Kulor and Vrakmorn

The Legend Of Kulor And Vrakmorn

Kulor Korantis was once a barbarian of the Stormshatter Mountains, living in a remote valley between two high peaks. He was the second son of the chieftain, Lord Grimor Korantis, and younger brother to Vrakmorn Korantis. When Lord Grimor died, Vrakmorn took it hard. Grimor had died in battle against a neighboring tribe, and Vrakmorn wasn't going to take it lightly. He roused his troops, still mourning the loss of their chieftain, and marched them to war. Kulor followed, though he always had a bit of foreboding for this. It was a bloody battle, in which Vrakmorn killed many, including their chieftain, and it didn't stop there. Over the years, Vrakmorn earned the moniker "Vrakmorn The Red," Marching on neighboring villages, and eventually, the cities of the mainland. Once that began though, Kulor could no longer stand for it. He confronted his brother, and, in a fateful duel, Kulor took his brother's left arm.

Stricken by what he had done, he left his brother to be tended by his lieutenants in the wastes south of the mountains. Surrounded by the goblins of the place, bleeding out, and now half the warrior he had been, Vrakmorn's mind was changed. Slowly. Subtly. But it was changed.

Kulor turned to a life as a traveling warrior. He turned to a life of the cloth, serving Lekyros and bestowing his natural gifts where he could. He became known as Kulor The White over time, his pristine white cloak and armor a dazzling display as he rode past.

In the final weeks of his life, Kulor was directed to an island off the eastern coast of Klagrond. A short boat ride away, perhaps five miles, and only inhabited by the birds and beasts. There was a dragon there. A dragon killing potential settlers and making off with livestock. Its fires were burning the forests to their roots, and the place wouldn't last long under it's tyrannical rule. Kulor stoically took the challenge, and rowed across the treacherous Sea of Shifting to get there. When he arrived, he took up his sword and made the trek to the mountain, where he confronted the dragon. Kulor didn't know it, but he had an audience. Older and wiser now, his brother, Vrakmorn, had been following him for years, and was making his way up the mountain. He'd grown aged, and his missing left arm hindered his climb up the steep sides of the mountain. When he found his brother, a day later, he was dead. But so was the dragon.

Vrakmorn sat and cried for his younger brother. His wiser brother. He sent him to Tirangil with all the honors he could bestow. Then he stepped out of the dragon's cave. He sealed it shut. And he began to plan.

It took years, but a new youthful exuberance filled Vrakmorn, as he planned, built, and toiled. He enlisted his old fighting men, their families' able bodied men, and all the architects his money could buy. And he built his brother a tomb that would never be forgotten. Today, that tomb stands as the jewel of Ryvalen, the seat of power for a large swath of Klagrond. It is Kuloran. And at it's heart, the holy bones of Kulor The White keep it safe.