Within the pages of a plain leather-bound book was a legend written in a wispy, angular hand. The tale was first written in Gallwech, with a Common translation following. A note at the top of the entry read "Tale of the Night-Hunter - A Legend of the Talahm-Gall Highlands - Translated and Transcribed by Rionna Declan - May 22, 311" -x- In centuries long past, when the gods were young and people new to the world, before the approach of Nelfin ships, men and gods lived upon the same soil. Under their protection and guidance, men began to grow and thrive, but they were not yet ready to protect themselves from outside threats. One of these threats came in the form of Othluv, a powerful godly hunter who roamed the mountains with an insatiable hunger, picking off the fattest and most lazy of the mortals that wandered into his grasp. When Glaed came to him, shining and resplendent with the rays of the Sun, and told Othluv that he could no longer continue to hunt mortal men, Othluv protested that he had done it for the good of the mortals, who must learn to be cunning and strong if they wished to survive in the coming winters. The Prince of the Sun accepted this explanation and forgave Othluv, allowing him to go in peace so long as he promised not to feast upon mortal flesh again. Days passed and it seemed that Glaed’s kindly words had thawed Othluv’s heart, for no reports of disappearances or mangled bodies were to be heard. But first one, then two, then three pleas reached the ears of the gods and, once again, Glaed went to Othluv, who he pitied for being excluded and disliked by the Vanir and wished for him to be made welcome. He reiterated again that to consume mortal flesh broke the laws of the gods and encouraged Othluv to hunt the beasts of the fields and forests instead, for they were fat and plentiful in those young days, and even placed some of his own light into Othluv’s eyes so that he could see better in the dark. But Othluv could see the pity in the other god’s eyes and resented him for it, hardening his heart and declaring that he would not stoop to hunt the forests like a mere beast, that he deserved to roam and take what he wished as his godly birthright. Glaed’s expression hardened and storm clouds darkened the horizon as he warned Othluv that he could not be allowed to break the law again, but Othluv was undaunted. It was not yet a week before evidence of Othluv’s hunts once again became apparent. No longer did the gods have to wait for the begging prayers of mortal men to reach them, for their mangled bodies were left right upon the bases of the mountains where they dwelt. Finally, Glaed’s anger hardened and, as the flash of lightning replaced the glow of the Sun, he rolled forth to do battle with Othluv. Othluv was standing ready, clad in a fur cloak of midnight black and wielding long, steel claws. The two gods crashed together with the force of thunder and earth, causing the shadows about them to flicker and dance as shadow and light vied together for supremacy. For many days and nights they fought, with Glaed’s light banishing the darkness when he gained advantage and Othluv shrouding the world in endless night when the battle-tide favored him, but neither could fully overpower the other. When it became apparent that he would be unable to defeat Othluv alone, Glaed called upon his fellow Vanir to aid him and Godsun answered in defense of the mortals he favored. Othluv fought hard against the two gods, even managing to wound them, but ultimately he could not defeat them both and was subdued. He was bound and brought up the mountain to stand judgment before Brom, the Wolf-King, who decreed that, if Othluv wished to act like a beast, he would be forced to live as one. Othluv was banished to the wilderness and forbidden to show his face in the daylight, with Godsun causing the Lynx’s Silver Eye to keep watch on him by night. The gods believed that, banished from the comfort and security of their godly halls, Othluv would wither and weaken in his seclusion, but this would not be the case. Cast out into the wilderness, Othluv would not weaken, but grow stronger. He howled his defiance to the sky, echoing from the mountains, and his fury pumped greater strength into his veins until he stood twice the height of a mortal man. Over time, even his shape began to change, taking the form of a black wolf in defiance of the Wolf-King’s decree. Even though he could no longer appear by day, word of his strength and power spread throughout the villages and, as the world aged and hardships increased, mortals that had once shunned him began to heed his call. They came to him by night with tales of their plights - predators stealing their livestock, roving warbands slaughtering their people, a neighbor stealing their spouse - and he would offer them the choice to accept his gift of power if they dedicated their souls to him and not Brom. Many did come to accept this choice and, slowly, Othluv began to grow in power, becoming the Lord of Midnight, but still he resented the watchful light of the Moon. With the aid of his followers, who could travel by day and hide in plain sight, Othluv learned of the mountain where the Moon slept. Slowly, quietly, he crept up the side of the mountain and prepared to lay an ambush for the sacred silver lynx. Black claws met white fur and, for a time, the Moon’s light was hidden from the earth. But once again, Othluv was forced back into the shadows as the Eye woke, though he would always return each month when it slumbered. Such it has been since the earliest days, the Moon darkening each month before returning again, but it is said that each passing darkness becomes just a moment longer and that, one day, the rage of the spurned Lord of Midnight may well become powerful enough to overcome his bindings. ((Rionna told this story at an event the other day, so here it is posted for easier reading. I'm thinking I may post more scholarly writings on occasion, so keep an eye out for them!))
((Updated version of the story following the Fornoss update a while back. The plot points are still there, just some names and details are tweaked. This version was told at the Eili Temple in Fairbanks on February 1, 312.)) In centuries long past, when the gods were young and people new to the world, before the approach of Nelfin ships, men and gods lived upon the same soil. Under their protection and guidance, men began to grow and thrive, but they were not yet ready to protect themselves from outside threats. One of these threats came in the form of Àlubh, a mighty and brutal hunter who roamed the mountains with an insatiable hunger. Boars and deer were not enough for him, not even wolves and bears were cunning or powerful enough to satisfy. Instead, he turned his hunger to mankind, stalking the sleepy villages and picking off the fattest and most lazy of the mortals that wandered into his grasp. Hearing the people’s cries, Crigradach came to their aid and appeared before Àlubh in the warming rays of the dawn. Though his gaze was stern, he smiled and spoke gently to Àlubh as a wayward son. He knew how Àlubh had been cast out from his youth for his hideous visage and ill-omened birth, left alone to be taken by the wilds. But he was not taken and instead grew stronger for the trial, returning to hunt the quiet homes with all the merciless cunning that they lacked from their easy lives. The Lord of Dawn knew of Àlubh’s suffering and had compassion for him, coming to chastise him instead of striking him down, but Àlubh resented this pity as weakness. When Crigradach told him that to consume mortal flesh broke the laws of the gods, Àlubh retorted that the beasts of the wilds would honor no such law and that his was the law of Nature - grow strong or die. He was doing the mortals a service, he argued, by forcing them to reject their slothful and easy ways. When some great disaster came in the future and their blades were dulled from lack of use, they would cry out for the strength to sharpen them again. Crigradach heard these words and was moved to spare Àlubh’s life, but he could not allow him to continue hunting mankind. Instead, he placed some of his own light into Àlubh’s eyes to allow him to see better in the dark and become an even mightier hunter that mortals would have to compete with for their meals, but commanded him not to feast upon mortal flesh. Weeks passed and it seemed that Àlubh’s heart had been thawed by the Warmth of the Sun, for no reports of disappearances or mangled bodies were to be heard. Mortals exhaled their breaths and the gods drank to their success, but deep inside Àlubh’s darkened heart, mercy festered into malice. Without warning, Àlubh took to his hunts with a vengeance - no longer did the gods have to wait for the begging prayers of mortal men to reach them, for their torn corpses were left right upon the bases of the mountains where they dwelt. Àlubh was no longer hunting only for sustainence or even for sport. Now, he hunted for spite. When the Lord of Fire returned, it was no longer with the gentle light of dawn, but in the blazing noonday sun. He gave Àlubh one final chance to recant, but he refused, and the loving heart hardened against one that he had once called son. Crigradach rolled forth to meet Àlubh in battle, resplendent in his golden armor and wielding his shining white-hot sword, while Àlubh charged forth to meet him, clad in a fur cloak of midnight black and wielding long, steel claws. God and hunter crashed together with the force of fire and earth, causing the shadows about them to flicker and dance as shadow and light vied for supremacy. For many days and nights they fought, with the Sun’s light banishing the darkness when he gained advantage and Àlubh shrouding the world in endless night when the battle-tide favored him, but neither could fully overpower the other. Wearied but undaunted, Crigradach found that even his passionate defense was not enough to stand against the malice of this hunter, so he sought aid from the other gods. Madathair, the Wolf-Father, declared that he would stand beside his kinsmen and help protect the mortals they both favored, and so ice and fire joined to banish the shadows. Àlubh fought hard against the two gods, but ultimately was subdued and brought alive up the mountain to stand judgement before Righceart. The great King of Justice glowered down at Àlubh from his steel throne, silver slitted eyes flashing dangerously, and decreed that, if Àlubh wished to act like a beast, he would be forced to live as one. He was banished to a distant and dark cave, forbidden to show his face by day and kept under the watch of the Wolf’s Icy Eye by night. The gods believed that Àlubh would wither and weaken in his seclusion, but like his first banishment by mortals, his defiance gnawed at him greater than his hunger. Cast out into the wilderness, Àlubh would not weaken, but grow stronger. He howled his defiance to the sky, echoing from the mountains, and his fury pumped greater strength into his veins until he stood twice the height of a mortal man. Over time, even his shape began to change, taking the form of a black wolf in defiance of the Iron Lord’s decree. Even though he could no longer appear by day, word of his strength and power spread throughout the villages and, as the world aged and hardships increased, mortals that had once shunned him began to heed his call. They came to him by night with tales of their plights - predators stealing their livestock, roving warbands slaughtering their people, a neighbor stealing their spouse - and he would offer them the choice to accept his gift of power if they dedicated their souls to him and not the Eili. Many did come to accept this choice and, slowly, Àlubh began to grow in power, becoming known as the Lord of Midnight, but still he resented the watchful light of the Moon and recoiled from the warmth of the Sun. With the aid of his followers, who could travel by day and hide in plain sight, Àlubh learned of the mountain where the Moon slept. Slowly, quietly, he crept up the side of the mountain and prepared to lay an ambush for the sacred Silver Wolf. Black claws met silver fur and, for a time, the Moon’s light was hidden from the earth. But once again, Àlubh was forced back into the shadows as the Eye woke. There, he nursed his wounds and his fury, preparing to return again when it slumbered. Such it has been since these earliest days, the Moon darkening each month before returning again, but it is said that each passing darkness becomes just a moment longer and that, one day, the rage of the spurned Lord of Midnight may well become powerful enough to overcome his bindings. Until that day, however, the light of Sun and Moon keep watch to keep the darkness at bay.
