Roars of rage, anguish and exaltation filled the ears of Albrecht Krieger; his green eyes glared with hate at the enemy ahead, Norscans he thought spitefully. For many weeks the Knight of the Inner Circle had led his battle brothers, the White Wolves as well as many warriors and state troops against the Chaos Horde which had ravaged it way from the coasts of Nordland to the south. Today was the final day of this campaign, the Chaos Lord which led this host was within his sights, he would crush this warlord's skull or his own would be added to the Blood God's Throne.
He did not feel the autumnal cold as winter prepared to make its presence known, he did not smell the fetid stench of blood, excrement, urine, smoke and charred flesh which pervaded the battlefield. He did not see the legion of savage Norscans who were clad in furs and armor of red and brass, save for its leader. All of his attention, all of his hate and anger was focused on the Chaos Lord who accepted his challenge. Warriors, both of his own and the foes made space for their champions for even the followers of the Blood God knew that certain formalities should be followed.
Stepping ahead into the clearing was the Chaos Lord himself, his blood-red armor was riveted with miniature brass skulls, the trim of the armor was colored with brass as well and he could see many small spikes jutting out. The Chaos Lord's red pauldrons bore the twin symbols of the eight pointed star on the left, and Blood God's own insignia upon the right. His helmet was shaped like that of a daemonic ram, its horns were ivory-white and carved with unholy runes, his eyes to Albrecht's surprise were clear and blue, no different from that of a normal man, this feature perhaps disturbed him the most.
The Chaos Lord placed his gauntleted hands upon his helmet and he lifted the piece of armor up, gray and blonde hair cascaded down and Albrecht gazed upon a face that was simply one of a man. The Chaos Lord sported a bushy beard tied with many knots around his chin, his flesh was tanned and scarred but he carried an unholy aura of strength and dark nobility. He looked to be a decade younger than Albrecht who was forty-three winters, forty-four if he lived till the next one. The Chaos Lord gazed upon the Knight with a glare of barely contained rage, the Knight's own mirrored the Norscan's for it was a feeling, one born only from generations of hate.
'Hear me, Men of the South!' said the Chaos Lord in an accented but understandable Reikspiel. The Chaos Lord's voice was deep and authoritative as if he were giving a speech to his own troops. His words echoed into the minds of every Imperial soldier, yet his eyes never leaving its contact with Albrecht's own. 'I am Alvor Wyrm-Hewer, Thane of the Bleeding Skulls, I destroyed the horde of Orc Warlord Gromhurr Spinechewer, I have brought ruin to the hedonist armies of the Immaculate Empress, I have slain the thousand daemons of the Blighted Gardens, I have burned the libraries of the Shifting Scions, I have battled the Leech Lord Volgen von Carstein and staked the beast for the rising sun, I have offered thousands of skulls to Khorne, and I shall offer thousands more till the end of time!'
Snorting derisively at the Chaos Lord's words, Albrecht was tired of hearing all of the petty boasts and accomplishments of the slaves of Chaos and their leaders. Gripping the haft of his hammer tightly he spoke loudly in response
'I am Albrecht Krieger, Inner Circle Knight of the White Wolf! I proudly serve Ulric, the Lord of Winter and Battle and the Empire of our Lord Sigmar! For nearly thirty years I have defended Middenheim and its neighbors! I have fought greenskins, vampires, daemons, and men such as you! I fear you not, Slave of Chaos! For the White Wolves fear no evil!'
The Chaos lord grinned, he could see the approval on the Norscan's face 'Then so be it!' shouted the Chaos Lord as he lifted his single bladed obsidian great axe which glowed with ruby-red light 'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!' As one the Norscans began roaring their praises to the Blood God, in return the Imperial army howled like wolves or shouted the names of Ulric or Sigmar. The two warriors then took a few steps forwards, the Norscan had left his helmet where he had set down, they began to circle each other, plots and strategies coursed through the minds of the two before a mutual tactic was decided, one befitting of their respective gods.
With a swift burst of motion, Albrecht charged forwards with his war hammer trailing behind him. The blessed weapon began glowing with a faint cold light which gave confidence to the knight. The Chaos Lord brought his axe forward in a mighty cleaving swipe; Albrecht intercepted the axe by swinging his hammer up, the head of his hammer parried the axe upwards, he then let go of his weapon with his left hand while the right still held on. With a swift upwards thrust of his gauntleted left fist, he struck the Chaos Lord's bearded chin an uppercut.
The Chaos Lords painfully grunted in pain and the Imperial troops cheered for the Inner Circle Knight had struck the first blow. The Chaos Lord recovered in time and launched a headbutt to the Knight, his forehead crashed into Albrecht's own and he felt as if someone had hit him with a mace. Staggering back with eyes closed for a moment, he knew his nose was now broken and he was sure at least one of his teeth were now loose. Recovering his wits, Albrecht spun to his left as he barely dodged and over head chop from the Chaos Lord's axe. The Knight used the momentum to slam his hammer into the Chaos Lord's back and with a satisfying clang of metal upon metal, the Chaos Lord roared in pain as the blessed hammer sent the deepest of chills into his body.
The Chaos Lord then drove his right elbow into Albrecht's face, he felt great pain once more as it struck his already broken jaw, and he began to feel a sense of dizziness. The Knight recovered in time again to position his hammer to block Chaos Lord's axe as it nearly struck his right thigh, the two weapons clashed once more and the Chaos Lord swiftly disengaged to avoid another entanglement. The two warriors charged each other once more, each one swinging or thrusting their weapons, each one relying on either dodging, parrying or blocking to avoid the deadly enchantments of each other's weapons.
As the duel continued between the two, Albrecht had eventually managed to find an opportunity, he noted how the Chaos Lord's patience had been growing thinner, and his attacks were becoming faster wilder and more erratic. As the Chaos Lord made for another swipe aimed at Albrecht's neck, the White Wolf ducked underneath the obsidian blade at the last moment and he thrust his hammer's head in the Norscan's left knee.
Feeling the satisfying crunch of bone along with the metal plate, Alvor stumbled to the side and the White Wolf proceeded to strike the Chaos Lord over the side of his head. The Chaos Lord was forced to one knee, Albrecht struck him again but he still knelt while blood dripped from the hammer. Albrecht then raised his hammer over his head and drove the weapon down like a piston, the hammer slammed into the Chaos Lord's exposed head and it splattered blood, brain and bone all over the Knight.
The Chaos Lord finally fell dead, his warriors roared in vengeance and renewed their assault, the Imperials as well charged forwards, their morale soared with the death of the Chaos Lord. Albrecht as well had been amongst them, he roared in praise of the Wolf God as his hammer smashed against more Norscans.
'ULLLRIICCC!' shouted Albrecht Krieger as his hammer splattered the brains of another Norscan. 'ULLLRIICCC!' He shouted again as his hammer struck against the dark helmet of another Norscan, he felt satisfied to see the metal bend and the Norscan fell like a sack of bricks. He charged another Norscan Warrior of Chaos who was clad in armor similar to the Chaos Lord and wielding a pair of massive black swords with amazing speed. He saw the Norscan cut down three state troops before Albrecht himself swung his hammer towards the Norscan's helmeted face.
He did not have time to register that the point of one of the swords had been perfectly placed towards his torso. He felt hot searing agony pierce into his gut as the sword which was imbued with dark sorcery impaled him, the momentum of his hammer struck the northman on the head, knocking him to the side before he was struck down by the Knight's battle brothers. Darkness began to enclose Albrecht, he began to feel cold, he felt a sudden sense of vertigo and he did not know that he had fallen upon his back.
As his vision began to fail him, he felt something cold upon his face, he soon realized it was snow, winter had begun. As darkness began to take him, he thought he heard the distant howl of wolves…
'You are lucky to be alive you know' said the motherly voice of Mother Helena of the Order of the Bleeding Heart. The Mother Superior was clad in white and red robes; her brown eyes were rimmed with dark rings for she had been up all night treating the wounds of the soldiers. Her latest patient was Albrecht Krieger, this was not the first time he had been in her care and it certainly would not be the last. The two were currently in a pavilion which had been set up as a hospice for the soldiers.
Looking down at the injured man who lay upon a cot and was dressed only in his trousers, his stomach was wrapped from waist to waist with bandages; he had been brought to her with a horrendous wound in his gut. A heathen sword imbued with dark sorceries had pierced the Knight's stomach, much of his organs had been completely ruined, the fact that he was not killed outright was testament to the old fool's constitution.
Mother Helena had been forced to use the most potent prayers she knew, her prayer to the goddess was answered when holy light filled her very being. Pouring that light into the knight's ruined body she saw as his wound healed and the remnants of whatever dark magic which had strongly resisted her spell had in the end been purged.
The healing had been very taxing to the Mother Superior; the power of her goddess had only been able to heal the knight's wound from the point of unquestionably lethal to lethal if the wound festers. She had then gone about applying medicinal salves to the knight's wound and bandaging it before moving to her next patient. She would later return to the knight to check up on him and their eyes made contact as the two spoke.
'I am surprised you didn't let Morr take me' the Knight said weakly with a smile
'If the god of death allowed you through his gate, I am sure the wolves would be hounding the doves now' she replied with good nature, the two softly laughed and spoke as they had done many times in the past. She had told him of the aftermath of the battle, the Norscans were slain to the last and army of Middenland had been victorious, of course for the Mother Superior it would just be the beginning for there had been many hundreds of wounded soldiers to tend to. Eventually she had to retire for the strain of her healing both upon the knight as well as many others had been too heavy for one her age.
When the Mother Superior left, Albrecht began to quietly pray his thanks to the goddess of mercy for the healing and then he prayed towards Ulric to honor the victory against the slaves of Chaos. Gods, he thought as he felt his throat was parched, he needed a drink. Rising out of the cot and planting his feet upon the grassy ground, he took a step forwards and felt pain stab in from his wound; he had a feeling that he would not be seeing any fighting for a while, best way to dull the pain would be with some ale.
In the weeks that passed since the defeat of the Chaos Army, the Knights of the Wolf Wolves were hailed once more as heroes to the people of Middenheim, feasts and celebrations were made in honor to the Templars of Ulric with even the Graff himself holding a feast for the Order. Within the temple of Ulric, Albrecht kneeled down in front of the statue of the wolf god, clad in a simple grey woolen tunic and trousers, his wolf pelt cloak had been draped around him, he whispered a prayer-like mantra and renewed his vows of duty and honour to the Lord of Winter. When his prayers had finished he looked up to the statue and saw Ulric's stern gaze, the Lord of Winter stood ten feet tall, his armor was of a primitive design like those of the men of Sigmar's time, a pair of wolves flanked him and in his hands was a mighty hammer.
Rising to his feet, he felt the pain of his wound flare up again. Although he had rested and allowed it to heal for more than three weeks, he could still feel the pain from time to time, at first it had been difficult for him to put on his armor or perform and physical exercises, now though it was nothing but a minor inconvenience whenever he walked. Leaving the statue he began making his way to into the halls of the Temple. As he was about to leave the statue's room he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, he felt a strange sense of coldness around him, he looked around the room seeing that it was empty.
Shaking his head and thinking that perhaps he should not be drinking tonight, he stepped out into the torch-lit halls. Following the path which would take him to the main entrance of the temple, he noted the cold still remained despite the torches around him; he turned back as he heard soft pattering upon the stone floor, he thought caught sight of a wolf's silhouette at the end of the hall. Moving towards the wolf he saw it bound off into another section of the hall, quickly on the move, Albrecht's shoes pattered upon the stone floor, he wondered how a wolf managed to even get into the city, much less the Temple itself.
Going to the end of the hall he found himself in a corner with the only way around was to go right, looking to the right he saw the wolf again. Its fur was grey but oddly its eyes were of two different colors, one was icy blue and the other of a dark yellow, the wolf's eyes made contact with his before it bounded off again.
Albrecht gave chase and followed its trail, he could smell its scent, he could hear its breathing. Eventually the trail led him to a massive double door which made him stop in his tracks. The door was carved from Wutroth, a type of mountain tree favored by the Dwarfs, upon its surface was a mural depicting countless men and wolves in battle against many a foe, and in the spaces between the doors he could see the bright glow of the White Flame.
Placing his hand upon the thick iron rings riveted to the door, he pulled the right door open and went in. The room which contained the Flames of Ulric was a round space, there were no holy sigils icons, or scriptures, its only decoration was an ancient mural of Ulric on the end opposite of the door way, the rest was just bare, stepping forwards in awe of the Flame, he drew closer like a moth. He felt no heat from the dancing fires, only coldness akin to a winter's day, he looked into the fire and he thought he saw glimpses of something… he could not say for sure.
He stood at the rim of the ring of stones which surrounded the White Flame, he could smell the scent of a wolf again, his flesh felt as if fresh snow were falling upon it, he heard the distant howls of wolves, he could taste the coppery tang of fresh blood, and his eyes peered deeper into the flame as if in a trance. His right hand rose up and he slowly reached for the fire, he did not know why but he felt as if he should touch the holy fire, to embrace it as if it were a sword-brother.
As his fingers began to draw closer to the flames he stopped and began to wonder what am I doing? Shaking his head, he looked around a bit disoriented. He could no longer hear or smell the wolves and the coldness of the Flame lessened and he turned away. He could not help but feel that something was strange and amiss.
Riding upon his horse, Horst, Albrecht surveyed the forest, wary of any dangers. Fully clad in his plate armor with his hammer slung over his shoulder, he looked out into the forest wary of any trouble. Around him were several squires, initiate priests and a pair of his battle brothers, patrols like this were a great way to teach the young pups the proper way of being a Knight of the White Wolf as well as to gauge the skills of the next generation and determine what sort of training should be given. Winter had already gripped the Empire and the party of men trudged onwards, the squires and initiates looked miserable in the cold, Albrecht smiled inwardly, remembering his days as well.
'Nice weather ol' Ulric is giving us' said Brother Marquand who raised a leather skin of ale to his lips. Pouring the liquid into his mouth, Albrecht noted several droplets spill into his battle brother's long red beard.
'Nothing compared to that campaign in Kislev back in 82' said Brother Wolfgang who was a tall and broad man who looked big enough that he could wrestle a Kurgan in a fair fight 'Lost two toes to frostbite on that one'.
'Your fault for taking that drunken bet with the dwarf' reminded Marquand 'You should have known the mountain folk were made of sterner stuff'. Albrecht remembered that campaign; they were part of war band sent to assist the people of Kislev against yet another Chaos army. At the time they were accompanied by a dwarf mercenary, Thori Skorrison he remembered the dwarf's name, a pale skinned green-eyed and red-bearded dwarf who was a good shot with a crossbow and a damned good fighter with an axe.
'Well I didn't know at the time how tough dwarfs were!' said Wolfgang indignantly 'I thought those stories of them were just boasts'.
Albrecht remembered those early years of his career as a White Wolf; they were all just craving for glory and thinking that their youth made them invincible. His mind wandered to the recent battle against the Chaos leader, you are getting old he thought to himself, he was not as fast or as strong as he once was. At the age of thirty he had been going toe to toe and crushing the skulls of orcs, Kurgan, and even daemons without breaking a sweat, but now not so, you are going old he thought to himself again.
The following night the Ulrican patrol had rested at a coaching inn. The innkeeper, a portly and balding man with a mutton-chop beard was surprised and delighted to have paying guests over. The hearts of the Ulrican were lifted as they drank, ate and were warmed by the fires of the hearth. A few of the pups were ogling the innkeeper's two daughters and the Knight knew he and his battle brothers would have to keep an eye on the lads, lest they do something stupid and have all of them thrown out into the cold.
Later as he slept upon the bed he had rented, Albrecht felt cold again, he could have sworn that he closed the windows, opening his eyes and getting up he saw that indeed they were. Muttering and thinking that there must be some holes in the masonry, he heard the howling of a wolf not far from the inn. Walking to the single window, he looked out into the darkness, and was surprised to see the grey wolf again; it sat on its haunches by a wooden post which had a lantern dangling from the sides and it looked directly at him.
Moving away from the window he went for his armor, his cloak and his hammer which had been piled up next to a dresser, he hurriedly put on his equipment and went out as quietly as he possibly could. Going down the creaking flight of stairs, and passed the snoring form of Brother Wolfgang whose head rested on the bar, he made his way to the front door and emerged into the cold.
Heading towards the lantern post, he saw the wolf was gone, but he found paw prints heading into the forest, he was glad that the snow had stopped falling for now and the prints would be easier to follow. Picking up the lantern with his gauntleted left hand he followed the trail of the wolf, his right hand tightly clenched the handle of his hammer. For what seemed to be hours, Albrecht followed the wolf's trail, often he would catch glimpses of it at the corners of his eyes.
The trail through the forest eventually led him into a clearing; he saw a circle of standing stones covered in snow. Approaching warily, his body was tensed in case anything might try to attack him, at the center of the circle he found a cauldron-like object made from stone, inside the cauldron was a clear pool of water which had not turned to ice. The clouds above him broke and the moon of Mannslieb shone directly into the cauldron, the water took a strange ethereal hue to it. Instinctively, Albrecht knew something was wrong here, there was magic in the air, but it was one that seemed familiar to him.
'And so you have arrived' came a deep voice from behind, turning back with hammer raised at the ready.
Albrecht caught sight of the stranger, he saw a man clad in plate armor of an archaic design, his face was covered by a wolf skull, his shoulders were wrapped in the pelt of a grey wolf, and in his hands was a double-bladed great axe which seemed to mist with frost. A High Priest of Ulric, thought Albrecht with great reverence, the priest's gear reminded Albrecht of the old tales, of the Ar-Ulric's that wandered the land fighting unnatural threats in the time before Sigmar.
'The Wolf God has called to you, Chosen Son' said the High Priests with gravitas 'All that remains is to know if you are worthy'
'Worthy of what? What form of trial does the Wolf God wish of me?' asked Albrecht
'Worthy of taking my place' said the Priest who raised a gauntleted finger and pointed to the cauldron 'baptize yourself in its blessed waters and the Lord of Winter shall judge you'
Nodding in understanding, Albrecht began to remove his armor, unease and fear began to build up within him. Shaking his head he mentally chastised himself for bearing such unworthy thoughts, he knew that he should know no fear for he was a warrior of the Lord of Battles. Standing naked before the cauldron he did his best not to shiver, with a deep breath he placed his hands upon the rim, he hissed as the stone felt cold like ice, he looked into the waters and saw a reflection of himself. Taking a deep breath once more, he placed his right hand into its waters; it felt as if needles had pierced his nerves, he grunted loudly in pain.
Looking back to the priest who maintained his stony gaze, Albrecht knew the eyes of his god would be upon him and he would not desire to be found wanting. Steeling his resolve he climbed the cauldron and began submerging his body into it, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth, he did his best not to make a sound. He felt the cold of the water piercing into his flesh and bone like daggers, I will die here he thought, I will die not in the heat of battle but of hypothermia, I would freeze to death and my body would become food for the wolves.
No! He thought as he opened his eyes, if Ulric wanted to test him for whatever reason this may be, then he will bear it, he would survive and succeed this test. Keeping his eyes opened, he relaxed himself and bore the cold for what seemed to be an eternity, light began to dance at the edge of his vision, and he thought he began to see strange things in air, his vision began to fail and he knew he must stay awake. His eyes began to feel heavy, he knew it was as if he were trying to carry the weight of a mountain upon his lids, his hands tightly gripped the rims of the stone cauldron.
Soon his strength failed him, letting go of the rims, his arms sank into the waters, his eyes closed and he expected to see darkness, instead he saw light, brighter than anything he had seen, images began to flash through his mind…
He saw a massive bull-headed monstrosity bearing an axe and praising the name of the Blood God as it stood atop a mountain of skulls. He saw the beastman's kin battle against a pair of dwarfs with red crests, the dwarfs fought valiantly but were hard pressed, he then saw a wolf, its fur was white and its eyes… its eyes were green like his, it howled and joined the dwarfs, as they fought the goat things. He then saw an image of the dwarfs roaring their victory as the beastman leader's head was parted from its shoulders.
He saw more images that made no sense to him as well…
An eagle with a spear, piercing the heart of a massive black bat, he saw a massive white lion, its left paw was stained in blood and a rune which generated an aura of rage was emblazoned upon its head. He looked into its cold icy blue eyes as it ran alongside a pack of wolves and bearing down upon a horde of horrid bloated cyclopean things. He saw an image of a knight shining in ghostly light as he charged against a massive daemon which battled against a dragon…
He saw so many things that made no sense to him. Then there was darkness, and he heard the howls of wolves in the distance, and a voice echoed into his mind.
'You have been judged worthy…'
In the following dawn, the Ulricans had noticed something different about their battle brother. His stance, the way he walked and talked was… different. He carried himself with a strange, quite sort of confidence, there was a fire in his eyes which they sometimes saw in men like the Sigmarite Arch-Lector when he gave his speeches or debated with his Ulrican counterparts. Brothers Marquand and Wolfgang had broached the subject but the answers they received were cryptic and unusual from Albrecht, they wondered if it was anything to be concerned by and they agreed to keep an eye on their old friend.
When the patrol returned to Middenheim, things did not go back to the way they once were, Albrecht sought an audience with the Ar-Ulric and to their surprise he was granted it. What passed between the two was unknown but when Albrecht came out he announced that he would be leaving Middenheim. The Knight of the Inner Circle explained what had happened to him and they listened with attention, not quite believing their old friend they knew that at the same time he would not be lying, especially to them. And so Albrecht Krieger, Inner Circle Knight of the White Wolf left the city of Middenheim, as winter continued its grip upon the Old World, the two men swore that they could hear the howls of wolves from the forests.
Kneeling down in the cave which had become his home for years now, Albrecht Krieger inhaled the smell of the last remnants of burning herbs as he finished his communion with Ulric. His vision was clear but so much could go wrong, it was not a thing set in stone but one of countless possibilities. Praying to Ulric so that the best of outcomes would emerge, he picked up his hammer and prepared to carry out his god's will
Roaring the name of Ulric, Albrecht smashed the skull of a skeleton as Markus Herman cut another one down with his sword, the warriors of the Empire battered their way against the swarms of skeletons and zombies, the power of the Wolf God, as well as those of Sigmar and Myrmidia flowed through the priests in their company and countless more undead were banished. Their eyes finally set upon the blood-red armored Vampire Lord leading the army, with a roar of defiance the Vampire Lord ordered his knights to attack and the knights of the Empire rose to the challenge.
You have changed manling' said Thori Skorrison as he looked up to the human he had once fought alongside with. Albrecht Krieger nodded and extended his hand to his old friend, the dwarf shook it in a tight grip and the High Priest offered a similar gesture to the second dwarf. The other dwarf who wielded a pair of axes and carried a belt of skulls, grinned at the man and introduced himself
'Tha naym be Jurgen Olafson, manling' greeted the dwarf in a very thickly accented Reikspiel 'As noice as ta be meetin' new folk an' all, I be wantin ta go out chop sum beasties!'
The third figure was a tall slender stranger wearing a cloak of leaves, his eyes were emerald-green and the priest noted the elegant bow upon the stranger's back, an elf he realized with a bit of disdain. The elf silently gave a seemingly formal bow and the high priest reciprocated with a similar thing which momentarily surprised the elf.
'There is much you all need to know if we are defeat the Beastmen horde, come' said the High Priest 'come, I shall explain along the way.'
Sitting upon a stone, Albrecht patted the head of the black wolf with his right as his left scratched under the chin of the white one. Through them he saw the lion pelted warrior give chase to the daemon; and who had mercilessly slaughtered one of the beastmen tribes. Good he thought, it was just like the vision had shown him. Either the daemon would fall to the lion, or the falcon bearing the sword which shone with the light of a rising sun, or perhaps both? He mused.
All around him, men cheered as the beasts fled. Their leader had lain dead with its head had been crushed with its brains splattered over his hammer, the soldiers of the fortress raised their weapons high and roared the names of Ulric, Sigmar and the many gods of the Empire. The battle had gone better than he expected, he wondered at the sudden halt of the barrage of boulders from the Chaos Giant in the forest, had they continued to keep pummeling at the walls of the Fort the beastmen could have breached the walls and overrun the Imperials.
Knowing that he should be thankful for such fortunes he decided to take a band of his wolf-kin into the forest just to be sure. When the party left the fortress they followed the direction from where they saw the giant, last he had seen was one the giant looking down and stamping its feet frantically. It then suddenly fell with the earth thumping tremor and the beastmen seemed surprised at this.
The beastmen near where the Giant had fallen were all dead in an unusual manner, many looked to have been slain by blade and fire rather than bullet or explosive. Some had the telltale sign of having been slain by arrow but the arrow in question had been pulled out. Eventually they came to the body of the Giant who laid very still upon its back, its intestines were spilled out into the ground and blood smeared the grass around it. The men around him were quite surprised to see a warrior clad in an elegant suite of armor which was drenched in blood, the warrior was standing over the dead giant, his axe was embedded into the giant's belly and gore streak over the side of its chest and stomach.
'About time you have arrived' Albrecht said to the warrior.
'I was occupied, the vermin's trail led me here' the warrior said in Reikspiel as he wrenched the axe off the giant. The warrior stepped off the giant's belly and he landed gracefully upon the earth, he was a fey creature of whom the High Priest had fought alongside with against the minions of the Plague God.
'I trust your hunt for the daemon was successful' spoke the priest as he looked into the pale skinned warrior's icy blue almond-shaped eyes,
'Disappointing' replied the warrior 'it seemed I was only there to strike the killing blow'
'Such is the way of war, elf' the priest.
The two warriors gripped each other in the forearm below the wrist, a sign of mutual respect. The elf nodded to Albrecht and no other words were needed to be said between them. The party of Ulrican warriors went back to the fortress while the elf walked away into the woods. There would be much battles left for that one, the priest knew, battles that will be felt for years to come, battles that both mortals and gods would feel. The Priest knew their paths would cross again, but it would not only be their paths. He had seen it in his visions; a storm is coming, one that has not been felt for centuries, one that would soon threaten the very world itself.
As his party made their way back, he heard the distant howls of wolves from afar. They would have to make ready, for when the storm comes, only through faith and courage can victory be attained.