The Lore of Scryer Tundror of the Field

Tundror was born in a sprawling meadow along the reaches of The Fey and The Thorn woods. As a young werebeast, he spent most of his time honing skills as a hunter and tracker, fashioning wooden spears and arrows tipped with sharp stones from his trips to the northern mountains that he himself carved on cold nights spent fireside. Werebeasts are half man, half wolf, and are known to be able to communicate with those within the canine family, among other beast-like abilities. One fabled summer afternoon as he stalked a white deer in the Fey, he came across a young wolf pup that seemed to have lost its pack. The cub dashed to Tundror, growling deeply to assert that it was not afraid. Tundror responded by dropping his spear and kneeling to the ground with hands held out to show he meant no harm. He whispered a language unknown to humans, one he himself had not spoken before but somehow naturally came out. The wolf’s ears perked and she leapt into Tundror’s arms, licking his face and wagging her tail. “l’ll call you Tazza”, he said smiling.

He and Tazza quickly became well known to the communities that sprawled the many woods of The Wild. They would roam villages, seeking merchants, farmers, and townspeople who’s lives were troubled by the many monsters, ghouls, witches, and wizards that often wandered through the lands, looking for food, riches, or simply to stir up senseless chaos. Tundror was especially known to be an expert hunter of Blood-Sick Vampyres, a vile and depraved Vampyre that has been corrupted by drinking the blood of a monster. Werebeasts and Vampyres have historically been at odds, fighting violent wars over centuries. Recently, with the growing presence of magics both pure and evil, they’ve been able to cast aside their differences and live peacefully so long as they do not cross into each other’s borders. Vampyres cannot kill other Vampyres so they’ll often hire Wearbeasts, whose claws and teeth are imbued with a natural toxin that is exceptionally harmful to their kind, and who have acute instincts to hunt them. Together, Tazza and Tundror spend years traveling the realm in search of citizens to help and beasts to hunt.

One spring day many moons later, Tundror met with a representative from the Western Myst wherefrom Vampyre’s hail. The two gathered at the Toadstools, considered neutral territory. The old pale creature spoke of a brother of theirs who had exiled himself in search of dark magic. Vilas, his name, was said to have killed and drank the blood of a Hollowmux, a very rare and dark mystic beast that roamed the shores of The Quantum Shadow. The process of which had quickly sent him into a craze of killing helpless goblins, toads, humans, and many farm animals of the surrounding region. These rogue, Blood-Sick Vampyres had become an increasing problem as nearby villages were growing more frightful of their kind, pleading that the Western Wizards come and eradicate them. As tensions rose, the Vampyre’s knew they needed this problem dealt with swiftly and effectively. The elder asked Tundror for his help. He accepted.

Vilas was last seen heading south-east of Goblin Town. Tundror and Tazza tracked his movements by seeking reported sightings and killings that matched the description given to him by the old and desperate Vampyre. This path eventually brought him to a small merchant camp not far from the The Great Owl Obelisk, an ancient relic of the wizards that have long kept peace in the realm.

That night as he wrote in his journal, he heard distant screams from the monument. He sprung out of his tent to a moon-lit desert plane, Tazza at his side. It was a full moon, which meant that his strength was at its peak. His nose twitched. He could smell the creature. As they approached the towering Obelisk he saw a young girl flee towards him, yelling in a foreign tongue he did not even remotely understand. When he finally came upon the opening where the screams came from, it had turned eerily silent. Vilas must be here. Tazza let out a low growl. The silence instantly broke with a swift patter of feet running on sand. Behind, in front, to the left, to the right. He could not pinpoint the source of the footsteps. Without warning, a dark figure appeared almost out of thin air face to face with Tundror. His speed was astonishing. “Hello, Wolf” the figure croaked through sharp, crooked teeth. “Vilas”, responded Tundror. “Are you here to die, beast? Your kind taste delightful. What a treat!” cackled Vilas. The Vampyre was tall, lean, and hooded in a cloak. His face pale white, stained with blood, and his eyes looked like glossy black orbs, bulging from sunken sockets. Tundror dropped his spear and the two came together in a flurry of scratching and punching. Claws drawn, they exchanged blows while Tazza circled, looking for an opening to attack. Vampyre’s are powerful, but Tundror knew that the magic blood of the Hollowmux had changed this particular one profoundly. Vilas was extremely fast, strong, and his nails cut deep, leaving burning fissures all over his Tundror’s body. He had never fought such a worthy foe. Their battle continued almost endlessly, too fast for Tazza to keep up with. Nonetheless, she was determined to take down this monster that her protector was desperately struggling to subdue. Tundror felt he was losing the fight. His torso was covered in wounds and he knew he was losing too much blood to continue much longer. For the first time ever, he was truly frightened. He shouted in Canine for Tazza to flee. She ignored, continuing to circle. Vilas threw one more crushing blow that knocked Tundror back towards the ground to where the fight had began. Spear and hunting knives sprawled around him, he clutched at the sand, struggling to find something to defend himself with.

After what felt like days, Vilas smiled and called to him “Oh wolf, you do not know the strength that runs through me. I am on a path to become the most powerful creature to ever roam this plane. I shall restore my species to our rightful place as rulers of these lands. I am the omen of death. The coming Vamcleric dynasty will eradicate your disgusting race from this realm. You will be the very first of many of your brothers and sisters to perish at my hand… Every creature I feed upon grows my inconceivable power…” he barreled on.

Tazza saw this self-righteous monologue as her chance to strike. It was now or never. She leapt to Vilas’ leg, teeth drawn, knowing the fate that Tundror faced if she did not succeed. Wolf teeth, like werebeasts, is toxic to Vampyres. Her sharp fangs dug deep into Vilas’ calf, bringing him to one knee in such agony that he could barely let out a desperate gasp for air. She tore away, taking with her a chunk of tendons, muscle, and tissue from the villain’s now crippled leg. In that same moment Tundror’s hunter instincts overcame his exhaustion. His prey was wounded and this may be his last chance to strike. In one swift movement he kicked up his spear from the ground into his right hand, drawing far back over his shoulder and channelling all his remaining beastly strength. He pulled forward, thrusting the spear in the direction of Vilas. In a fraction of a second, the heavy javelin finds Vilas’ heart, piercing effortlessly through his chest and back. The blow sent him flying off his feet before he had a chance to swipe at Tazza. With a loud crash his body collided with the Great Owl Obelisk, the mangled Vampyre letting out a violent cry that ripples across the still sands of the southern desert.

As Tundror walked towards him, his form slouched against the dark wall of the monument, he gasped one final quiet and raspy exhale. His pale started to turn dark and grey, cracks sprawling from head to toe. In a matter of seconds, his body crumbled into a pile of bone and ash, quickly carried off amongst the sand in a light wind. Tundror lets out a sigh. “Gods be damned, that was close”.

He limped over to the pile of bones, noticing that the wall of the Obelisk had a small crack formed where the spear and body of Vilas had landed. As he knelt down to take a closer look, he could see some of the Vampyre’s Blood was dripping from the cracks, the only blood of his foe left, he noticed. The rest had all evaporated along with his remains shortly after his final breath. The blood vibrated, flowing from the crack as if the monument itself were bleeding. Before his eyes, the crimson liquid turned first to black, then a deep shimmering purple illuminated by the white light of the moon. This can’t all be Vilas’ blood, he thought. Before long, the pool had grown around where he and Tazza stood. He felt himself fading from the loss of blood. He was covered in deep cuts, wondering if he would make it out alive after all. After a handful of deep, long deep breaths, Tundror collapsed unconscious against the cracked wall of the Obelisk. Tazza yelped, jumping to his side and licking his wounds.

He dreamt of a purple diamond-shaped crystal suspended in the sky with the backdrop of five moons surrounded by stars and cosmic dust. He heard what sounds like the howling of a thousands wolves. “The light of Ether is with you, Tundror. Wake… wake… Greatness awaits…wake…” The voice of a woman faintly echoed through the loud calls. When he finally woken, he jumped to his feet, wincing at the bright moon above and remembering everything that just took place.

Tazza was nowhere to be found. His eye quickly found his spear, which looked very different than before. The weapon, which was previously a very battered and scarred piece of old wood, was now long and smooth with a slight amber sheen. It was wrapped in a blue ribbon that hugged the shaft and feathered near the tip. The once stone arrowhead now appeared to be a glowing purple crystal of a similar shape. Confused, he looked around him in panic. “Tazza!” he called out, remembering his familiar is missing.

Hearing a distant bark in response, he and sighed in relief. From behind the Obelisk, Tazza emerged with a curious look on her face. His eyes widened as he saw that she was much bigger than before. At least twice the size. Her fur had turned to a deep, almost black purple. Her eyes, teeth and claws were glowing with a soft purple hue. He could feel it himself, more power than he had ever felt before on a full moon, radiating through the staff up into his hands and arms. With his left hand open, he stared in disbelief as the lines of his palm illuminated with dark light. There was magic coursing through them, he thought. Tazza then looked up to the moon and let out an echoing howl, the loudest Tundror had ever heard from a wolf. He watched her in silence, closed his fist with a wry smile, and began to walk slowly back towards his camp.

Entered by: 0x7BF5…F09b and preserved on chain (see transaction)