Stories from the Campfire : Freans and the Ancestral Isles

These will be a collection of stories from varying sources across the Mother Trees roots; tales of Spirits, the unseen, and incomprehensible.

Welcome dear readers, to the light of The Campfire.

Freans, the race often referred to as the children of the forest. Freans carry traits of many beasts, from Felines and Canids, to robust Ungulates and so-on. The species is tribal in nature, some displaying migratory behaviours across the Ancient Isles. Scholars who studied with Frean shamans were told stories of the past, how the many small tribes formed. Each would distinguish between predator and prey, with the rare exception of omnivorous species, and others would be divided between Diurnal and Nocturnal species. It would be recorded that during these clashes between tribes, warriors were free to “Unleash the Beast,” leading to quick and often blood drenched bouts.

After the dust would settle, and the both Migrators had determined the victor, a peace treaty would be struck to collect the deceased. The glade would be left a field of crimson, and in the night, funeral pyres would be lit and mighty songs sung to celebrate the brave departed. Some have suggested that they share the same traditions as the Eolo, but further study suggested that was far from the truth. The Shamans would go on to inform scholars that the bereft would keep belongings of the departed, a memento to tell stories of their achievements, whether it was through combat, artistry, or song. The ashes would also be collected from these funeral pyres, so that the departed souls would remain with the tribe in their migrations and times of ceremony. These ashes would also be used to adorn warriors, mages, clairvoyants, and chiefs with sigils of protection or success by way of short rituals, so that the spirits of their ancestors would guide them in their task. However, what happens to those who are forgotten by time?

Our first story comes from a Feline Frean by the name of Samson. He told us of a story passed down through the generations, of one evening during the calm before a battle with a tribe of ungulates, on the night of the new moon. It was at the late hours of the night while the guardswoman was on shift for the night watch, the only sounds to be heard at the hour was of the wind blowing through the grasslands.

It is said that the guard remained at her post the whole of the night, but this evening that calm silence would all change with the snap of a twig. From here the story goes as follows.

“The guard’s ears rose to a point, the fur on her tail stood on end. The enemy camp and their torch lights were far off on the hill. If they were to attack, it would have been spotted from miles away as ungulates were heavy, noisy, and some would say brutish in battle. After a moment of scanning the fringes of the camp, at the very edges of the fire light she heard a single heavy foot fall breaking the grass. Then there was another heavier stomp, until the field erupted into a cacophony of stamping hooves just at the edge of the light. Soon after came the roar of weapons clamoring, axes and hammers clang, butts of spears pounded into the dirt, and an undeniable war cry rang out into the night. The noise came to a resounding halt after the cry of a Caribou loudly shrieked into the night, echoing across the plains. The guardswoman was prepared, holstering an arrow and firing into the night. She swore to her fellow guards that she saw hooves and feet at the edge of the grass, but no amount of shining light, and searching the grass revealed any signs of an army at the edge of camp.”

When shamans were asked about this, they would say this was the spirits of their ancestors protecting their kin. The ungulates are a hearty people, unafraid of battle, but they often choose peaceful means unless desperate. They were known to take roads less travelled if it meant avoiding a conflict with the Carnivorous Freans in the wilds. As for the Felines, they were always instructed to stay close to the pride on nights with no moon to fully illuminate their surroundings. It is recited by all Freans that, “Should the Moon shine in the sky, the Felines would own the night. It is only when the moon disappears that those who hunt by ear and nose reign supreme. It is those who do not partake of the hunt who are the fiercest, for they will fight to the last breath to protect what they cherish.

Our next story comes from an Ox Frean by the name of Reinhardt. He told us of one fateful evening on the full-moon. His tribe had settled in a wooded glade for the night, and many of the children that night were reportedly uneasy in this area. Far too many trees wrapped them in shadows. Reinhardt would go on to tell us that he was a very brave young caribou in his youth, chasing off all kinds of wildcats and birds from the young calves in the camps. The night he would go on to tell us about still brings chills to his bones to this very day.

He stood alongside his father, on watch in the camp for the night. The moon painted shadows that danced from the light of the torches and central campfire. It began with the cries of young calves, then the small children. Adults were hard-pressed to calm their distressed children, those who could speak were crying about “shadows in the dark”. One little boy kept pointing to the corner of his tent. Guards combed the camp, and nothing would be discovered as a cause, but little Reinhardt says he saw a pair of glowing red eyes in the dark of the under brush attached to a shade with pointed ears. He swears to us that he saw the flick of a tail before the apparition vanished into the night.

To this day, Reinhardt states to his friends that this event sends chills down his spine, and he never knew any such fear since. According to him, this was the presence of a hungry killer, one who could not be tracked in the moonlight as it bore no physical form.

Whether you are hunter or hunted, it seems the Ancestral Isles have more claim by their ancestors, than by those who live in the region now. The state of the Isles now is one of uneasy peace, which many Carnivorous Frean shamans say upsets their ancestors, and what they refer to as the Great Circle. Every Frean speaks of the natural order, The Great Circle is just the way of things. It would seem that even the deceased continue to follow their instincts.