Once upon a time in the far North, a Man was walking down a Snow dusted path. Icy hills to both of his sides making the Path rather closed, this was the Jä-Kuru, the only entrance to the North Forochel and to his Homevillage Pynti-Peldot. But this was no Normal walk, for there was others with the Man. Five hooded figures clothed in heavy furs, carrying arms enough to kill an entire Village. What for? That you might indeed wonder, it was for protection aswell to fullfill the hunt. For they were the Men of Forochel(The Lossoth) and this road was inhabited by their ancient Enemy, the Susi-Väki(Gauredain). To their front wandered the Father of the Man that this tale is about, Tarl the Great Hunter of the Hirvi Heimo.
Though Tarl's prey, like any others of the Heimo were not always critters. For the Hirvi-Heimo had a hatred to the Susi-Väki stronger than most of the Lossoth, and these occasional hunts to find and murder as many Gauredain as possible would not be put to rest, even though Tarl's Wife Killipa was Pregnant with Child. Though it was her fifth child, and therefore Tarl was sure the Child would not survive more than a few hours, a strange Demanding that the Spirits had made so very often before.
But as the Men wandered trough the Jä-Kuru something happened that they had not expected, Shadows began to show in the caves of the Icy hills. And all of the sudden a long spear flew out from within the Dark refuge of these Shadowy-enemies, the spear pierced Tarl's hip and forced him to the ground before his Companions had managed to draw their bows and shoot into the Dark caves. This were a Gauredain ambush, of that i am most sure! For it had always been their tactic to catch the Hunters of guard, so had they done in the past, and so they do still today. Tarl was lying on the ground, watching his Companions circle around him in an attempt to shield him for any upcomming assault. Within very few moments the Path was swarming with Large Humanoid creatures, these who looked like Men though had the sharp teeth and claws of a Wolf. The Susi-Väki, and in a matter of minutes the Path was filled with blood and the sound of screaming Hunters and Gauredain alike. Though what you might be thinking now is that this is the end of our tale, but i tell you it is not. For the Lossoth are a Strong Folk and are not easily killed. Tarl arose from the ground and in a long painfull pull he managed to draw the long Spear out of his hip, he was covered in blood and snow. He glanced around the small Battlefield, the Lossoth were losing the fight... The Gauredain were simply to many, even for the Hirvi-Heimo's skilled Warriors and Hunters. Tarl did as the leader of this group shout to his Companions; "Retreat my friends, today is not a good day to die!"
And so they did, the remaining Hunters ran for their life. And even though many of them were severly wounded they outran their followers, and could finally relax as they saw the fires of their Home... Pynti-Peldot was right before them, and at last after many Months of Hunt they could relax... Or so they thought, for as the Hunters wandered into the the small Village they were greeted by their families and the Elders of the Tribe, one of them a Sage, a Spiritual leader. For he was the oldest and knew more of the spirits than any others, "The spirits of Ice whispered to me of your loss, for twenty drew out and now five remains with nothing more than a few rabbits.." The old Man said as he leaned to his walking stick, "It was not our fault!" Tarl yelled in return, and in the same moment his Legs gave up and he fell to his knees. His eyes still locked on the Old Man, watching him with a most worried expression. For winter was comming and in Forochel winters were often much harsher than the cold summers, and almost no prey would be to find.
However now was not the time for such worries, for the five remaining Hunters were all wounded and needed to be treated with most care for now. And so they were all carried into The Elder's hut, to be healed and to rest. But not all of them could rest just yet, for in the earliest morning a little child ran across the Village "Tarl! Tarl! Tarl!" The child shouted as he entered the hut only to find the Old Elder watching over a Man lying with closed eyes, a Man who almost didn't breath. This was Tarl, the Heimo's greatest hunter, lying in what seemed to be his death-bed. The Elder looked at the Child, "What is it, youngling?" He asked in a friendly matter as he got on his feet and grabbed his walking stick.
"It's Killipa, Killipa She's." The child yelled as he ran out and towards yet another hut, the hut which has served as a home for Tarl and his Family. The old Elder walked into the hut to find Killipa lying with a small Baby in her arms, even though this were troubling times the Elder could not keep back his smile. For the Child looked so peacefull with his bright emerald eyes and the thin dark hair which already covered it's head, he approached carefully as he took the child from her arms. "What shall we call you, hm?" He asked as the child grabbed his beard, a curious one the child was indeed. The old Man wondered for a long time as he mumbled calmly into the ear of the child, "Jarkil, Jarkil.. The same name which Your fathers father once carried."
And so it was that Jarkil was born, that in it itself is quite the tale is it not? The light in the troubling times of his Heimo? And i can tell you now, it was not to be the last time Jarkil proved valuable to the Heimo. For only a few months went by before Tarl the Great Hunter did no longer breath, the Hip wounded had been poisoned and he was within the grasp of the Spirits now. And so it was that the entire Heimo carried him out to a Bonfire, a few of them were carrying torches and a few others were simply present to show their respects to perhaps the most important Man of their Heimo. Alongside them was the old Man, the Sage, the one who had been acting like a Father for Jarkil while his Father was slowly fading. They placed the corpse of Tarl upon the Branches with formed the Bonfire, infront of them all stood the Elder who also carryed a torch. "Tarl, appointed Mammoth slayer of title, Doom of the Susi-Väki, amongst other titles. This! Is the Man who fought for you, and alongside you, he who hunted only to keep us alive. And here he is, going trough the last trial the Spirits have made for the Lumi-Väki(Lossoth). To die is also a test i tell you, when we pass into unknown. And we can only hope that he will rest among the Spirits whom have been watching over him. Today, we say goodbye to a great Man." The Elder said as he threw his torch into the Bonfire, and the others followed his example. Many of the crowd were crying, for every death in the Heimo was a severe loss.
But a funeral never makes a good tale so let's skip a few years, hmm where should i start next... Oh yes, let us start when Jarkil had reached twelve winters.
