This story is one of a dozen "background flavor pieces" I wrote for Sierra On-Line's 1997 roleplaying title, Betrayal in Antara. All appeared either in the game, on Sierra's website as a teaser for the game, or both.

A Tale of the Grrrlf
story by Cindy Vanous, ©1998 Sierra On-Line

Bleeding and aching, T'Varrod nonetheless checked his companion's wounds before his own. Although the Grrrlf had seemed to shrug off the damage he'd taken in battle, he had collapsed as soon as the danger was over. Only after T'Varrod was certain that his arms-brother would live did he lower himself painfully to the ground and start to clean the worst of his own cuts. There had been five of the bandits, and T'Varrod counted himself very lucky to have survived the encounter. The corpses of their attackers held no clue as to why they had suddenly set upon the two travelers, but T'Varrod couldn't help but notice that they were far too well-armed and well-fed to be simple highwaymen.

A rough cough announced his companion's return to consciousness. The Grrrlf slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, and ruefully studied his badly-slashed right arm. Although T'Varrod had done as much as he could to clean and bandage the wound, it would soon need the attention of a true healer, if he wanted to keep the use of it. The Grrrlf looked sideways at his companion as he gathered their few supplies, which had been scattered in the fight.

"Why should they attack us?" T'Varrod wondered out loud. "We have nothing worth stealing, we know no one of consequence, we haven't even made an effort to offend anyone! Well ... not lately, anyway."

"There are those of your kind who would kill you just for traveling with me," the Grrrlf replied. "We have seen that before."

T'Varrod snorted. "Street rabble and ignorant farmers. These men were armed with good steel and had the look of trained fighters about them. It's due more to luck than to skill that we're still standing and they are not."

The Grrrlf smiled. "I would not say that, my friend. We gave them a very fair accounting of our skill. If you were Grrrlf, I would say that you fight like Hrr'awlf himself!"

T'Varrod paused in his search of their late opponents' pouches. He looked quizzically at his companion. "You've used that phrase before. Who is Hrr'awlf?"

"Finish packing your things, and let us leave this place," the Grrrlf replied, "Someone may happen by, and I would not like to be found in a nest of corpses. And the faster we get to a healer, the happier I will be. After all, I am both a scholar and a warrior, and it would be very difficult for me to continue either profession if I were to lose this arm. I will tell you the story as we travel."

T'Varrod nodded, and counted the small handful of coins that he had recovered from their opponents. He shook them at his companion. "Well, this will help to cover the cost of the healer, anyway." He shouldered both his own pack and the Grrrlf's, and helped his arms-brother to stand. After a last look at the enigmatic corpses, they turned and made their way along the forest road. At first, they remained anxious and alert, wary of further attacks, but as the trees became further between, and the woods gave way to cultivated fields, with full visibility in all directions, the travelers relaxed slightly.

"It seems that we are safe, for the time being," T'Varrod said. "And the village of Dalnas is less than a day ahead of us. And so I believe, my friend, that you owe me a story. Tell me of this Hrr'awlf."

His companion laughed. "A tall order, indeed. The story is an old one, and has never before been related in your speech. I think it will lose something in the translation, but I will do my best. One of these days, I will teach you my language. Then we can pass the time on the road with the stories of Grrrlf heroes and gods. They are so much more interesting than yours."

The Tale of Hrr'awlf

"My people have a legend," the Grrrlf began, "of a time when we roamed this whole land. We had driven your people out and taken the forests and fields for our own. And as seasons slipped into years, and years into generations, we forgot about the humans. This was truly one of our greatest mistakes, for you had not forgotten us. And when you returned to our captured hunting grounds, you came well-armed with steel weapons, and with the knowledge of our race and our habits, and, most of all, with magic.

"Your army was formidable, and we were just scattered packs, unwary and complacent. And so, pack by pack, you drove us back from our territories, killing most and sending the survivors fleeing ahead of you. Some of these were killed for entering territory held by other packs, but many others were either accepted into the new pack, or were allowed to pass through as they fled further north. And so the tales of destructive magic and human conquest spread. Few Grrrlf who had not seen the human army could believe these stories, and so few packs joined the flight north. After all, each pack had defended its hunting ground for generations from all challengers, both from within and from other packs, and so they were very unwilling to give up their hard-won territories. And so nearly all of the southern Grrrlf packs were completely destroyed in the first year of the war. The humans were not inclined to leave any of our people in peace."

T'Varrod cleared his throat, as if to say something. But before he could speak, his companion hastened to reassure him.

"Peace. I am not telling you this to make you feel uncomfortable, my friend. If you will remember, my people had done the same thing to your ancestors several generations before these events occurred. You were merely retaking the land that had been yours. No, this part of the story needs to be told simply so that you will understand what happened next.

"To one of the northern packs, the Watergrove pack, there came a visitor. This new male was dark-furred and in his prime, and was one of the largest Grrrlf that the pack had ever seen. As he passed the sentries, he looked each of them in the eye and bared his teeth, and neither felt inclined to prevent his passage. Despite a terrible jagged scar on his belly, barely healed and raw, he held himself erect and proud, and he smelled strongly of the musk of a challenger. Several of the females took interest as he walked past, and the two least males, cowed by his stare and musk, crouched by his feet. And so he walked until he reached the center of the pack-home, and there he stood, unmoving. The other lesser males, drawn from their tents by the silence and by the scent of the newcomer, surrounded him, ears held back.

"The strongest among the lesser males spoke to the newcomer. 'Why do you come to the territory of the Watergrove pack?' He asked. And the dark-furred one looked him in the eye. The musk grew stronger, and the lesser male finally looked away. The newcomer seemed satisfied. 'I am here because my own pack is gone,' he said, in a voice completely free of the nervousness that one would expect from a stranger in the heart of an enemy pack. This lack of fear confused the ring of lesser males even more, and another dropped to a crouch. The male who had spoken first gathered his courage and spoke again, though this time without looking up. 'What is it that you want here?'

"The newcomer considered the question for a moment before speaking. 'If I were to say that I was here to challenge your packmaster,' he asked, 'would you call him forth to me?' Several of the lesser males exchanged glances, and many of them either crouched or backed away into their tents. Only the three strongest males were left. They each risked a glance at the newcomer, and then at each other. Finally, the second among them backed from the ring and scratched at the hide door of the packmaster's tent. Now, the Watergrove pack was a large group, with much territory and fine hunting. And so the Watergrove packmaster was a powerful male, who had fought many challengers in his time, and who was terribly cunning and quite adept at seizing upon any weakness his opponent might show. As soon as the lesser male had scratched once at the door, it swung aside immediately and the packmaster emerged. Although he was not so large or young as the newcomer, he nonetheless had the weight of experience, and his gaze was just as commanding, and his musk was just as strong. As he approached, the remaining lesser males dropped immediately to crouch upon the ground.

"The packmaster looked at the dark-furred newcomer, and their eyes locked. The packmaster shifted slightly into an offensive posture. 'You say that you have come to challenge me,' he observed. The newcomer neither looked away nor shifted. Instead, he replied, 'That is not what I said at all. I simply asked that you be brought forth. I am here to tell you a story, and to ask for your help.'

"The packmaster looked surprised. Here was a situation that he had never before encountered. No Grrrlf would ever ask his help unless they were of his own pack, and, even then, they would be properly subservient. This stranger was neither, and the packmaster did not know what to make of a Grrrlf who stood tall before him and smelled of a challenge, yet asked casually for an unnamed boon. The packmaster was not used to uncertainty, and it disturbed him. He felt his own hackles rise, and fought the urge to attack. No challenge had been issued, and to kill the stranger now would be an indication of fear. And a packmaster could not show weakness of any sort, or his position would not be secure for long. However, the situation unsettled him greatly, and he determined to be rid of it as quickly as possible. And so he said to the newcomer, 'As you see, I am neither a child nor an elder, and so I have no need of your stories. Either challenge now, or be gone from my lands.'

"The stranger nodded once, and said, 'Then I challenge.'

"A challenge for Grrrlf packmastery was nothing like one of your human duels. No Grrrlf would ever think of using steel or bronze in the match. Rather, it was a trial of strength against strength, cunning against cunning, a trial of tooth and claw and fist. It was not a fight for show. It was not a demonstration of form or technique. It was a fight for life, since the fate of the loser was determined by the winner. It was a snarling, tearing, wrestling, circling, painful, bloody brawl, and one that no human could ever survive. It wasn't uncommon for one or both combatants to lose an eye or an ear in the struggle. It's a good thing that the Grrrlf no longer choose our leaders in this manner, or we could hardly call ourselves civilized.

"At the end of this battle, both males saw each other through a film of blood, and panted as if their lungs would burst. Tufts of fur floated across the pack-home, darting this way and that as the breeze took them. The challenger curled one hand protectively over a torn shoulder, and the packmaster tried very hard not to limp from a bloody gash in the back of one leg. Wearied from extended battle, they circled each other, each looking for an opening. The stranger glanced away for a mere moment, and in that moment the packmaster was upon him, aiming a heavy blow at the challenger's head. And in the following instant, it was somehow all over. The stranger stepped easily backwards, and kicked hard at the packmaster's weakened leg. Howling and off-balance, the packmaster fell. The challenger followed him down and pinned him to the ground with his own weight, placing one hand on either side of the packmaster's head and holding a very sharp claw to each of his eyes. 'Yield!' the stranger demanded, his voice rasping with exertion, 'Or live the rest of your days as sightless as a newborn!' Many moments passed, as both males caught their breath and the packmaster tried to sense some sort of opening or weakness which would allow him to continue the fight. But the challenger's hold was too strong, and the thought of a life in darkness, dependent upon the whim of the pack for his very existence, was too much for the proud male. Better to die.

"The former packmaster looked up once more at the stranger, and then looked away. He remained upon the ground. As the challenge-musk slowly faded from the air, he asked the victor, 'What will you do with me?'

"And the stranger bared his teeth in a sudden smile. 'Why,' he said, 'I have already told you that. I would have you hear my story, and then you will help me. And once you do, you may regain the mastery of your pack, and I shall go.' And with that, he helped the stunned male to his feet.

"Now the dark-furred stranger turned to the pack, and said, 'My name is Hrr'awlf. I am the last of the Oakwoods pack. You may have heard the tales of a large group of human warriors, invading the southern Grrrlf territories, and killing entire packs. You may have heard that they are all armed with good steel, and are fierce fighters. You may have heard that they can command the very elements to do their bidding. You may have heard that they spare none, not the females, not the cubs. You may have heard many more tales, each more unbelievable than the last. Now I tell you that everything you have heard is true, and more.

"'Several moons ago, my pack heard the tales of this plague of humans. And just as you have done, we laughed. For we were strong, and we had held our land for generations, since the last time we beat the humans and sent them fleeing across the sea. And so we stayed in our pack-home, and we boasted of our bravery, and we prepared for battle in the same manner that we always have.' Hrr'awlf paused for a moment as a growl of approval murmured through the pack-home. He waited for silence before he continued, 'And so we died. There were twenty of them for each one of us. Those who fought were slain by knives and spears. Those who crouched before the humans were slaughtered. And those who took their cubs and tried to flee were swallowed by the very ground itself.'

"Hrr'awlf paused again, then gestured at the raw, hairless scar on his belly. 'I was left for dead. I was not certain then why I had survived, when all my people had died around me. I searched for others, and found only the carrion of my fellow warriors, and the fissure in the ground which had taken my mate and cubs. And I couldn't bring myself to say the rites which would give them to the forest, since the forest and all the other spirits had turned against us to serve the humans. And so I lay in the ruins of my pack-home, fevered and despairing, and welcoming the death that I could sense in the air around me. Soon, I knew, I would be joining my pack once again.

"'But in the night, as that death closed in on me, I could feel the forest watching. And as the haze of pain started to clear, I could see that the elements and the spirits all were waiting, with sorrow in their eyes. And in that moment, I knew that they had not obeyed the humans out of choice, but that the humans had some sort of hold on them. And as the darkness finally came to claim me, I felt only a great anger that they could be so misused.

"'It was to my great surprise that I awoke the following morning. Although I was very weak, the fever had passed from me, and left me alive. I found what little there was to eat in the ruins of the pack-home and the surrounding woods, and I grew somewhat stronger day by day. As soon as I felt able, I said the forest rites for my departed kin, and I set out. I traveled north, away from the invaders, and toward the heart of the Grrrlflands. Several times I passed through territories decimated by the humans, or abandoned by fleeing packs. And at last I have come here. Now you will help me drive back these humans, so that we may once again reclaim our lands, and break the humans' hold on our gods.' With this, Hrr'awlf grew silent, and waited to hear what the pack would say.

"The former packmaster, now taking the place of second male until the previous second male decided whether or not to challenge him for the right, carefully avoided meeting Hrr'awlf's eyes. Unused to subservience, however, he had no trouble finding his voice. 'If what you say is true,' he stated, 'then it would be death for us to fight the humans. They have many warriors, and weapons, and they have the mastery of the elements. How would you have us battle them?'

"Once again, Hrr'awlf bared his toothy smile. 'How many warriors do we have?' he asked, and the former packmaster replied 'Thirty-and-three.' And Hrr'awlf asked, 'Could they fight fifty times that number of humans? Or a hundred?' And his second replied, 'They would indeed, but they would die.' And Hrr'awlf asked, 'What if they were twice as many? Then could they fight the humans?' And the answer was, 'They would, but they would still die.'

"And then Hrr'awlf said, 'And what if there were as many Grrrlf as humans? Then could we drive them back?' And the former packmaster replied, 'We would drive them back across the sea and further. But that is a mushroom-dream, since we have only thirty-and-three.' And Hrr'awlf said, 'The Watergrove pack has only thirty-and-three. But if the Vines pack also has thirty-and-three, and the Forest-Heart pack, and the Thistle pack, and the Ivywood pack? And each of the other packs who still hold their lands? What then?' And his second forgot himself enough to look straight into Hrr'awlf's eyes for just a moment, as he said with incredulity, 'But they are not our warriors! Why should they fight for us?'

"And Hrr'awlf replied, 'Because they will have no choice.'

"So it was that Hrr'awlf took the Watergrove pack, and went into the territory of the Vines. And there he met the packmaster of the Vines, and defeated him. Once again, he told his tale, and promised return of the pack to the former packmaster, as soon as the humans were driven out. It was the same in the Thistle territory, and Forest-Heart, and Ivywood, and Tallpines, and Stone, and Goldbriar, until finally they all came to the place that you humans call the Ulrich Mountains. And there Hrr'awlf saw plentiful game, and highly defensible territory, and there he called a halt. All who had met Hrr'awlf and traveled with him began to believe that he had indeed been touched by the gods, since he had done the impossible and brought three hundred warriors of different packs together. The gathered Grrrlf saw that perhaps they did indeed have a chance to drive the humans from their territories.

"Hrr'awlf himself could not rest with only three hundred to fight for him. And so he left the Grrrlf of each pack at Ulrich, and took only the former packmasters with him, and together they traveled to each of the other packs. By this time, the stories of the human invaders had reached every Grrrlf territory, carried by the survivors of the massacred packs as they fled north across the mountains. But they also carried the news of a dark-furred, scarred male who had defeated the masters of many packs and taken their warriors as his own, and who claimed to be able to turn back the human army. And so wherever Hrr'awlf and his seconds went, they were expected. And he no longer had to fight for mastery of the packs, he had only to tell his story, and his seconds to tell theirs. For each packmaster realized that not only would he have to fight Hrr'awlf to keep his rights, but if he were to win, he would also be challenged by each of the seconds until he finally fell. Because each of his seconds had come to believe in Hrr'awlf, almost as if he was one of the gods himself, and they would continue his fight even if Hrr'awlf himself were to fall.

"In this way, Hrr'awlf sent the warriors of many packs to Ulrich, to form the first Grrrlf army. But there were not so many Grrrlf left in the southlands. Many of the packs that Hrr'awlf searched for had already fled, taking their fighting males, and some of Hrr'awlf's hopes, with them. And so he searched the south in vain for the warriors that he needed, and was disappointed. He finally abandoned the search and led his seconds north when it became difficult to evade the human patrols. He returned to the Ulrich mountains, where his warriors would make their stand against the humans, even outnumbered. For the humans had left them no other choice.

"But it was with great joy that he saw his people amassed at Ulrich, for there were many more warriors than those whom he had sent. And Hrr'awlf realized that many of the packs that he had not seen in the south had simply heard of the army gathering in the shadow of the mountains, and had gone to join them. And at last he had the strength he needed to start his war."

Once again, the Grrrlf paused in his story, since the walls of Dalnas had come into view. T'Varrod was greatly relieved, since his companion's voice had betrayed more and more pain as they had walked. Now they would find a healer, and a safe place to spend the night, and a meal which was neither dried nor salted. The travelers drew heavy cloaks from their bags, and donned them before continuing. The Grrrlf were not welcome in Antara's rural communities, and T'Varrod and his companion had learned to travel inconspicuously to avoid trouble. Two men in cloaks were merely suspicious.

"A more welcome sight I've never seen," T'Varrod announced, as they walked towards the city gates. "But don't think that this will get you out of telling me the rest of the story. I know how it all ended, with the four-day war and the peace treaty, but I get the feeling that your version of it will be different from what I was taught as a child."

His companion laughed. "Tomorrow, or the next day perhaps, we will be back on the road again. If you are still interested then, I shall tell you the rest of the story. After all, there is nothing which makes the miles go by more quickly than a good tale."

T'Varrod also laughed. "Only as long as the tail is attached to a fast horse, my friend."