Authors: Gamaeliel (Loden), Damman, and Nosferum; ~March, 1999
This was the last night of Everquest beta for MacLear. Quite a number of those who participated either joined MacLear a few days later in the game's release, or were existing members and created new characters with different names after release. There was no guild chat in beta, and no guild tag. There are three different tellings on this story. Nosferum's was written first, with Loden's (then Gamaeliel) written shortly after. Damman wrote his shortly after that. They are in order of Gamaeliel's, Damman's and Nosferum's.
Tormod MacLear at the Battle of The Three Igloos
For Halas! For MacLear!
The Origin of the Battle Cry of the Clan MacLear.
by Gamaeliel
In the ages of legend long ago that the gods called Beta, Clan MacLear existed. In those days, the
gods did not recognize guilds or clans. Each individual was on his own to survive or not as they might. But the Clan MacLear stood
together. It had existed even before the land of Norrath. Lord Lear had established the Clan in the years long gone by to defend the
weak and to uphold righteousness. In those days there were no maps of the great zones of Norrath and he that had leather armor considered
himself fortunate. Even that thing we take for granted today, the lightstone was nearly unknown and had more value than most had accumulated
in a lifetime. To go as far as Highpass was to risk total loss as the Orcs ruled there and would destroy any they captured. Is not the story
of how Tormod was the first of the Barbarians to reach the Eastern Sea, now known as the Ocean of Tears recorded here in these tales?
In each age of Beta, the Clan would begin again with only dim memories of what had gone before. In each of the ages MacLear subdued the gnolls of Blackburrow until an enmity had arisen between them unlike any in Norrath. In the fourth age of Beta the gods did speak to Tormod and warn him that there were those among the gods who would destroy Halas but they would not show their hands directly. They rather would open the secret deep gates of Blackburrow, and loose the great gnolls upon Everfrost with a madness upon them that would make them come to Halas and destroy it. In those days there was no guildspeak and there was much to do to assemble all those who valued Halas. The word went out from Tormod to the zones west of Highpass to assemble in Halas to defend the ancient home of the MacLears. Over the days that followed those loyal to Halas and to MacLear began to assemble.
When the fatal night came a great host of the faithful and brave had assembled in Halas and marched with Tormod out to the caves where the guards of Halas stood. Even the bravest felt fear knowing that the end of time was upon them and their very existence was in doubt. Tormod posted scouts on the routes from Blackburrow and soon heard of survivors streaming out of the dungeon. They told tales of great gnolls as large and as powerful as hill giants and named gnolls with much strength and cunning attacking all barbarians in the Burrow proclaiming the arrival of the kingdom of the gnolls. Soon the scouts reported named and powerful gnolls pouring out of Blackburrow and up the valley toward three igloos, the shortest route to Halas. The assault on Halas had begun.
With a cry for blessing from the Tribunal, Tormod led the assembled barbarians and those who had been adopted by the Clan to the battle. Amongst us on that day were: Agonisty [founder], Daran (the Flea) [founder], Ikar [later Awen], Shatara, Wolfdor, Gamaeliel [founder, later Loden], Nosferum, Xoam, Axelrod, Tokahn, Rhuarc, Olaf and many others who no longer run through the valleys of Everfrost. The assembled Clan rushed into the valley of the three igloos and met the advancing army of gnolls head on. To say a great battle ensued would not be sufficient to describe the melee that followed. The casting of spells, the swinging of axe and sword, the clashing of steel on steel and the shrieks of battlecry filled the valley. The Clan held against the onslaught but many fell and the corpses were thick enough on that day that one could walk across the valley upon them without touching the ground. It is believed that Tormod struck the killing blow that felled the leader of the gnoll army, Furris the vile, but the Burrow King escaped back to Blackburrow swearing to return and destroy Halas and MacLear. Even as the Burrow King fled the field he summoned one to save him from certain destruction at the swords of MacLear.
Into the valley came striding a giant gnoll. Indeed, he was the size of a hill giant, and struck fear into the heart of even the bravest barbarian. In the stunned silence that accompanied the entrance of the giant gnoll, Tormod shouted what was to become the eternal cry of the MacLears: "For Halas! For MacLear!" and fearlessly charged the enemy. The valley rang with the shouts of the MacLears and those that had allied themselves to the Clan. The small surviving band of barbarians swept forward and attacked the gnoll. As they slammed into the vile creature, they discovered to their dismay that all they could reach was his feet. At the same time the gnoll was swinging a great sword the size of a ship's mast! Soon great warriors were falling like wheat before the scythe!
It was then that those of the lesser races and other classes proved their worth. The rangers began furiously firing their arrows at the heads of the monster while the wizards, shamans and druids began to fire their spells, distracting the fierce gnoll. The citizens of Halas still fell like flies but soon the giant gnoll began to weaken. Then, he slowly fell to the ground as the surviving warriors scattered. A great silence descended upon Everfrost for a moment. Then went up the cheers and shouts that ring to this day in memory, "For Halas! For MacLear!"
Then those few who survived surrounded the corpse and examined this wonder. Tormod looked about warily and warned that the battle was not over. Again groups were formed and set out to slay the White Dragon that had been loosed upon the Plains of Everfrost, but that is a different story.
On that night the Clan MacLear established its fame and existence in the land of Norrath, later in the new age to be recognized by the gods. On that night in the valley of the three Igloos Halas and the honor of MacLear was saved. From that night on MacLears have shouted "For Halas! For MacLear!"
Wisdom of the Nights
by Damman Spiritas
A cold night swept across my back whilst preying upon the heathen Gnolls of blackburrow as I had so many times before. That breeze felt good, but it carried something with it. At that time it was but a mere spark of wonder, curiosity, and reverence.
"For Halas, For MacLear!"I pondered quite sometime the recognition of my small town. Even to the point of near ignorance of the bloodthirsty gnolls lashing their teeth at me. Their wet stink fur ripe in my nose, I cast my solid wood staff into the heads of my enemies. A rage of excitement fresh in my veins as I thought over and over,
"for Halas, for MacLear... For Halas, For Maclear..."Regaining my steady mind once again, a sought to find this MacLear of Halas. For days I trekked across the land of Norrath. Devoid from the high trees of Kelethin, the heated pools of lavastorm, the murky jungle swamp of the Feerrott, the Rain soaked plains of Karana, and the high wisdom of Erudin had given neither trail nor trace of this small band of heroes.
My fate was already sealed years before, as a shunned outcast of Halas when I was but a child. Many of the high shamen saw my powers of tribal majik and had sought to train me in their ways. My bloodline was discovered shortly after (secrets can never be kept from the wisdom of the Tribual) that my rogue father was involved with a blazen attempt at Antonius Bayle's life. I was cast onto the plains to be forgotten.
I spent many moons practicing what little majik they tought me, with help from a noble shaman from the guild provided me the scrolls and training I so needed at night on the cold plains of Everfrost. Soon I began to practice on my own, waiting for the moonrise so as not to be noticed by my peers. I tore at my heart straining under the pressures of this, vowing revenge for what they had done to me. Refusing my rite of passage. I worked day and night, ignoring the sleep and nutrition my body ached for. I strove for violence. I can sometimes pity the gnolls I crossed at that time for which I gave no mercy, and on occasion I even tore their very pelts from their bones in triumph.
The violence comsumed me. It gnawed at my stomach as a violent disease would. Finally my time had come. Caring nothing about myself, or my brothers and sisters, feeding only rage, my body gave out. The depths of staggering pain tore at my thoughts, and a voice began speaking to me. Each tougue thrashed word seared my ears in flaming pain. Miragul, he called himself, so close to death himself offered his corrupted assistance. Too weak to fight, too weak even to fight, my mind faded into blackness.
Light came through in a dazzling array of colors and patterns as it beat itself against the polished helm of Tormod himself. Two sister shaman knelt beside me working what they could to save me from the oblivion. I told Tormod of my quest to seek the MacLears as I rested, as well as my fate by the judgement of my father's actions. He acknowledged the grevious situation, and admitted me under his ranks. Even though a short time had passed, my insideous alter-ego had all but vanished with the pride I carried as a MacLear. My new brothers and sisters welcomed me in with open arms and stout beer. I had hoped my soul was saved.
Months passed easily with my noble family. Many good times met with many good friends. I grew strong once again under the wing of Tormod. Alas his voice was not the only one still heard. Nights retched my brain with Miragul's soft tones. Asking for help, demanding for help. Always so soft and delicate the torture. I feared telling anyone of this sinister majik, knowing it would be seen as evil inside of me. Lo it was. Even though I remained a MacLear, I tried to keep myself separated as much as possible. I did what was asked and enjoyed the occasional brawling we took part in. Always flexing a muscle to keep his voice silent.
I wandered across the land once more, searching for serenity. Nights proving to be worse than the days, his voice followed just a loudly, just as softly no matter how far I tried to get. I was forced to exile myself once more. Thus have I not seen my brethren in so many moons, thus have I a turned a back on MacLear. I hope to return among the ranks, but for now I practice to quiet the evil in me.
Gnollwar
by Nosferum
Nosferum decided to forego his home with the Ashen Order in Freeport to defend Halas. About three hours before the final Sundering four Gnolls pledged an attack on Halas. They called out from the northern mouth of Blackborrow with slander and vex. "BARK! BARK! All Halas will die tonight!"
The Clan MacLear had all decided to stay to defend their home. Ready at the battlefield that night: thirty Barbarians, two Gnomes, an Erudite, a High Elf, two Half Elves and a Monk. The air was chill as Nos scouted ahead to Blackborrow... ebbing his way to the maw of the Gnolls.
"There... At the Three Igloos. A Gnoll named Kraddig, as big as a house!"
Apparently, those big ears on the beast work well, because he charged me. Fleet of foot and light of load I turned on my heel and sprinted back to Halas. Kraddig stopped short and returned to the Three Igloos. It seems that he and the three other named Gnolls were to make camp at those igloos. The Clan MacLear and other Halasians swelled at the valley to the Three Igloos, warrily eyeing the invaders. Chief Tormod recognized the larger of the four as the Gnoll who had slain Feldor Stoutheart and his family of seven so many winters ago. Tormod's blood boiled within him, as out came a cry that rumbled the Underfoot. "Cleanse the frozen earth with their blood, brethren! Cleve them!" Ahead of us all charged Tormod, with total abandon. Behind him, Daran, Ikar, Onain, and a fleet of twenty others. Soon came tens of passers-by, casting in their volleys and sacrificing their lives for the hearth of the Everfrost Peaks. My blows to the invaders fell with impunity as, most often, I missed. It was then that I realize Quellious was teaching me something, even as I stood. Alone, we are nothing. When allied, we are everything.
Onain fell soon, as did ten others. Their offensive barrage lead to their own demise as the attackers focused on the most powerful. Tormod's life came into question on occasion as the Clan's healers revived him to ensure he finished his job. Tormod stepped back and let Daran absorb the blows to allow our healers to to their bidding. It was then that Kraddig's eye turned from the fray... to Tormod in the distance. "YOU!" "Tormod, of the MacLears! You are alive?!" "I killed you! I watched your heart seep on the tundra ten winters ago. You and your wife and children... all eight of you!"
Moments passed as Tormod realized his folly. His eyes welled up and his back wretched to let out a great, silent cry. While none could hear him, I could see the word from his lips: "Noooooooo." Kraddig had come to Everfrost to rip Tormod from his clan so many years ago, but mistook Feldor for Tormod in that night. The MacLears had been killing Kraddig's sisters and cousins for decades, as Kraddig was a mere pup. As Kraddig grew beyond measure, it was clear that the great Gnoll intended to exact vengeance for his brood. One frozen night, in the tundra so many years ago, Kraddig crept from his grand lair to snuff the MacLear's chief and his heirs in their sleep. Tormod had asked Feldor Stoutheart of the Halas Guards to stand watch that night with his family in Tormod's stead as Tormod had a meeting with the High Council to attend. In Barbarian tradition, the night's guard to the Wooly Mammoth area would sentry with his wife and children nearby as they slept. It was their way. The frozen wastes took yet another family as Kraddig had snuck in the night and ate the hearts of the Night Watchman and his heirs. Kraddig had thought his home saved, since he beleived he had just slain the Chief of the greatest family in all of Halas... the MacLears. In truth, he had just slain a simple watchman with his devoted family.
Tormod had always known Kraddig as the murderer of his great friend, but he had never known WHY. With this Tormod lept forth, at half health, bearing only an iron sword in his hand and the spirits of eight Clansmen in his guff. Tormod's blade sang true as he sliced and severed poor Kraddig. The tide of the eve was clear as the Elders of the Clan, including Daran the Gnome cleft Kraddig's heart from his still-warm chest. The great Gnoll hero had fallen. Two of the other named Gnolls had already fallen and the last of the four-- in total-- was not far behind them. The Clan had, again, sent a great enemy to The Underfoot.
It was then that Halas raised a mug of ale in honor of all those who had died that evening. Many, many of whom were NOT MacLear, but had pledged their lives for the greater good of Halas. Tormod, stepped aside from the cheers and spoke quietly to himself. While I cannot begin to know what he said, I can only think he was asking the forgiveness of Feldor, whom Tormod had just avenged.
Bards will sing, and Shamans will chant of this night... the night Clan MacLear took back eight souls to rest in Halas again. I still walk alone, though. No family to sing of, no home to recall. Alone I tread softly as I pray to my Lord, "May Quellious be with you, MacLears."