The Hounds of Taron

Long ago, shortly after the Rending, when the world was still new and mortals were young and foolish, Lord Taron awoke and found he desired a great hunt alone in the wild forests of the world. So he gathered his mighty hounds and mounted his great white horse, Malathar, and raced across the great divide between paradise and our world in search of a hunt worthy of his attention. For days on end he roamed the wild woods, seeking for some beast worth his mettle, but though such things were more plentiful in those days, he found not what he sought.
One day, he came to a spring deep within the forest upon the eastern side of the great mountains. This spring was so clear that you could see clear down to the bottom, and any who bathed in it would feel invigorated and become like one of the Great Powers in form of beauty. Taron knew the place well, for he often let his hounds refresh themselves there after a fine hunt, but this day he was surprised, for sitting on a rock next to the fountain was a young boy, a human, barely old enough to swing a sword. He had no sword, and his curly head was bowed and matted with leaves and twigs, and tears dripped from his eyes, falling incessantly into the clear waters of the pool.
The Great One stood upon his horse in silence for several minutes, but the boy took no notice of him. “How now,” he finally said in a booming voice. “Who is it who sits at Taron’s watering hole, polluting its silver waters with their salty tears?”
The youth gasped in surprise and quickly scrambled to his feet, bowing before the mighty hunter. “Please, Great Sir. Forgive me, for I did not know whose pool it was, and I only weep for a horrible tragedy has befallen my family, and I fear we are like to be killed.”
“There is no need to fear,” the mighty hunter replied. “My pool is free to be used by all good creatures who pass this way. But, tell me. What is this horrible thing that has befallen you? I am Lord Taron the Hunter, and if it is such an evil thing I will amend it, if it is within my power to do so.”
The youth trembled at the sight of the enormous bearded man on his enormous white stallion, and still more at the sight of the enormous hounds clustered about his feet. But when one is asked a question by the Great Ones one answers, so the boy plucked up his courage.
“Please, Sir, my name is Shen of the mountain plains, and my mother is a weaver of some renown in these parts. My father died in battle when I was much younger, and I have cared for my mother and sister as best as I can, but truth be told, it is my mother’s weaving that has kept us fed.
‘Five days hence, an old woman approached our house, asking for food and shelter. We do not have much of either, but we did not wish to leave a helpless old woman out in the cold, so we shared what we little we had, and I slept in the hayloft of our barn. When we awoke the next morning, my mother’s hands had withered, and she could not handle the shaft of her loom, nor could she weave the threads into patterns.
‘The old lady said this was the result of overwork, and that we were lucky she was there to help us. She offered her services in exchange for one of our most prized possessions. We eagerly agreed, for we were distraught at the idea of my mother never being able to work again, and with but a single wave of the lady’s hand my mother was healed. We were overjoyed, and thanked the old woman many times, but all she was interested in was our bargain. ‘I have done my part,’ she said. ‘Now keep yours.’
‘We offered her many of the things in the house, all prized and cherished keepsakes, but she was interested only in the weaving loom. ‘It is your most prized possession,’ she said. We tried to explain that we needed the loom in order to eat, but she could not be dissuaded, and soon grew angry. ‘I asked for your prized possession,’ she said. ‘And I intend to have it. If you will not give it willingly, I will have to take it by unpleasant means.’ And she grabbed my sister, holding her firmly by the wrist. ‘You have one week to bring the weaving loom to me at Hagspeak, or you will never see your little flower again!’
‘Then she vanished, taking my sister with her, and I have wandered far and wide these last five days, in search of Hagspeak, which no one has heard of, and a way to save my family, which seems impossible. For if I give her the loom my family will starve, but if I leave my sister she will surely be tormented, my mother will die of sorrow, and I will be left to starve alone. Now the deadline is fast approaching, and I am no closer to either goal than I was five days ago. That is why I began to despair, and why you find me now by your fountain.”
Lord Taron listened, his fists clenched tight around the reins, and his teeth grinding as his face grew red in anger. “Remain here,” he told Shen, “And I will see what can be done.” And he whirled his horse around, galloping off into the wilderness.
No mortal horse can match the speed of the Kasari, the horses of the gods, and none of them can match the speed of Malathar the Golden. Within but moments he had covered hundreds of miles of ground, and had come to a stop near the mountain known as Hagspeak. Taron could see the old woman stirring something in a large black cauldron, cackling softly to herself and licking her lips as she glanced at a young maiden, laying bound and gagged in the entrance to a cave.
Taron thought long and hard. It was quite clear that the old woman was a hag possessed of some great amount of power and magic. The Great Lord knew that he could destroy her in an instant. But he also knew that a hag’s curse is incredibly binding and can often only be broken through the actions of those affected by it, and if the hag was killed by another while a curse was in effect, it would likely only lead to a permanent curse upon the individual. If Shen did not break this curse himself, it would only leas to more suffering and death for his family.
After a few hours of thought, Taron turned and rode hard, back across the wild forests and plains, back through the darkness of the Howling Wastes, the divide between Paradise and our Mortal Lands, to the home of the Powers. He rode right up to the Forge of Eons and found Tyr, busy as usual at his anvil.
“I am in need of your help," the Hunter said.
"I am busy," the Smith replied, placing a white hot lump of metal upon the anvil and beginning to hit it with his giant hammer.
"I have a unique problem to solve," Taron continued, unswayed.
Tyr placed the lump of metal into a bucket of water and turned back to him, wiping his hands on his leather apron. "I'm listening."
The Smith listened intently as Taron explained the problem and his idea. "That can be done," he replied. "But I will need an evening for completion."
"Have it done sooner if possible," Taron said, turning to leave the Forge.
"I make no promises." Tyr turned back to his work, gathering what supplies he needed.
White smoke poured from the Forge all night, and the red glow covered all in that corner of the Glorious Realm as the rhythmic ring of the Smith's hammer filled. Taron spent the hours sitting patiently on his horse, waiting for the completion of the project. Finally, just before the first rays of the sun began to crest the horizon, the job was done and Tyr emerged from his Forge, holding his masterpiece.
"You must let me know how the hunt goes," he said, handing the item to Taron.
"You have my thanks," the Hunter replied, wheeling Malathar around and spurring him towards the Mortal Realm. One hard ride later, he found Shen still waiting earnestly by the fountain. The youth scrambled to his feet as the huge white horse thundered up to him, face falling as he realized the Great One did not have his sister.
"I have located Hagspeak," Lord Taron explained. "and I can take you there in an instant, though I cannot slay the hag for you. For a hag's curse must be broken by the one affected by it, lest the curse become permanent."
Shen began to wring his hands in despair. "What shall I do?" he cried. "I am but a humble farmer with no experience in such matters, and I will surely be killed! And then what shall become of my mother and sister?"
"Despair not," replied the Hunter. "For I have sought the aid of the Smith, and I come bearing the solution." He held up a large diamond collar, inlaid with silver and sparkling with clear crystals. Shen gazed upon it, near blinded by the beauty of its form and the glory of the pure sapphire the size of a large apple set into its center.
Lord Taron continued, "My hounds are more fierce than any creature that walks this earth, and they have no fear of evil hags, but they will only listen to my voice. This collar is enchanted, and will allow the one who places it upon the neck of one of my hounds to give them orders. They will listen, provided the one who uses it is pure of heart and motive, and they will follow your commands to the best of their abilities."
Shen bowed before the Great One, pressing his forehead to the earth. "My Lord," he said with shaking tongue, "This is too great an honor for a simple youth."
"The honor is all mine, young one, for hags are among the cruelest of evil creatures, and I have not yet come across one that I did not sic my hounds upon. Here. Take the collar and place it on my lead hound. The others will follow him wherever he goes."
Trembling, the youth approached, taking the collar from the Lord's hand. Though it was nearly as big as he was, Shen found the collar surprisingly light and easy to handle. Carefully approaching the pack of great hounds, he clasped the collar around the neck of the largest and took a few steps back. The beast looked at him and yawned.
"Good," Taron said, holding his hand out. "Now, take my hand, and I will take you to Hagspeak."
Thus, Shen found himself sitting atop the enormous flanks of Malathar, and within a blink of an eye found himself sitting at the base of Hagspeak, a few hundred feet below the hag's cave.
"Now I must leave you," the Hunter said, placing the youth upon the ground again. "But know that though I cannot come with you, I will not be far. I look forward to congratulating you on your hunt." And with a command to the hounds to stay, he whirled his stallion about and was gone.
Shen trembled in fear, but commanded the hounds to heel and began to climb. Within an hour he had reached the hag's cave and, bidding the hounds to remain hidden, found her still stirring her cauldron in the entrance.
"Ah," she said, her eyes gleaming with a cold light as she saw him approach, "you have come at last. That is good, for the stew is nearly ready. Have you brought me my earnings, or shall I prepare the final ingredient?"
Shen looked at his sister, bound and gagged, their eyes locking in fear. He shakily pulled himself up to his full height and faced the witch. "I have come. But only to bring you your destruction."
Her eyes lit up a cold yellow and her smile curled into a toothy grin. "You dare to threaten me, boy? Perhaps I will use you in my stew tonight. And feed you to your sister!"
Shen raised a hand and pointed at the witch, looking back to the hounds. "Kill her."
The lead hound leapt out of hiding with a gleeful baying howl, and charged forwards with the pack on his heels. The hag's eyes widened, and she began to retreat, eldritch energy beginning to gather in her palms as she thrust them towards the pack.
Such a battle had never been seen before on Hagspeak, and never shall be again. The shrieks of the witch echoed off of the baying of the hounds, and the rocks began to crack and fall off the mountainside as the flashes of light from the hag's spells lit up the sky. The battle raged for hours, and Shen found himself nearly dead of exhaustion by the time the lead hound finally managed to wrestle the hag to the ground and rip her throat out.
Shen collapsed and lay on the ground like a dead thing for nearly an hour before he drug himself to his feet again. He crawled over to the crumpled body of the hag and, taking a knife, stabbed her through the heart, for he knew the only way to be sure a hag was dead was to stab her heart. Then, he took another knife and cut his sister free, comforting her as best he could.
It was at this time that the Lord of the Hunt reappeared. "Well done," he told the lad. "I have never seen a hunt quite like that in all my years. It is almost enough to sate me for a time just to have seen it. Almost. Come, and I will take you two home."
Within but a moment, the two of them found themselves back at their small home in the forest. As Taron bid them farewell, he looked around at the tiny field of dying plants that Shen called a farm and bade him remove the collar from the lead hound and place it on one of the youngest.
"For you are a poor farmer, and though your mother is an accomplished weaver, you will not have her forever and must needs find another way of keeping yourselves fed. Take this hound, therefore, find a whelp, and begin a breed of hounds. They will be smarter, stronger, and faster than other dogs, and will allow you to become a hunter of some renown. People will come from miles around, and will pay a good amount of money for such dogs, and you will never have to worry about hunger again."
And thus it was as the Hunter proclaimed, and the hounds of the Shen River are, to this day, some of the smartest, strongest, and fastest dogs around, and people still come from miles around to spend large amounts of gold just to have one of their own.

Summary

The Hounds of Taron tells of a time shortly after the Rending when Lord Taron went hunting in the wild forests and found instead a young boy in need of help killing a hag. In order to break the hag's curse, the boy had to be the one to kill it, so Taron enlisted the help of Tyr to forge a collar that would allow the boy to control his great hunting dogs. The boy defeated the hag with the help of the hounds, and before parting ways, Taron gave one of his younger hounds to the boy bidding him start a breed of dogs that others would pay good money for, which would keep his family fed for generations.

Historical Basis

There are many who hold this myth to be fact, and some ancient caves near the Shen River Valley appear to show signs of ancient occupation by creatures which could be hags. There is an ancient stone upon the mountain commonly believed to be Hagspeak, which is engraved with a version of the story. And of course, it is a well known fact that the hounds which trace their lineage to the breeders of the Shen River Valley are more often smarter, faster, and stronger than other dogs.

Spread

The myth is common knowledge in Archren and Ardent.

Variations & Mutation

In some versions of the story, Shen kills the hag while mounted upon the lead hound. And in others it is the lead hound himself which Taron gifts to Shen upon the killing of the hag. One version describes the collar as having the appearance of leather, but the strength and durability of diamond.
There is an incredibly controversial version of the story told in one small mountain village claiming to be the original site of Shen's cabin. In this version, Shen sneaks into Taron's camp after the killing of the hag and steals the young hound which becomes the basis of the Shen River breed.

Cultural Reception

The legend is particularly important to the breeders and settlers of the Shen River Valley, because it is seen as the basis for their particular culture.

In Literature

The Hounds of Taron appear in verse throughout many villages, spread through the actions of wandering bards.

In Art

The Hounds of Taron are a common sight whenever the Lord of the Hunt appears in Art, and this particular story appears often in temples dedicated to Taron that are located in the Shen River valley.

Date of Setting

Shortly After the Rending