Unveiling Grenmark: Tales and Folklore from Its Enigmatic Regions

Grenmark is the eastern realm on the continent of Ostar Magna, within the world of Altherra. It is a land woven with mystery and rich traditions, where every region holds stories that echo through generations. These tales reveal the spirit of its people, the secrets of its landscapes, and the dark past that lingers in the air.

This post begins the journey into the heart of Grenmark, sharing some of the most captivating folklore from its many regions. Each story offers a glimpse into the lives and culture that shape this enigmatic lands — and the history that refuses to fade.

The Whispers of Grenmark

The Hunger of Woods End

~From the Lessons of Father Emric, Tutor to the Crown Prince

On Mercy and the Duty of Lords

Come, young lords, please sit.

There is something you must understand, if you wish to rule well. 

Mercy is not only a kindness. It is a duty. And that duty does not end with your kin, it extends to all who live beneath your rule.

To the lagermen who serve your house, it is not well understood why no lord or lady of House Oakhyll sets foot near Woods End.

It is an oddity to most, but those well versed in the history of your family know that the reason lies in the early days of King Bernard III and his brother, Augustine II.

Augustine Oakhyll II has long been known to the realm as Augustine the Hungry.

To some the name was a cruel insult forged by the enemies of House Oakhyll. To others it was a shameful memory kept alive so that future princes and lords might remember humility.

But Augustine’s hunger did not begin during the Siege of Alderhelm.

No...its roots were planted long before.

Years earlier, Prince Augustine had been tasked by his elder brother, King Bernard III, to survey the southern reaches of Oaklynd. The king wished to build a harbor along the southern coast where ships might safely dock and trade upon Oaklynd’s shores.

The prince did as he was commanded. 

He traveled for weeks along the kingdom’s coast. Fields, villages, and river towns passed beneath his horse’s hooves until at last he came to the far south—to the lonely town known as Woods End.

The name was quite fitting.

For beyond that place, the forests simply end.

Where the great oak forests of Oaklynd ended, the land changed suddenly. The forest wall stopped as if cut by a blade, and beyond it stretched a wide, bare plain where nothing taller than grass seemed willing to grow. One could see for miles beneath the open sky.

Augustine himself recounts finding the land to be unsettling.

By the time he reached Woods End, he had grown weary from travel. It was the final destination of his long survey through his brother’s vast kingdom. The prince rode the winding road with his retinue close behind as Woods End’s gates came into view.

The town was more populated than he had expected.

Merchants, sailors, and traders crowded the muddy streets. Some were Oaklynd men, but many bore unfamiliar faces to him, travelers from distant southern coasts.

Nevertheless, Augustine rode deeper into the town.

Until a woman stepped into the road before him.

She was thin and ragged, her dark hair tangled, her olive skin browned by sun and hardship. Her eyes were bright with hunger.

“My lord,” she called, her voice hoarse. “A scrap of bread—a coin—anything, I beg you.”

Augustine did not slow his horse.

“No. Leave me be, beggar,” the young prince said.

He refused the mercy to which a prince is bound.

He rode past her.

But the woman persisted as she followed for several steps.

“You ride rich and fat,” she called after him, her voice rising. “While your own people starve in your fields and cities. Is this how the great lords of Oaklynd care for their people? Have you no compassion? No shame?”

Augustine reined his horse to a slow halt.

He did not turn to face her. Instead he lifted one gloved hand lazily.

“Woe to those who beg,” he said calmly, “and within the same breath chastise their betters. They forget their place in this world.”

Then he turned to face her.

“Flog this beggar,” he ordered. “Ten lashes. Let her learn the difference between begging and insulting those above her.”

It is here, young lords, that his true failing is revealed, for when a prince denies mercy, he invites cruelty into his rule.

His guards moved quickly.

But the woman did not run.

She stood tall as they seized her.

They tore open the wool of her dress and forced her to her knees in the mud. The guards recalled that her back was already a map of old scars—thin white lines crossing one another like hay scattered across a stable floor.

The crowd had grown large.

Augustine did not care to watch.

He simply stared down the street ahead as his men raised the whip.

The lashes fell one after another.

One.

Two.

Three.

The woman made no sound.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Still she remained silent.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

When it was done, fresh wounds lay open across the lattice of old scars. Blood ran slowly down her back and dripped into the muddy street.

Only the sound of the shifting wind could be heard.

The guards stepped away.

Augustine’s voice carried calmly over the gathered onlookers.

“Let this be a lesson,” he said. “An insult to the prince of Oaklynd will not be tolerated.”

His men returned to his side.

As they did, the woman slowly lifted her head.

Her eyes found Augustine.

Her pupils had swallowed the white of her eyes. Spittle ran freely from her mouth, trailing down her chin as her lips twisted around each word.

“With my blood spilled upon this ground,” she said quietly, “I tell you this.”

“One day you will hunger as I hunger now.”

Her voice grew louder as her hands pressed deep into the mud.

“You will hunger so greatly that you will turn upon your own kin.”

She paused.

“And all those around you will taste the same cruelty you have shown me today.”

The street held its silence.

Augustine huffed a dry breath that could have been mistaken for a laugh.

He spurred his horse forward and rode on through Woods End, leaving the woman bleeding in the mud behind him.

Her words left his mind as easily as dust upon the road.

He never saw the olive-skinned woman again.

But the malediction did not fade.

Years later, during the Siege of Alderhelm, when food stores had vanished and his enemies’ will refused to break, Augustine found himself recalling the woman’s words at Woods End as he watched the blood from his own people pour into the mud.

And from that day forward, my little Lords,

the prince of Oaklynd would be known only as

Augustine the Hungry.

What other shadows loom over the houses and hollows of Grenmark? More whispers to come, the Blood Schism of Harthwyn, to the Cut of the Navel sting of Norgard and beyond. Subscribe for new tales, updates on Two Kings, and exclusive worldbuilding drops.