A Town now whole, but once divided. Pudorefire itself stands as a testament to cooperation and owes its splendor to the wise citizens of ages past, who put aside their differences for the betterment of all Mann. Long ago, Winter winds fell against the small village. Its fields had frozen, and the Hrothi that lived within knew that the coming months would be hard. They had gathered all the supplies that they could, hunkered down, passing the time with song and story. But Winds from the north carried more than simply ice and cold, soon a Mann emerged, drenched and frozen to the bone, his weary body carried south by his own fiery will.
Whispers tore throughout the village of his grave message, his tribe suffered far north in a village time has forgotten. He’d swam through icy rivers to seek refuge for his clan, a hardy Brudvir tribe. The Brudvir gathered opposite the river shoreline, hopeful that the hrothi would lend aid. Exhaustion and exposure overtook the Brudvir, he collapsed, and the villagers took him in.
A meeting was held, and the many voices were in disarray. Fear spread, the citizens had only enough supplies to survive themselves, if they gave assistance to these much larger tribesmen, many would starve. A hushed elder could stand discussion no longer, and yelled out within the hall. “These were people in need, starving and defenceless against the same winter we now face.” His voice echoed in the hall. “Should we befall their own fate in some years to come, will our neighbors be as unyielding?!” The elder’s speech a spark, as dry tender catches flame, so too did the hearts of the many gathered in the hall. Although many still distrusted the outsiders, many would not wish to offer their hearth, but they knew they had to at least offer a hand.
As morning dawned, the Hrothi sent word to the camp gathered just beyond their borders, they would build a bridge to span the frail ice that covered the river, and over this they would send food, blankets, and tools. The Brudvir had hoped for more, but this assistance was more than winter would offer, and so they accepted. The next day construction began, and within three nights parcels of food, wood, and tools arrived. They carried a torch, the Pudore Fire, to light the campfires of the lost camp. The Hrothi elder met with the elder of the Brudvir, moved to tears by their aid; Unfortunately they both knew that the Horothi’s sacrifice now meant that both sides would suffer losses in the continuing cold. As they parted, the two elders could only hope for the best. With food, the Brudvir warmed their bellies; With wood and flame, they warmed their bodies; and with tools, they began to build simple shelters from the wind.
A week after they sought aid, they had constructed a simple longhouse, in which the tribe could settle. In the night shortly after, a young Brudvir girl headed out into the night lost among the snow. The tribe was distraught, she had been a promising warrior, and now they feared she had succumbed to winter's embrace. The Hrothi villagers began to ration their supplies, and many of the older villagers began to weaken. Their hearts may have been warmed by generosity, but the same could not be said for their bellies, or hearths. Soon both tribes found death doesn't discriminate, and members of both sides faced their final days.
It was nearly dusk when the sound of wolves howls could be heard on both sides of the river. The missing girl, had returned. She spoke of a vision, which lead her to a clearing deep in the forest. There she fought an alpha wolf, whos fur she now claimed. In the days following, several freshly killed deer, rabbits, and other animals appeared as if from nowhere, with lone wolf tracks leading back into the forest.
The Brudvir, now provided for by their strange benefactors, strengthened the temporary bridge, and began to feed their saviors with their newly acquired supplies. Even those on their deathbeds would recover. As winter passed, neither side found their stores empty, and soon worked together to not only provide food for the winters; but became close friends. Each year, they light a bonfire celebrating the joining of Hrothi and Brudiver in everlasting union; they call this the Pudore Fire Celebration, The modest flame of hope.
