The Krigjaren Clans of Isle Skärgård

Bare footsteps of a boy falling on rotted leaves, rocks and mud coating calloused feet as they hastily rush through the undergrowth of the marshy grey forest. Trees and branches flying by as fast as he can run. Not far behind are the voices of men shouting, dogs barking, the sounds of armored boots rushing, getting closer. Ahead of the boy, just over the sound of his own panting breaths and pounding heart, are the noises of swords clashing, men and women screaming, all out war. As he breaks through a clearing at the edge of the tree line, he is suddenly no longer a boy, but a man, battle scarred profusely, wearing an armor of hide. The clearing he had just arrived in is now a cliff side facing the ocean. Standing beside him are now a dryad woman, and a large grey dire wolf that howls as the forest behind him seems to extend its reach and form a natural cloak of oak and vines around him.
The man’s scarred face looks up and out to sea, but as he does, the scars are faded and he is a child once again, staring over the clearing as the marching sounds of armor speed closer behind him. Black smoke fills the sky in front of him, and blue fire burns the huts of a village into ash and ruin. The boy tries to run towards the devastation as women and children run past him in droves, forcing him to fight his way through the crowd. “Ma! Far!” He yells as his gaze whips back and forth through the crowds, becoming disoriented as he does. Suddenly, he is alone in the clearing, and looks over at the smoldering ruins of his village to see a hut still barely standing as it burns to the ground. He stands there for a moment dazed as he sees a familiar female hand holding a medallion necklace sticking out of the rubble before he is startled by the sounds of screams behind him coming from the forest, hearing the words “schlachtet sie! lass keine entkommen!” Yelled by men in foreign accents.
With his heart pounding once again, he charges towards the ruined hut, but before he can make it even halfway there, the thunderous and deafening sound of fire hurtling through the sky lands but a few feet in front of him as an explosion, sending debris and mud flying in every direction, and the boy is blown a great distance away onto his back before darkness takes his vision.
When he awakes, finds he has been left in the clearing to lie there as dawn breaks overhead. Sitting up, the dust and dirt falls from his face, and he finds a dryad standing above him that he tries to flee from by scrambling in the dirt, to no avail. The woman holds her arm out, and for a moment the boy hesitates before accepting her help to stand. As he looks around, he sees the soldiers in plate armor pierced through the chest by stone extensions of the earth, branches grow from roots in the ground and up through the corpses of men in black armor with winged helmets, through their skulls as their bodies are forever posed to scream for their lives.
Men, women, and other children in tattered clothes can be seen exiting the tree line, examining what’s left of everything, and once again we see the boy, now slightly older, standing on a ship as the main land shrinks to be distant, and a massive dominating island grows nearer. In his hand he holds the same medallion from earlier, putting it around his neck as he leaves his homeland.
Once again we see the boy as a man, beholden to the ocean in front of him, looking down at the shores as a massive fleet of grand green and gold elvish warships lands against the beaches. Shouts and orders can be heard being barked by elvish lieutenants as soldiers charge up into the island forests, swords drawn. From great warships just off the coast, a volley of magic and arrows hurtles overhead, and screams of war and the clashing of swords can be heard once again. The man dons a helmet made of a magical rune carved oak, and steps back into the forest we initially saw him leave out of.
Charging through the trees in the opposite direction this time around, the man slaughters his way through elven warrior after warrior, fighting as one with the forest as though it were alive. Upon arrival to his village in the trees, the scene he finds is that of an elven lieutenant commanding magic to flash freeze every human in site. Without a moments hesitation, the man charges towards the elf, his runes deflecting every spell, until his axe meets with the elf’s neck.
The man removes his helmet and stares down in anger at the face he had just severed from its body. Suddenly once again, the man’s face is much more aged, the scars have healed but there are many more of them, he appears to be in his mid thirties now with long blonde hair and a thick beard. The same dryad from all throughout his life stands beside him, unaged in appearance, as she forms a crown of stone and oak and runes to place upon his head, and the medallion he kept all of these years around his neck. On the other side of him is a well garbed wizard with an air of prestige. The new king now sits upon a throne grown from the roots of nearby trees as he looks out over his people. The village has now expanded to be a city built into the forest, homes in and around the trees, children playing in peace with forest spirits, and a celebration of some sort as people make merry.