The chains of ice burned him over his skin. There was little of him which had strength left. Norn, he was, all of him fire, all of him fierce strength. Where was that now? Where was the strength of the bear or the cunning of the wolf? He groaned as once more he struggled to free himself. He bit his tongue until it bled, to muster the strength to fight his way out but… the ice would not budge. He groaned for a moment to regain focus on his strength.
To this the Svanir in the cave laughed. There were several in the cave, more than he could take in battle, even should he be able to free himself. How long had he been lying there, on the motionless prison? The hours were lost to him and now they prepared the ritual to brand him as one of their own. They paced back and forth, placing several markers on the floor and drawing out the patterns, spreading the corrupted ice crystals in each and every edge to ensure the success of the ritual. And even if he were to escape, the path was blocked by a wooden gate. And for a while more, there he lay, looking at the walls, the ceiling and door. The many Sons which populated the cave cared little now for him. He was broken. Hopeless. And soon, one of them.
Then he rose his head. He heard it from the outside. Warcries, threats, gunshots. What was happening? What was this? His Pack did not know his location, who were these people? He noticed the Sons of Svanir inside the Cave growing agitated. Some ran to the Gate.
“Do not open the gate! They will never make it past our brothers!” A Veteran raider spoke. And they stood and listened, in silence at the commotion from the outside. More gunshots, more screams and finally, complete silence. A strange eerie feeling settled within the cave. Harnak watched as the Sons placed themselves ready to strike. Then he saw it.
Coming from underneath the many wooden logs which made the gate, a thick fog began seeping through, slowly dancing across the icy floor as it went. And then, taking all by surprise, the whole gate exploded!
The blast took many of the Sons with it, but not all. Roaring in fury, the held their arms, but not even the sons of the dragon were stupid enough to charge into a mist on their own. A few silhuettes moved amongst the thick fog, but none made a move. Finally they appeared. All of them together, all of them moving in unison. Black flowed, torn robes, a mask which bore no expression whatsoever, all of them the same. They bore great swords each and said no word. They opened their guard and stood there simply as if posing a challenge.
The move was now the Sons’. Two charged, roaring but again the thunder of the guns echoed around the cave and they dropped dead, their skulls pierced by lead. A moment again, but it lasted no more then that. The others charged at the four and mists alike. An axe directed at one of them, cleaved naught but air as the figure shatters and the thunderous powder sounded anew. They came running away from the shadows, a man clad in dark armour and blond hair and a woman, dressed in little more than scattered pieces of armour and plenty of cloth, to back up the other three which remained.
The two grinned at one another as they ran across the room, each to their side, rifle in hand, shooting the Sons as if they were beasts, though like beasts they chased after them, groaning, roaring, huffing, puffing. The other masked men merely avoided harm, as if distracting their opponents. But something was amiss… they were four, but one shattered, he could only see two amidst the confusion. Where was the third?
A flash again and he revealed himself before him. The same black robes, torn at the ends and a mask which bore no expression. The man stood there for a moment and looked at him, fixing his cold stare into the Norn’s own. He turned to the blond warrior. “Hans… if you would be so kind.” And he pointed the sword at the prisioner. Hans grinned and nodded. “Kaila, cover me.” The woman shook her head, clearly amused. “S’always me savin’ yer arse ye kno’? S’appen’d to chivalry these days?”
Hans took aim with his rifle “Dead my dear, Kaila. Much like beloved Ascalon.” He shot. The Norn expected the pain which never came, instead, one hand free, then the other and finally, he fell on the floor. On his knees, he gasped for air and looked at the man as he worked himself up. “I am Ashrael. I am neither saviour nor redeemer. I give you a chance to fight, Norn. Do not disappoint.”
And with this, he walked every so calmly to the midst of the battle. The Norn blinked and suddenly there was two of them.
Bah! No matter! Whoever this was, he’d take the chance. He’d fight and show the Sons why it took so many of them to cull have him fall. His body may be broken, but his will no. He was of the Wolf! He was a survivor! He’d never turned down the challenge before, he’d not do so now! No!
Disregarding armour, disregarding safety, he roared and his voice echoed above the thunder of the guns. He took a great sword from the fallen foes and charged, slashing wildly, swinging madly at his foes. And he cared little for pleads, cries and wounded moans coming from below his feet. There would be no mercy for their kind! They had no honor! He’d make sure none of them would ever be worthy of legend! And the warrior-giant swept through his foes, as if an unstoppable force took a hold of him.
And finally, as strength began to fail him and he took another weary step, his fury quenched in the blood of his enemies, the great Norn looked out for the others. Before him, stood only a man in a mask and the two riflemen. Thrusting his sword into the ice, he fell to one knee, being nevertheless as tall as they were.
“I thank you, Ashrael for saving me from the clutches of the enemies of my brothers.” He spoke with a solemn tone. Ashrael tilted his head to the side and spoke “You fight well for someone who has been chained for so long.” And he said nothing for a few instants, “Why do you fight so?” He then continued.
“I fight because it is in my blood. I fight to make myself a name. I fight to become a legend. That is why I fight.”He owed this stranger the explanation. Ashrael fixed his gaze on the giant and then looked to the other two. “I do not fight with the greatest warriors who have ever lived. But with me fight those who have no fear of being bested. Who hesitate nothing and who answer to no one but themselves. We walk to spread a truth upon this world and free it from the chains which corrupt and waste lives away. Through our journeys, though meaningless in times to come, will legends be formed and immortality acquired. For we shall pass on, but that which we become shall live on in every man beyond us. And when it ceases to exist, we shall return anew. Will you walk with us?”
“I…” He hesitated for a moment. “I am Harnak Wulfgaard. I have been born to follow the Spirit of the Wolf. More than anyone else, more than whichever end it may bring, I have been born to serve and protect my brethren as they protect me. You have come to my aid and without you I would be no more. I will walk besides you Ashrael. I will be of your Pack.”
The two soldiers smirked and nodded, welcoming the addition of some muscle to the group. Ashrael spoke again. “Rise then, my brother.” He produces a strange stone circle in his hands with strange scriptures all around it, some even alien to them all. He stretches it out for him to take. As Harnak takes a hold of the cold stone circle Ashrael continues. “And welcome then brother, to the Wheel of Entropy. Cover yourself, for we walk together.”
And with this, the four grouped together and left, four silhuettes disappearing amidst the snowstorm which covered their passing.
