Name and IronWolfe
by S.A.M. Blaize
Lord Darkon IronWolfe
The Baron Derhan IronWolfe, Lord Dern IronWolfe, and Lady
I write to send my condolences to you and your wife, on
behalf of all of your siblings, at this time of great
There is much of my life I have never shared with the rest
of you, including the fact that before any of you were born, I,
too, lost a son. In my earlier years I followed the warrior path
of our father. At the time I married and had three children with
my first wife (a lovely, gentle soul of elvish blood), our family
was in a vicious blood war with the BlueHawk clan. The reasons
for the feud have long since been lost and forgotten, but at the
time I was a night in the service of our father, the Baron, and
my life was dedicated to the causes of the Barony. My son,
Dardael, as well as my wife and daughters were the light of my
life, so it made me proud that he was passionate to follow in my
footsteps. I was 45 when he came of an age to be knighted. I
watched with a swelled chest and glad heart as he knelt to take
his oath, but as he removed his helm, a BlueHawk crossbow bolt
pierced his temple. Our retaliation on the honourless clan was
swift. I sent my wife and daughters away to safety, while I
hunted down and killed every last one of the BlueHawks. It took
years and by the time I saw my daughters again they had families
of their own and no longer had much of a place for me in their
lives. It was at that point I chose to lay down my sword and
follow the magic in my blood, becoming a wizard after the ways
our mother. I immersed myself in my studies and experiments,
rarely venturing out of the castle over the next few hundred
years, until you were born
relate this story to you, to let you know that I have an
understanding of what you are going through, with the lost of
your oldest son. Richard was a brave and noble man. May his
chivalry become legendary! Our thoughts are with you and our
swords are ready if you have need. Let his strength be lent to
his bother, Castellan in his search to avenge his
He let the
letter fall to his lap, closing his eyes. He had read the letter
many times, but as they turned onto the road to their
destination, it had an even deeper meeting. For many years he had
separated himself from his older brother, over a disagreement
that most likely neither of them cared about anymore. It was,
however an argument that put a rift in the family for many long
years. It was the death of his son, and this letter, that was
starting the true healing, bringing him at long last back to
memories of this place had begun to become yellowed and crinkled
around the edges, like a well read but worn book. It had been
far too many years since Lord Darkon IronWolfe had laid eyes on
the place of his birth and childhood. The pages of his mind began
to clear, sharpen, the discolouration bleeding away, as the words
on the pages merged and reformed into vivid images.
The carriage of the Lord and Lady IronWolfe, with its
accompanying guards and servants, moved pasted the well manicured
lawns, and carefully groomed gardens, drawing closer to the once
fortress, now palatial estate that had been the center of power
for his family for thousands of years. In the days of his
ancestors, the Castle Baron IronWolfe had been a site to behold,
but Derhan had molded and manipulated it into something grander
still. Darkon was both entranced and slightly saddened by sites
that seemed to familiar, yet so majestically different. He found
himself surprised at how well his elder brother had done, but in
truth he should not be. Derhan had long since surpassed the mere
trifling of his family rank; his power and control exceeding many
fold that of a mere Baron. Why then should his abode not reflect
The carriage hit the cobbles along the final stretch before the
castle known by those who resided there as the Avenue of
Ancestors. Every IronWolfe who had ever held title to the castle
and rule over the family was represented in statue form along the
sides of the broad lane. Darkon watched as the newly refurbished
and cleaned marble statues glistened in the fading light of the
day as if he were caught up in a glamour. As they turned the
bend, the castle filled the scene outside of the carriage window,
in all if its impressive splendor. For all of the outward beauty,
it still seemed sadly hollow.
When Darkon was a child the place had always been filled with
people, a bustle with activity, vibrant and alive. Uncles, aunts,
cousins, friends, allies, dignitaries and guest from distant
lands wandered the halls and grounds, helping to form the
tapestry of his childhood and early adulthood. It was often a
tapestry strung with threads of red, as many those stitched
within died in border skirmishes and blood feuds his father, the
Great Warlord Baron Dermes IronWolfe, had perpetrated. Such was
the way of his of his forbears, generations on end.
Upon the death of their father (followed mere months later by
Baroness Delyla, their broken-hearted mother) Derhan ascended to
the title of Baron, and set forth to end the bloodthirsty cycle
of the past, bringing peace to the local lands. Families who had
been enemies for millenniums were coaxed to call truces and, with
time, become allies. The fear of war gone, there was no longer
great reason or cause for the family to be bound so close, nor
need for friends, allies, and dignitaries to attend war councils.
Derhan, despite his great diplomacy, was never the sort to host
grand balls or dinner parties, which might have kept people
interested in staying, so gradually they left, bit by bit. In
making the land a better place, Derhan had unwittingly emptied
the family estate, leaving it's halls hollow and practically
Several servants rushed to the newly arrived carriage, as it
drew to a halt in from of the main entrance of the castle. The
Lord IronWolfe left the carriage first, shooing away the footman
and helping his Lady down. Around them people scurried to unload
baggage, as they were escorted inside.
Entering the front hall was like entering the past. The ceiling
vaulted four stories, the grand doors, ornately carved with a
fierce pack of wolves, to the house proper were before them, and
to either side were small doors, leading to service corridors and
closets. The floor was a vivid well polished mosaic of the family
crest; a silver wolf's head on the green background, a sword to
one side and a white lightning bolt to the other. The image was
reflected in the multitude of shields covering the tall walls,
with swords, bows, maces and other weaponry, each belonging to
one of the people depicted in the statues of the Avenue, or their
kin. Mixed amid the weapons were staves and amulets representing
the long heritage of wizards and sorceresses in the family
Darkon heard something to his right, but as he turned to look he
found himself barreled into, a blurry armful of white hair, green
material, and warm flesh pressing against him and then darting
off again. His younger (and only) sister had grown into a
beautiful, confident woman, which seemed to be enhanced by the
faint moonlight silver glow about her. He would like to have
thought that the silver was a reflection of the IronWolfe
colours, but it was in fact a reflection of the type of magic she
practiced. When she had proven herself magically imbued, her
mother had tried to guide her into being a healer or some other
gentle art, but his precious little sister was drawn to
demonology. As much as they had tried to all treat her like a
delicate porcelain doll, when she was growing up, his little
sister hunted and controlled demons. He could not help but
remember the little girl who would come spend summers with them,
running around with their own little ones. Delyzsa called over
her shoulder as she rushed through one of the service doors, "I
can't talk now. I will see you are dinner! Love you!" And then
she was gone.
"I did not know your sister was going to be here. I thought she
was still traveling in the south." Taurna said, with poise that
only a true lady can possess.
"Dern is here, too. It takes a near miracle to get him to leave
his house anymore, but when he heard you would be coming, he
packed up and hurried here, so he could be here before you
arrived." The grand doors had been quietly opened, as they were
distracted by the energetic ball of Delyzsa, and Derhan leaned
against the door frame, muscular arms crossed over his broad
chest and legs crossed at the ankles. His ivory hair, with its
dark streak, fell rakishly across one eye and an impish smile
playing on his lips. Darkon has always admired the way his elder
sibling always carried himself with dignity and charm. His mere
presence demanded respect and made women swoon. Darkon remembered
being eight years old and attending his parents, as they
entertained the Princess Illyanna. Derhan entered the main hall,
favoured the Princess with a dark-eyed look, raised his eyebrow
and she fainted on the spot. After that Darkon would stand in
front of the mirror in his rooms and practice raising his
eyebrow. It was the very mirror, years later that Darkon looked
into only to find Derhan looking back at him. He had become his
"Taurna, my dear, you get more beautiful with every passing
day." Derhan sauntered over, casually taking Taurna's hand and
gracing it with a tender kiss. As it awaiting this cue, music
welled from the doorway. "Shall we dance?" He bowed eloquently.
The doors swung fully open, revealing the greeting hall, as
Derhan swept the Lady IronWolfe into his arms and spun her into a
quick graceful dance.
Darkon followed behind, into the room, but chose not to join in.
He found a comfortable seat near the empty hearth, where he could
relax. Since Richard's death, everything had been a haze of rough
times. Adrenaline had been keeping him going, but something about
his birthplace was leaching out the adrenaline and causing the
concern to ebb away. His lids became heavy, as tiredness settled
over him and he began to fade into unconsciousness.
"You look simply dreadful, old man."
Darkon's eyes shot open. He was not sure how long he had drifted
off, but a fire had been started in the hearth, and the slightly
indigo, silvery/golden glow of magical orbs filled the room. He
yawned, chasing off the sleep. "Hello, Dern.
His younger brother sat in the chair next to him, his midnight
black hair cropped short, his broad shoulders barely fitting in
the chair back. Dern had been the only one of the siblings that
had not inherited the white hair. He was muscular, like his
brothers, but in a much more stocky way, which complimented his
rugged looks. He stared at Darkon with the same dark eyes that
all of them had. Despite the differences he had from his older
brothers, there could be no doubt that he was their sibling. "I
feel simply dreadful."
"I would watch him, if I were you," Dern said gesturing toward
Derhan. "He just might try to steal her away from you."
"She would not go," Darkon said confidently. He knew his wife
well and he had faith in both her love and her loyalty.
"I know that, you know that, even he knows that; but that will
not keep him from trying," Dern laughed.
"Let him. It is good for her ego." Darkon chuckled. "Especially
when I get jealous and step in."
Dern nodded smiling. He glanced over his shoulder where Derhan
and Taurna were admiring one of the paintings. "Have you seen
" I think so. It sounded like her, but it looked more like a
white and green blur." Darkon replied.
"Did she have the baby with her?" Dern inquired.
"Baby?" This was the first Darkon had heard of a baby. The truth
was that before today he had not see his youngest sibling in
about a year. He had been told she had gone off traveling to
collect some ingredients she might need for spells and potions.
Had she acquired a baby in that time? "What baby?"
"Ah, so you did not know. It was a surprise to us, too.
Apparently Sheila was the only one that knew she was pregnant,
but I suppose she could not necessarily try to teach our little
half-breed niece to use demonic abilities, without the girl
noticing she was pregnant. She refuses to tell us who the father
is. I would suspect it was a one-night-stand, but she has never
been the love them and leave them type." Dern had his suspicions
about who the child belonged to, after having seen him, but was
not going to bring them up to Darkon just now.
"t is an
adorable baby boy, though she has not named him yet. He was born
on the day that Richard died, and Delyzsa says that is an omen.
She says you and Taurna will have to name the baby to ensure that
having his birthday on his cousin's death day will not curse his
a little surprised to find he still disliked the idea of
Felinea's daughter being called his niece. He had nothing against
the girl personally. He had thought he had gotten over his
negative feelings toward Felinea and the fact that that his
oldest brother had chosen to raise the daughter of an old enemy
of their family. He had thought that he had worked out all of
that, when Felinea became his daughter-in-law, and he had gotten
a chance to really get to know her. Apparently there was still
some residual emotions he needed to address.
pardoned himself from Dern's company, claiming being tired from
all the travel. He arose and walked over to his wife. They had
some things to talk over … and a baby to name.
cooed at her little boy, as she put the finishing touches on the
restraining spell. She had to force herself to concentrate on the
task at hand. If she did not refresh the spell properly once a
month, then the demon would get loose, and as little as it was,
it could cause a lot of damage. She was excited to get upstairs
to see her brother and sister-in-law and introduce them to her
son, and a little bit frightened too. She had not seen them since
Richard's death. Would they look into eyes and see that the pain
there was not just that of an Aunt mourning the loss of the
nephew she had grown up with? Would they be able to see that she
had been in love with their son her entire life and losing him
was losing a part of her heart and soul? And when they saw her
son, would they be able to tell who his father was? As much as
Darkon was coming around to loving Felinea as much as the rest of
them did, he still held a deep hatred of her biological father.
Would he take one look at her son and see that he was the son of
the King of Sardiac, and therefore Felinea's half-brother?
She had to
put these things out of her head, so that she would not make a
mistake with the spell. She had enough things going on in her
life, without having to add escaped demon to the list.
Over her shoulder, unseen, unheard, and unfelt by Delyzsa, the
spirit of a dark-haired knight watched her longingly. The baby
squealed and gurgled. Richard's ghost smiled and waggled his
fingers at the baby. The little boy smiled back, and reached out
to the man.
put the finishing touches on her spell, and mistaking her son's
gesture as him wanting her to pick him up, she lifted him from
his basket. "All done, little one. Shall we go introduce you to
your Uncle and Aunt?" Holding her son close, she turned and
walked through Richard.
reached out, longing to touch the woman he had always loved, one