Wolf

Elf Male

Not affiliated with an Alliance

In the barren land of Elijal, rain had fallen for the first time in decades. By dawn, a flood tore through the cracked earth, forcing its way into an ancient cave. The waters carried broken logs, shattered stone—and a lone wolf. The current hurled him against a rock, and darkness claimed him.

 

When the flood finally retreated, silence returned. The wolf stirred. His body ached, his stomach burned with hunger, and despair weighed heavier than his soaked fur. He lifted his head and looked around the cave. In the far corner, green eyes glowed. The wolf shivered. A low chant echoed, ancient and rhythmic.

 

An elf stood there. Water streamed from his hands as glowing runes shattered and fell away like broken glass. A spell, sealed for centuries, dissolved at last. The elf straightened, tall and ageless—a being from forgotten days. Memories rushed back: old wars, steel and fire, the screams of orc hordes cut down by his blade. He whispered, “What year is this?” The cave mouth beckoned, the world beyond waiting to be rediscovered. He took a step—then stopped. His gaze fell upon the wolf. Alone. Broken. Yet still alive. Still brave. The elf lowered his hand. “No,” he said softly. “Not yet.” And in the quiet cave of Elijal, two survivors of different ages watched each other, bound by loss, and by what the world had yet to take from them.

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The Dwarf's Demolition

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yuman ^^^ the dwarf had a land claim in Elijal, and he took it very seriously. Mostly because he'd paid for it with his entire snack budget.

So when a wolf built a city right on the edge of his claim, Yuman did what any reasonable dwarf would do: he grabbed his hammer, ignored the part about "talking it out," and flattened it.

"Oops," he shrugged, standing on the rubble. "Property line. Look it up."

Wolf stared at the dust and sighed. He'd survived a flood, a cave, and an elf with no sense of time.

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One Wolf, Zero Chill

 

  <<<<---- Emil

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Across the barren plains of Zanpur, an orc warrior caught sight of a wolf walking through the dust. Where others saw a survivor of the flood, he saw something rarer: a heart that refused to break.

He planted his axe in the ground and called out, "Wolf! The CHILL alliance has a fire burning and a place at our table."

The wolf studied him in silence, then stepped forward, no longer a lone survivor, but one of CHILL.