Let all know the story of the White Ravens, who faced the first full grown dragon in Osterra. Certainly, the Guild of the Black Sky had caught a young dragon unawares and slain it, but what honor is there in killing a yearling? Perhaps, more honor than in dying to a great dragon... Jarl Umarth, his armsman Duncan, Remy the swift, and Kestrel the champion had been eating field rations for weeks. Their companions, Alassana the wisewoman and Kal the ranger had signed on for adventure and a share of the take, but Alassana had turned her ankle in a fall and Kal was ready to find a tavern with ale. An unlikely outcome in the deserts of the southwestern shores. Duncan stopped and held his hand over his eyes, peering our across the sandy scrubland. "Where in the underhells have you hauled us, Umarth? Everything here is sand, rocks, and more sand. Not even a decent sea breeze this far from shore. Not sure why we left our island. Nothing to drink either..." Duncan's grumblings trailed as he watched Remy, off in the distance, throwing rocks into a cave. Umarth creased his brow, his eyes closed, and inhaled deeply. "The storms are weak in these lands, but I feel drawn here. Each casting of the runes says we'll have to go further to find a way home." "Well, I for one take great pleasure in getting back onto the mainland," chirped Kestrel, somehow managing to brightly skip in his armor. "It's not good for the spirit to be so serious and locked up all the time. The gods created this bountiful creation for us to explore..." "You're not paying me nearly enough to include a sermon in this little outing of yours," the cloaked ranger interrupted Kestrel. "In fact, you're not paying me at all, and if there's not SOMETHING worth my time out here..." Kal's gaze followed Duncan's into the distance, "No, wait, that'll do it." Kal unslung his shield from his shoulder and drew his blade. Umarth's eyes snapped open, "Something feels different." "You know, stormreader, if you actually looked at the world more often and spent less time sniffing cloud farts or whatever, you'd be caught up. Shields up, White Ravens. Remy has found something," Duncan grumbled, drawing his blade. Umarth reached out, speaking words of electricity and cold air, and drew lightly on Kestrel's armor in a blue light that faded to black sigils. Alassana raised a blue gem and passed it in front of Duncan, murmuring words that went straight to the earth, the stones lifting slightly, and Duncan's eyes briefly glowed blue. Remy was bounding back toward the group, waving her arms, when the beast finally fully emerged from its cave, and launched into the sky. A dragon, and no small, wingless beast this. From tail to tip more than the Jarl's longhouse, and as it spread its crimson wings the shadow it cast blotted out the sky. On that day, the White Ravens were thankful for the way death doesn't hold in Osterra. Duncan's enormous swings hacked scales from the beast, while the Kal and Kestrel stood back to back, shield and spear to pierce its side, blood spilling. Remy lept nimbly beneath its swipes, striking and darting away before it could retaliate. Umarth's shouts echoed with the storm, "Stand fast, Ravens! We shall have this day and..." the rest of the Jarl's speech cut short as the dragon's maw opened and unholy fire spilled out, no time for Umarth to scream as he burned to ashes. Duncan was next, the berserker rage overtaking him as he lept onto the dragon, hacking, and the beast's jaws ript him apart. One by one the Ravens fell, weapons slick from the dragon's blood, ears ringing from its howls of pain. No doubt the beast is near death, lurking in some cave and licking at its wounds. But the White Ravens found themselves the worse. And the oaths of the White Ravens echoed, "Take not that which you cannot hold." They had failed that day, and would remember.

The Guild of the White Ravens is founded on a primary belief: That the advancement of the sentient races is built on the principles of truth and fair dealing. The founders of the White Raven are primarily northern folk, from a realm of snowy islands where civilization is hard-earned and trade between clans a necessity for survival. They are warrior merchants, and their word is their bond. Several of them found their way to Osterra in seek of new fortunes, and like minded individuals have joined them to establish a faction dedicated to preserving a safe haven in this part of the multiverse. The old legends of the former Kingdom of the White Raven speak of an oathbreaking Jarl, the theft of the sun, and the salvation of humanity through the sacrifice of the Raven. Raven brought the sun back, driving back the darkness of the sky, blinding herself, and bleaching her feathers white in the process. Some nights the White Ravens Jarl tells the stories over fires and cider; stories of an unpaid debt the houses of the northfolk owe. They hope to pay their debt through valiant deeds, through feats of strength, and most of all through fellowship with kith and kin. They know they must follow the ideal of the Raven, sacrificing to bring light where there is darkness and to bring warmth in the cold. Now that they are here, the Guild of the White Raven has settled in the islands, similar to their home, where they seek to establish trade routes and provide fair dealings to the land. Ravens are intelligent birds, inquisitive, and prone to loudly sharing their discoveries amongst the forests. These traits are found in the Guild. Additionally, many Guild members wear the sigil of an animal spirit, that of their family clan. The northfolk learned early that they must go to war to protect their peace, and so each clan brings the strengths of their ancestral spirits to ferocious battle. The White Ravens have also begun to seek good relations with, and an understanding of, the Risa Fae, as they share the fairy folks interest in protecting Osterra. Let the lands know that the White Ravens are here. Let oathbreakers hide, bandits cower, and let truth and valor be shared among the peoples of the realm. Prosperity and knowledge are to be had in good trade, honorable battle, and the faith of friends. Skål!