Scratched onto hide, stained with rain and something darker. A chronicle of those who live on the wrong side of the wall. The ones the empires call barbarian —a word they invented to make themselves feel safe while they sleep behind stone.
We barbarians? We just keep walking until the ground gives out. Barbarian Chronicles -Ongoing- - Version- Intro
This chronicle is ongoing . That means I am writing it with a broken hand, by firelight, while the wolves circle. There is no ending yet. There may never be. Endings are for songs and histories. Scratched onto hide, stained with rain and something darker
Chronicle I: The Taste of Iron (The first time Wulf takes a life—and why it wasn't the last.) We barbarians
So. You have chosen to read. Or someone has pressed this hide into your hands and told you to learn .