The Mantle War

The Howling King 

Alois Tibelle was the last Allemagnian king of the Tibelle Dynasty, which sat on the Lupine Throne for nearly 900 years. Tibelle was debilitated by disease caused by generational inbreeding, and he almost never left Louvain Palace. For 30 years, the nobility ruled Allemance in his absence. The barons were cruel and unchecked, and the crown’s influence became weak. 

In January 1090, the childless King Tibelle succumbed to his illnesses, and his third cousin Gabriel Andolesia was crowned that February. The vassals of the Alley barons were wavering in support for the crown, and the peasantry was deeply divided in their feelings about the legitimacy of this distant relative’s claim. 

The new king Gabriel faced a crisis of confidence. He had always been disgusted by the Oric way of life, which he saw as superstitious and primitive. He instructed his court to begin restricting trade with the northern houses, while keeping their levies ready. 

He also began to give booming, wild speeches to the people of Louvain from the upper windows of the palace. He pointed north, openly questioning the elk and bears’ claim over the river lands south of the Mantle. These speeches were given under the light of the moon, and when he declared war from the upper window in September, he cemented for himself the title of Howling King. 

Wary Houses 

In 1090, the northern homeland had no central authority; Oria was an informal word for the mountainous lands. The lodge houses on the border had been watching the Alley king’s behavior closely for months. Their batkos sent letters north to rally aid for the inevitable aggression from the wolf kingdom. However, those farther north were ill-prepared for open conflict, and they knew from consulting the druids that the most brutal winter in years was coming. 

When the Howling King declared war that autumn, the riverlands mounted an admirable defense of their houses. However, without the support of their northern brothers, they fell in a matter of weeks. By November, the Alleys held control of all the land south of the Mantle. The only thing that stopped their march north was the harsh winds of the coming winter. 

Riverlands Legend 

Yelizaveta was an ursine batko in these riverlands. She was popular with the other batkos and the people of their houses, all the way up to the Nattefrost. Her speed and skill with a hammer was unmatched, in combat or at the forge. 

When her lodge house was razed and her people taken prisoner, Yelizaveta escaped. Orians say she ran north on foot, straight into the blizzard that had stopped the Allemagnian forces. She ran through chest-high snow, toward the houses who had failed to come the defense of their own brothers and sisters. 

Three Beasts, Three Gifts 

Here, myth mixes with history. The stories of the north say that Yelizaveta was visited in the blizzard by three beasts: the First Bear, the First Elk, and the First Mole. These old spirits had eaten Pirhoua’s heartleaf fruit on the world’s first morning. Yelizaveta refused to stop, and fought them all for three days without rest. 

Impressed with her endurance and tenacity, the first beasts gave Yelizaveta gifts. The First Bear granted his descendent daughter a giant hammer and the immense strength to wield it. The First Elk kissed her head and from it grew a pair of great antlers, and all of Oria’s first magic. The First Mole, as peculiar as its descendents, blinded Yelizaveta. She cried out in pain, but the loss of her sight enhanced her mind, granting her perfect discernment and ingenuity. 

According to legend, Yelizaveta then walked across the homeland, breaking every batko to prove her dominance. After pummeling them unconscious, Yelizaveta threw each over her shoulder one-by-one. She carried them all to the highest Grensa peak of Roet, proclaiming herself the leader of a single united house. 

The First Berendey 

When spring of 1191 arrived, The now-blind Yelizaveta had united her people into the Houses of Oria, and taken the title of berendey. The armies of the north clashed against the forces of the Howling King. The berendey chose beasts from each house along the Mantle to lead the armies that would defend their region. Her people would know their own homes better than any outsider, so she entrusted them with autonomy. 

The plan worked. With minimal communication necessary between the reinforced houses, Alley spymasters were unable to intercept the intelligence the Howling King needed to gain any advantage. The armies moved across the mountains and through secret passes known only to the native people. The war ground to a standstill. 

The Mantle War continued for fifteen long years. The Orians were an unbreakable wall. Any Allemagnian force that came north of the Mantle was doomed. However, the reverse also proved true. The Oric people couldn’t mount an offense which was enough to retake their homes. Both sides grew frustrated as the years wore on and the casualties increased. 

Grappa Day 

Morale dwindled in Allemance. The image of Orians as easily tricked tribes of barbarians had not proven true. The Alley armies grew miserable on the battlefield as they thought of home. Meanwhile, the civilian peasants gradually grew unruly on the farmsteads. If what the nobility said about Orians was true, why were they utterly routed whenever they marched north? 

The Orians shared this weariness. For all their pride and determination, the heartbreak of war eroded the foundations of the lodge houses. They had lost the riverlands. It was time to make peace and rebuild their homes. 

A peculiar discovery finally tipped the scales. Moles scouting the Loamlink near the Mantle came across a forgotten storeroom underneath a deserted lodge house. Inside, they found dozens of crates filled with grappa. The strong alcohol had been a favorite among Orians, but it required grape skins traded from south Alley vineyards. The distribution of those bottles finally convinced the batkos and berendey to surrender. 

On June 1st, 1205, King Gabriel Andolesia and Berendey Yelizaveta met in an open field near Fort Kingsfang. They signed the Mantle Accord, ending the war. In exchange for a century-long payment of reparations, Oria agreed to surrender the lands south of the Mantle. Both homelands drink grappa on this day every year, to remember the misery of war and in a vow not to take up arms again. 

War-torn Hearts 

A century and a half has passed since then. The elk never forgot their defeat. Oric lodges felt the emptiness from missing family members for decades. So much wisdom was lost when parents became soldiers sent to die in failure. It took generations to unlearn the “lesson” that smirking, traitorous wolves should meet the head of a warhammer. 

Time helped Oria forgive the wolves’ crime of conquest. When no elk had any first-hand memory of the lives lost, true reconciliation was on the horizon. Healing also came with careful diplomacy by the future Andolesia monarchs. When she dined in Jegervalt in 1321, Queen Elyna II was the first to wear the crown north of the Mantle in over a hundred years. 

Wary attitudes and prejudice persist to this day. Most elk believe wolves to be two-faced schemers, who use fast friendship as a political tool. In turn, many wolves see elk as cruel and cold, unwilling to forget a war they had no part of. This tension underpins all but the closest friendships. A petty fight between the species always seems to escalate more quickly and end in more severe violence. 

However, a hard-won lesson accompanies this simmering animosity. The Mantle War between Oria and Allemance is something no one wants to repeat.