[center][h1][color=red][b][u]Clan of the Ashen Sun[/u][/b][/color][/h1][/center]

The mountainous pillar of flame and coal-black skin brooded upon its chipped throne of basaltic stone. Gunderic, Clan Chief of the Ashen Sun, glared with surly visage at the distant wall across from him. His hall, if it could be called as such, sat as empty as it had on the day of its making. Hacked away by hand by the strongest of his hird, Gunderic had been just as irascible during that auspicious event. It had been promised to be the start of something new, a grand beginning in the armies of Satravius. 

A bold faced lie. 

Gunderic grumbled, his tone rolling with rocks and billowing lava. Ferocity tore at the ends of his frayed patience and powerful fingers drove cracks into the dense stone of his pointless chair. [color=red][i]A throne fit for a failure[/i][/color] scoffed Gunderic, standing with disgust as he did so often as of late. Unwilling to stand in the presence of that most insulting edifice of his own pathetic ambitions, Gunderic marched out of his hall with pounding gait carrying him swiftly through the yawning portal that served as entranceway.

The light of the sun was dimmed yet still bit at Gunderic’s eyes; he had long remained in the hall and the low light of that sullen place left little to be desired of the baleful gaze from above. Blinking away the shimmering spears, Gunderic looked upon his “people”. Jotundar of all shapes and sizes went about what little business they had in the crumbling ruins of what was to be one of the many fortresses of Satravius’ domain. Now it was a pitiful ruin replete with shattered walls and decrepit huts. For the most part his Clan simply lay beneath the stars, so clearly useless were the buildings that dotted the area. 

This was the third time in nearly two decades that his Clan had returned to the spot. Such environs, though thoroughly healthful for a Jotundar, did not possess the adequate resources to support the clan. Instead the Clan wandered, claiming livestock from the numerous animals that made pasture in the mineral rich soil around the volcanic plains of the Cauldron. They served well enough to satiate the Clan’s hunger and the river to the North would quench their thirst whenever that spectre reared its ugly head.

[color=red][i]Vile stuff, water,[/i][/color] thought Gunderic, teeth grinding at the mere consideration of that most revolting of drinks. Nevertheless, Satravius had seen fit to torture His creations with a need for that most poisonous of liquids. Why he ever thought to burden them with it as a necessity, Gunderic could never guess. [color=red][i]A cruel joke, perhaps, by a cruel master.[/i][/color]

Gunderic’s thoughts seemingly never ceased their hateful rhetoric in most recent decades. He had found in his old age that he knew nothing but disdain for the life he lived. Oh, in his youth he had felt the rush of excitement as all his kind had; who wouldn’t, being told the world was yours for the taking in service to a God!

[color=red]“Bah!”[/color]

The shout, fueled by bitter sentiments held long in the heart of the Chief, carried across the open landscape and bounced from jagged rocks and broken walls to echo imperiously for miles. The assembled members of the Clan turned to observe the source of the noise, all eyes on the Chief who simple stared back, slightly taken aback by his own outburst. His visage tightened, all pretense of embarrassment fleeing from his features, and with one wave of his hand Gunderic dismissed their attention from himself and they villagers swiftly returned to their work.

Gunderic knew well that they were familiar with outbursts from him. Though he was trusted without question by the Clan, particularly for his role in keeping them together and protected from the foul influences of all manner of entities, their expectations of him had certainly waned. He had become something of a museum piece, one to be respected and admired but little more. How he yearned to be worth their true admiration, honored for actions now rather than deeds long past. 

The flaming giant frowned and kept on his solemn march, pounding right out of the now collapsed gate and into the richly grassed fields dotted green and black. Some grazing animals were visible in the distance, good eating as Gunderic remembered, and the thought of filling his belly with their well cooked haunches gave the Chief at least a passing sense of fulfillment. Perhaps he’d have to hunt them later. As he thought of hunting his mind’s eye travelled to the distant members of his Clan. There were always several bands in motion of the Ashen Sun, travelling in their roughly marked territory. Ogham stones, crudely hacked from volcanic rock, stood as markers for Ashen Sun lands and all other Jotundar knew it. 

Occasionally, of course, other Clans got funny ideas. Just last season, Gunderic reminded himself, the Clan had a clash with a band of Jotundar men wandering about within their territory. The killing had been a fine respite from the usual boredom and their things made a nice addition to the Clan’s collection but their presence had warned Gunderic of dangers greater than rival Clans. According to several of the survivors who were taken as thralls, a vast city had cropped up to the South East. Tall and magnificently ugly creatures now resided there, described as smooth featured and practically glowing as the lights in the sky.

Gunderic shuddered at the remembrance of their description; smooth of features, symmetrical, shapely forms? [color=red][i]Disgusting . . .[/i][/color]

Nebulites, so they had been called. Slavers and hedonists by all accounts. Not that slaving and hedonism particularly wrankled Gunderic’s sentimentality, he admittedly, but it had been made completely clear that it was his fellow Jotundar that they oft enslaved. The rage he had felt at that particular gem of knowledge had shattered his favorite maul. Memories of Satravius’ promises of glory and conquest, both dashed aside and turned on their head by pretty, flying children! The insult was grave indeed. Worst of all, when they had their way with Jotundar their wretched spawn evidently were born flawed, never to grow larger than a child and with all the weaknesses no doubt carried by that vile race.

The dangers posed by these Nebulites would have to be considered more gravely, that much was for certain. The last months had been occupied by spiteful memories and disdainful thoughts but Gunderic knew well he could not keep to those fantasies for long. Tightening his belt as he often did, Gunderic nodded and ground his heavy teeth together in ascent. When next the Clan was whole Gunderic would raise the issue to the hird and something would be decided. 

The old giant smirked ominously at the thought.
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[hider=Summary]
Gunderic, Clan Chief of the Ashen Sun, is angry. Angry about EVERYTHING.

The Clan of the Ashen Sun is revealed to be one of the numerous semi-nomadic clans of the Jotundar race. Residing in and around the area known as The Cauldron, they continue to scratch out a living well after their abandonment by their god.

Gunderic reminisces (angrily) at the nature of the world and on the events he has lived through. A particularly disdainful creature, Gunderic is spiteful to just about everything that walks the earth.

The Ashen Sun is shown to have recently learned of the Nebulites of Lauriena; Gunderic despises them. Having discovered the fate of numerous, now enslaved Jotundar, Gunderic has decided to do something about the issue.
[/hider]