Britain, c. 360–939 CE — from the founding curse to the war of the bloodline
Their god took their strength. The crown took their king's head. The wolves remember both.
In the late fourth century, the horned god Cernunnos passed judgment on one royal house of Dál Riata for despoiling the wild — and split that judgment across two generations. The elder, the druid Eochaid Muinremuir, he cursed to live undying and to witness the slow death of the druidic order. The grandson, Fergus Mór mac Eirc — in legend the founder of Scotland's royal line — he cursed to become a wolf.
Both endure for centuries. The wolves act; the undying druid watches. And from the founding exile to the dawn of England, the line pays its debt in blood.
The Geis of Wolves spans from the 5th-century founding of the pack to the Battle of Brunanburh in 937 CE — five books of lycanthropy, druidic magic, Norse raiders, and a sacred obligation that cannot be broken without breaking the bearer.
A binding sacred obligation — to protect the forest and its creatures for as long as any of the wild remains. Breaking it is not a social failing. It is a wound to the body and spirit.
The true-blood Old Pack — born Shifters of the royal Dál Riata line. The Made — Norse úlfheðnar turned by Cernunnos's rage, bound to a god not their own.
Eochaid Muinremuir — the first cursed druid, undying, holding both gifts. Cursed not to transform but to remember. His is the continuous thread from the founding to the war of the bloodline.
Oswaldes Bita — Oswald's Bite — a saint's consecrated blade blooded against the druid-kin. The one thing that can end the unkillable. A family wound twice over.
Britain from the late Roman twilight to the unification of England — history as the bones beneath the myth.
Cernunnos passes judgment on the house of Dál Riata. Eochaid is cursed undying to witness; his grandson Fergus is cursed to become the first wolf — patriarch of the Old Pack, bound by geis to guard the wild forever.
The newly-cursed pack learns what it has become. The first Wardens are turned on the road. Through bargain with the fading Sídhe, they win their home in a sacred oak grove near Eoforwic and raise the Antlered Throne.
Under Offa of Mercia, crown and cross advance together, felling the sacred groves. Cernunnos fades; his wolves fade with him. Holy water burns the cursed for the first time. Fergus is beheaded by Oswaldes Bita. The throne stands empty.
The Norse úlfheðnar arrive, drawn inland by tales of relics. Cernunnos's rage turns them into the Made — a second wolf-line bound to a god not their own. The rite of the long night is revealed in full, with its terrible cost.
Under Alfred, suspicion becomes a witch-hunt. Oswaldes Bita becomes the crown's unfalsifiable test. Domnall — royal, beloved, thought untouchable — falls in the hunts. His loss forges Cináed into the war-leader to come.
Under Æthelstan, an embittered wolf betrays the pack to the crown. The bloodline is exposed. Cináed leads what remains into open war — against the backdrop of Brunanburh, 937 CE. Eochaid faces his final choice.
Two books written. Three to come. The saga runs from the founding to the dawn of England.
A cursed royal house — newly made monsters — must find the home that becomes their world. The founding journey lived forward: the king's sin, the curse, the wilderness years, the bargain with the fading fae folk of the hollow hills, and the raising of a home in the heart of the oldest wood. Not prologue. Not backstory. A saga begun.
Four centuries of peace. Then the axes come. Under Offa of Mercia, crown and cross advance together — felling sacred groves, outlawing old gods, and draining the strength from a god who is made of the forests. The wolves' own god, dying, unbarred the door their enemy walks through. Fergus is beheaded. The throne stands empty. What the heir inherits is ruin and a vow: keep the hand open.
Books III through V carry the saga from the Norse turning through the Battle of Brunanburh. Enter the scroll to be the first to know.
The pack spans five centuries, two wolf-lines, and every shade between guardian and destroyer. Because the cursed live on, many faces carry from one book into the next.
The founding era. A cursed king, his companions, and the home raised in the heart of the oldest wood.
The king who would not be told no — who emptied the glen and paid for it with centuries. Across four hundred years of exile and guardianship he becomes a man who can be corrected. His later death is the engine of everything after.
Fergus's elder son and the chosen heir the home never named aloud. The clearest-sighted of the whole line — he looked at the curse and saw its futility, and that same clear sight is what the hide took him through. The one who did not come back.
A Cruithni spear took his voice eleven winters before the curse. Speech gone, he became the pack's truest reader of the wordless — the one who teaches Fergus how to mean a thing with the whole body. He keeps a fluent, eloquent silence across four centuries.
Fergus's granddaughter; the first true-blood child born in a home not made of grief. Fearless from the cradle — until she stumbles on a secret the Wardens will kill to keep. Her murder is the pack's first wound from within, and it seeds the feud for centuries.
Eldest of the first Made; turned on the founding journey and locked forever in the wolf. The living memory of the pack's first expansion and the embodiment of the geis as bare duty — the captain who led the search for a home and never got to live in it as a man.
The most earnest keeper of the geis — and the tragedy of the earnest. His desperate need for a rule that would make the killing holy hardens, across generations, into the pitiless certainty the Wardens inherit. The home's deepest danger, grown from its most devout love.
The keepers of laughter and song. Lóegaire says the low true things aloud so the others need not carry grief in silence; Cano threads every vigil and feast with music. With Domangart's tales, the three things that hold a home together across centuries.
A Briton driven off his land, the first refugee the home takes in. He asks the naked king on the forest path, "kept by what?" — and, told the truth, stays. The founding instance of the open hand, the sheltering that defines what the wolves are for.
The newly-mortal pack under a second alpha — and the first proof that the deathless can be wounded.
Inherits a grieving, newly-mortal pack after Fergus's beheading. A better peacetime king than Fergus, untested in the bad hour — until the bad hour arrives. Defined by endurance, unglamorous survival, and the open hand.
Unimpressed by deathlessness — "it's a long slow grief with the dying left out." She chooses the large thing too short over the careful thing too long, and will not flee the longest night when it comes. The human heart of Book Two.
The first creature in four hundred years to carry a lasting wound — burned by the new god's blessed water, healed the slow mortal way. He becomes the evidence that one can be hurt and go on, warding the broken gate scarred and re-scarred on the longest night.
The priest who carries Oswaldes Bita on the relic road — and who kneels in the mud to weep with a dying pagan woman, then rises to bless the axes that killed her. His terrible gentleness and the clearing are one man and one faith. Book Two's mirror to the zealot within.
Carried deathless out of the founding era, he is now the home's internal fracture — reaching for the geis over the seat, hunting a traitor who does not exist. The zealot who mistakes cruelty for faith, and the dark mirror of the priest Cuthwine.
A hidden heretic of the Keepers of the Hollow, planted within a crown foundation. He takes the measure of Cuthwine on the relic's road and carries word up the smuggler's line — proof that the border between God's work and the enemy's runs straight through the Church itself.
The cursed do not age out of the story. These figures carry through both books — and onward into the war to come.
Cursed not to transform but to witness. He alone holds both druid gifts — sight and green magic. From the founding to the war of the bloodline, he is the conscience and memory of the whole story. Born c. 360 CE. Still walking.
Eochaid's son and head of the Seer line — omens, visions, the threads of fate. The Cassandra line incarnate: the Seers foretell the diminishment, the beheading, the betrayal, and watch them happen. In Book One, father to Lassar; counsel and dread throughout.
Not the killer but the cover-up: when Tadhg murders the child Lassar, Bran helps stage it as the work of exiled men, and lives forever with what he buried. The almost-redeemable one, whose later love becomes the crack in the zealot code.
A wolf-coat who played at being a beast and was forced to become one by a god not his own. He chose to accept the geis and bound his people to it. The Made's first true leader; Cináed's oldest ally across the whole saga.
Refused to ask honorably. Went to the long night alone and offered damning blood, buying power at the cost of his soul. The cautionary opposite of Úlfrik — the enemy the pack makes by its own contradictions.
A brilliant, pious consolidator building a Christian realm with no room for the old wild. He beheads Fergus believing him only a stubborn heathen king — never grasping he has declared war on a centuries-old curse. The mortal who lights the long fuse.
Ineligible for the rite by birth, he watches the pack pass him over again and again. The tragedy of a system that creates an underclass and is destroyed by it. His later treachery will kill Alpín and expose the bloodline.
Forged into a war-leader by the death of his brother Domnall. He will inherit the pack at its worst hour — betrayed, exposed, leaderless — and carry the line into Brunanburh. The reluctant heir of the saga's later arc.
The two wolf-types. Shifters move between man and wolf and carry the ancient power. Wardens are locked in the guardian-beast, tireless and deathless, unable to shift. A Shifter who breaks the geis badly may be reduced to a Warden — stripped of human form, condemned to guard.
On the winter solstice, when the veil to Annwn is thinnest, a Made wolf may petition Cernunnos for ascension. Two gates: eligibility — your human life must have opened a channel to the beast — and the sacrifice. The rite can kill. Only one in four or five survives.
Two gifts from one undying source. The Seers know what comes and usually cannot stop it. The Greenwardens can act where the Seers only warn. Their power fails on consecrated ground and fades as the forests are cleared — the druids diminish exactly as the world Christianizes.
The saint's blade — Oswald's Bite. Blooded against the undying druids, it can end what should be unkillable. The instrument of Fergus's beheading and the tool of the wolf-hunts. The saga's great through-line object. A family wound turned weapon.
The People of Annwn — fae first-folk who kept the wild before the Gaels, before Rome. Nearly gone. They help only by riddle and bargain, always at a price. The wolves exist because Cernunnos conscripted mortals to take up the guardianship the Sídhe could no longer keep.
Not all Christians are enemies. A secret order within the Church — monks, nuns, and clergy who learned the buried truth and concluded the holy war on the wild is a sin. They shelter the hunted at mortal risk. Faith turned toward mercy against faith turned toward conquest.
News from the home, when the home has news worth sending.
New books, release dates, lore dispatches, and the occasional thing the roster does not say. No noise. No flood. The wolves keep their own counsel.
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Eiríkr Vagn writes at the edge where Norse and Brythonic myth press through into the forest floor — where the old god still enforces his curse, the undying still count their griefs, and a wolf can be the most honorable thing in any room.
The Geis of Wolves is a five-book saga grounded in the actual history of Britain from the late Roman twilight to the unification of England under Æthelstan — and in the mythology of a world that knew Cernunnos before it knew the cross.
The names are Gaelic, Old English, and Norse because the story demands all three. The pronunciation guides are there because the names are worth saying aloud.