had been blessed with avora and the ability to cast spells at ease. He could have been a well-known guardian, but instead his greatest accomplishments were the size of the fish that he caught. Being as tall as I was had its advantages. When the Warwoods came to our village, there were six of them. Their bodies protected my metal armor, and I was sure a few of them gazed at me when they claimed they were searching for men to become Warwoods. The look scared me, while at the same time I saw it as direct instruction that the offer was being extended to me personally. 

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Three nights had passed since. Each night I had thought about leaving, and each night I drifted to sleep as I planned what I would need for my trek. At first I realized that it would be wise to gather enough food in case I got lost, then I thought it would be best if I had a companion, but when day broke on the fourth day I took one step too many, to the point where it would make me a coward to return. 

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Before departing, I did all that I could to ensure it would be safe. Prior to leaving, I prayed to Aiza and asked for his strength. It was said that all men who gain strength were to cast their greatest weapon into a fire. I did what was asked and threw what I could find. The only one of my two daggers that didn’t have a dulled edge.

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I hoped that Terra, god of the elements, would bid me well on my journey, but it seemed I had been ignored based on the powerful cold that occupied the atmosphere.

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The destination of where we were to go was clear. To go to the Renfrew Mountains and find the highest peak of the lowest mountain, and to wait for further instruction. The difficulty came in actually how to get there. I had to ignore the rumor that there were beasts in the mountain so terrible that the human mind couldn’t comprehend its existence, and that without shelter it got so cold that I wouldn’t make it until morning. I kept moving, eventually reaching my destination, trudging through each step that was held back with doubt. 

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I reached the mouth of a cave and rushed inside, embracing the avoidance of snow that its great walls provided. It gave me a chance to glance at the dark night sky, where the beings of the cosmos lived within its bright stars, protecting us from dangers far from our comprehension. The closest thing to divinity nearby was the hoots of flying owls, which were drowned out by the screech of vicious snow. It gave me something to focus on as I waited, and my patience wore thin as what felt like hours passed. 

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A shift in the snow broke my idleness. Expecting an animal, I withdrew my knife; instead, I saw a man who had the potential to be far more dangerous. My stomach twisted as I expected; it was somebody from my village expecting to bring me home. A sentiment that was dropped when I saw that his face was one I didn’t recognize. 

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His age was shown through multiple avenues. His beard was long and gray, his head was bald, and his movement took the cadence of one far too slow to be out in the cold alone. A quiver slung over his shoulders, containing a great deal of gathered arrows. Their bodies were wooden, and existing at its back end were white feathers fletching.

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“Aye,” he said, reaching out his hand for me to shake it. His voice was firm, steady, and deep. As if he had spoken so many that he knew each word should be spoken with certainty. 

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“Hi,” I answered, taking his hand and allowing myself to shake it. As both of our hands were tight, I felt no pain but noticed that my handshake may have been harsher than I thought.

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“Firm grip,” he pointed out.

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I heard another shuffle, and the second man who emerged from the forest wasn’t as impressive as the other. He was slower, shorter, skinnier, and younger than both of us. He seemed overprepared as he carried strings connected to clashing pots and pans, but by the looks of it, he hadn’t done any hunting that would constitute cooking a meal. I saw no furs, meat, nuts, or fruit. He was without a full bear and instead had what looked like long hairs that gathered together. Crafting a mustache, but nothing more. He was affected heavily by the cold weather, taking a great shiver when the winds blew and continuing to do so even when the winds were still. 


“We should be heading inside now... Shouldn't we?” He asked, stepping past the both of us, reaching into the cave's edge, and leering his head forward, as if there was something to be found within. 

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"We're called to wait. "Well, I was,” I corrected as my thoughts drifted in an attempt to try to find the correct words. Trying to remember exactly what it was that was said to me when I was recruited. I was told to find the highest cave at the lowest peak, but not much more. If this man was given better instruction, then I was. I found such a concept pushed over to a slight sense of irritation. It was unfairness, but even the graybeard seemed to agree, not with words but with movement. Stepping foreword within the cave, and I had no other choice but to follow; at least it felt that way. There was no way that I would allow myself to be left alone, while the others had the chance to become an enforcer and a possible name of legend. 

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They only got as far as a few steps, until the skinny man, who seemed to want to know everything that was in front of him, picked up a rock and threw it outward. Managing to reveal that ahead  into a deep pit. Deep enough that we never heard it land. It left me still with fear, but the graybeard kept foreword, albeit with smaller steps. 

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We all followed his caution, coming to learn that by the time we got to the other end, there seemed not to be any pit at all, but instead the certainty of a solid path had somehow formed. I considered that the cave must have been some trick of Avora and that I was correct in assuming we should have waited, but the excitement of learning what was on the other side was enough to keep me moving. 

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The only thing we found on the other end was a thin wall of ice that was shattered by a kick from the graybeard. As the shards fell, I spotted an exit for the cave, where a man sat still. Cross legged, without a torso, and his back turned against us. 

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“Must be dead,” I stammered. My reference to belief came from the stillness of his body and the knowledge that having no torso while entrenched within the nights chill lowered one into a pit of punishment. 

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“He can’t be.” The skinny man replied, shaking his head, “I came too far for this to be the end.”

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“We’ll check,” the graybeard stated as he walked forward. 

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I stepped past him, ensuring that if the still man was our instructor, I would be the first to see him in order to make myself stand out. I ensured my back was straight and my muscles were taut, and I kept my mouth still without a smile. 

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The still man twisted his neck when I arrived, and his eyes shifted between analyzing each other for long enough that it made me uncomfortable. I wondered if I was tall enough to be a Warwood, or muscular enough, or if I had killed enough animals or kissed as many girls. 


“You’ve made it. Past the first step at least. That’s better than most men, but not enough,” the sitting man answered. 

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Quickly, I saw that he must have been a Warwood. He had no mark that confirmed it, but in the way that he spoke, it was obvious that he had the certainty of a man bridled with purpose: “I don’t know what you believe or which of the gods is most important to you, but if you want to be a warwood. Declare for Aiza, and never worship another.”

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I didn’t have a response to it. I was hopeful that the others would answer first, but a truth had been instilled in me since birth. Each of the gods was to be worshiped equally. It had been stated many times by mane mentors. All gods were to be worshiped with equality. I knew the importance of Genesis, who had created all the animals within the sphere, and Terra, who without him there would be no refreshing snow, purposeful vibrant trees, smoldering fires, ashy smoke, or sway of winds that told of directions. I believed in my heart that no god should go above the other, and stating otherwise would be a falsehood. 


“Aiza has always been there for me. The only one who’s answered my prayers. I always placed him above the others. I’ll serve him and do what’s asked. I did so before I was a Warwood.”

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“I’m unsure if the gods still stand with us; of course they existed. The evidence is clear, but... I want to be an enforcer to be honorable. Not because I describe to follow the gods, or god in this case.” The skinny man stated with discomfort, speaking quietly as if his words didn’t matter and quickly in order to get out what he needed to see with speed as if none of it mattered. 

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With both the graybeard and the skinny man giving conflicting answers, leaving me unsure how I could proceed. I had always been told the truth was the best thing, but I was unsure if it could possibly be true, for if I didn’t declare for Aiza there was the chance that I would not be granted the chance to become a Warwood. 

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“The gods are equal, or at least there are supposed to be,” I answered. My voice was quavering far more than I hoped it would. It sounded like I was fearful, the way a Warwood never should be.

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“You stand by that?” The Warwood asked, shifting his eyes between the three of us.


“I do,” The graybeard answered while I was silent, and the skinny man spoke with what sounded like a squeak, “If that concludes my journey. Then thats the end then.” 

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“That means that's the beginning.” The mentor answered, “There's a beast in this forest. It’s been a terror for years. It’s unlike any other. Find it, and kill it.”

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I knew the tall man’s words were complete as he tilted his head outward to the forest. Informing that we all should follow. Yet the path ahead was not clear. The trees were huddled together tightly. Many of them were close enough as if they were supposed to bonded to one another. It was such a long distance, making the upcoming navigation a difficult trick to navigate through. Yet it was obvious there was only one path. It led to only one of us taking the coveted name and returning to the village as a hero, newly a warwood. I would no longer be Nyek Renfrew, but Nyek Warwood. Given a proper name that no one could ignore. 

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I was the first to move. The both of the graybeard and the skinny man both seemed like decent men, but this wasn’t a competition to be a decent man. It was to be the best man. The narrow trees were a blockage to being so. My tall frame was forced sideways as I stepped over. My steps were as quick as they could be, but it seemed at all times that something went wrong. A long knife that rested at my hilt struck against the bark many times over as my feet sank, gripped by the hands of cold snow that pulled me downwards, forcing my legs into a sudden shiver. 

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It turned from day to night as I tracked given footprints. Eventually I found footprints far larger than what I had seen before.

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I spotted the beast , I crouched low and slithered back into the trees.

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 Desiring to uncover if it had any movements that would show its weak points, or if I could stalk the beast and be lucky enough to wait until its slumber, gifting me with the opportunity to strike when needed. At first I believed it to be a bear, but it was no regular bear that I had seen before. It was twice the size of any that I had ever seen, and its fur was a mixture of dark brown with small brown patches blended into its exterior. It seemed to be like I was; it too was in the process of hunting. For its long black claws had been injected with a great deal of blood. Red markings that made its influence on the white snow beneath known. Starting with a large splotch on one end, and slowly as it moved closer to the bear, the trail continued. Stopping as it ripped apart its catch. It had taken hold of a dear, which was now torn into two. The body of which was being ripped apart as its innards had brought forth a trail of blood From the distance, it all appeared as if it were the flesh of red vines and organs and a carcass that was being torn apart. It was made obvious to me that I should have at the very least attempted to make myself be free of the killing. After all, it had just eaten, and I considered that it wouldn’t have to eat anything at all. I slowly began to emerge from my trees, but in the distance I saw that the thin man had done the same. It seemed to me that he had a higher interest in attempting, and the graybeard did the same. 

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Its metallic nose extended. Then it stopped standing tall and roared.

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“Here!” I screamed as I emerged from the trees, waving my hand with a frantic sense. It turned, showing its interest in me, as I quickly withdrew my only weapon. A hunting knife that certainly wouldn’t be enough.

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It’s mouth projected an immediate roar, spitting forth a wave of sound that destroyed the snow as it barreled towards me. I dove right into the snow in avoidance, forcing my skin into its cold embrace. I quickly recovered, holding my knife in preparation for what was to come. Its body rushed towards me, and I had no other choice but to begin to turn and run. 
It was struck by an arrow when it turned, forcing it to immediately shift its focus away from me. Once it had, it placed its focus behind it, then from above to the skinny man who struck his pots together.

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Its eyes suddenly projected a red line that burned through the snow, leaving a trail of rising smoke wherever it touched. 

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“Hey!” I shouted again, and the graybeard did the same on its end. The bear turned its head, and the red line tore through its own skin, slicing its body in two, unable to harm another. 
 

I gained brothers, and soon after, the namesake Warwood.

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