AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again, sorry for delays. This time it was the holidays, you know how it is. Next chapter shall be introducing the "dark presence", and take note of what chapter number that will be ;). As always, please review!

KLAUS IV

Nights like this, where the shining silver moon was full in the sky, were the kind that were often spoken of as being holy to Ulric, back home in Carroburg. Situated on the River Reik, right on the border with Reikland, it was a shining example of order and prosperity within the Empire. Just as impressive as any similar size city in the wealthy Reikland, at least. When he was but a lad, his parents, educated folk though they were, had taught him that Reiklanders were all shifty eyed scum with shit for honour. That was an opinion shared by nearly all Middenlanders, rich and poor. As he grew older and ever so wiser, he learned from his time in the Reikland state-troops that not all Reiklanders were so bad, just a tad arrogant and self-righteous. All the same, it made Klaus more pleased than he cared to admit that the followers of the Wolf-God could build anything as impressive as the glimmering spires and imposing temples of the South. Even more so, he remained proud of the wolf-blood that ran in his veins just as it ran in all Middenlanders, descended as they were from the mighty Teutogens of antiquity, who bent the knee to none but Sigmar himself.

So, naturally, he felt more than a bit invigorated by the glare of ethereal white from up high. Or perhaps it was the chill in the air, that put him in mind of a midnight prowl through the woods. Most likely, it was the heavily pregnant direwolf that now loped beside him, between himself and the Jade Wizard Jakob.

There were few things less extreme that would be enough to convince a good law-abiding Imperial to go out traipsing into the forest in the dead of night, full moon or no. In the Empire, that would be tantamount to suicide, given the hordes of all manner of foul abomination that stalked the shadows of the great trees, beastmen and orc, werewolf and wraith, all invigorated by the sickly glow of the Chaos moon Morrslieb. Yet this was not the Empire, and the false moon did not shine here.

Here was a whole new world, one similar but unlike the one they had left behind them. Many things he had taken for granted his whole life, most notably the danger posed by the world around him, were being shaken. Yet for all that, his faith in the gods of his folk remained unshakeably. For that, at least, he had been rewarded. He palmed now the small iron wolf-head charm affixed to the straps of his armor, right above the plate that covered left side.

Above his heart.

It was a minor thing, a trinket really, or so he had assumed his entire life. When he had left his home to learn the ways of the learned men, his father had gifted him it. It had belonged to a hundred generations of Edelmann menfolk, supposedly all the way to when his earliest ancestors were still fur-clad savages, taking up the axe and the hammer to slay the Orcish hordes in the name of the Wolf-God. Every one had affixed it to his person, and had enjoyed the favor of fearsome Ulric, as the legend went. He could still remember the imposing and rigid stance his father had assumed that day, though he had been but a lad, the glimmer of pride shining in his eyes as he bestowed this token of his heritage to his only son. At that moment, one could have almost believed that Herr Edelmann was himself a stoic warrior, rather than a middling bookkeeper in a riverside shipping company. Even when he had come back to his home to deliver that crippling blow against the dreams of his father by enlisting in the Greatswords, his old man had demanded he keep it, believing it would keep him safe wherever he went. Klaus's inner skeptic would have liked to scoff at that, but everyone knew the price one paid for scoffing at the gods. So, he kept it, and wore it where he thought it might do the most good, holding it tight over a dozen battles hard-fought and hard-won. Though whether that was because he feared Ulric or merely wanted to keep the warmer memories of family close at hand, he could not say.

Praise the Comet that he had.

He still could not believe it, the miracle that had occurred to him and the wizard, the day prior. When the beast beside him had approached, snarling and fearsome, teeth bared, and cold fear gripped his heart. Jakob had reached for the sickle to his side, raising a hand that began to glow with green radiance, no doubt channeling the Jade Wind through his person. Yet, it had all been for naught, for in an instant they and the wolf had been blinded by a cold brilliance. It was cold light, blue like frost, blue like deepest winter. Klaus had glanced about frantically, searching for the source, when he had realized the truth. His charm was the culprit, and shook violently against his plate, upon which grasping fingers of frost spread outwards from where the trinket touched the polished steel. It shined white, like it was on fire, yet there was no heat whatsoever. Instead there was a deepest cold, that rushed through his veins and permeated his very soul, biting deep into his very essence like some savage beast of the wilds. His mouth had hung agape, and an agonized howl of pain tore from his throat as he felt the skin of his chest burn with glacial chill. Though he would not know until he tore off his plate armour afterwards to inspect the damage, he had been touched by Ulric himself.

In any State Troop regiment, it was common for the soldiery to adorn themselves with ritual scars and tattoos, portraying regimental and provincial symbols, religious iconography, and sometimes rather profane images of the fairer sex. Klaus himself had a few here and there, mostly on his arms, hammers and skulls and Sigmar's Cross. But on his chest… what was now there was unmistakable.

It was silvery, like the scar-tissue that featured so prominently on his more fanatical comrades, created through instance after instance of self-mutilation in the name of Ulric and Taal and Sigmar and Manaan. Yet, it was solid, and raised, and very cold to the touch compared to the rest of his skin. But most startling of all, it was in the image of a wolf, pouncing and snarling like the one that featured on the banner of Middenland.

A Mark of Ulric, undeniably.

To be marked by the Wolf God was something out of legend, that happened to men only spoken of around a roaring fire and with good company. It meant that the cold and distant Snow King Ulric had chosen to give his favor to a mortal servant who had done his work, or was meant to. For Klaus to receive it was a honour of such enormity that even now he was hard-pressed to understand it. But it had came with rather immediate benefits too, for the she-wolf had whined and come to his side, pressing her nuzzle against him like a common hound. This too he had heard of, Ulric sending a wolf to a favored follower to serve as a constant companion.

It was dizzying in how rapidly things had transpired, and yet the Jade Wizard had taken it in stride. With only a moment of bewilderment, he had rapidly recovered and grinned at Klaus.

"It seems not only Taal and Rhya have their influence on this new world too, Mister Edelmann! All the same, we must make haste towards the Stark castle, I must share my findings with my brother, and we've arranged to meet in a forest clearing nearby here."

Klaus had raised a brow at that.

"How the hell did you get a bloody message to your brother all the way out here?"

"We wizards have our ways, my good sir," A mischievous gleam lighting his eyes as green as a wooded glade, "Just come with me, we must make haste before the witch hunter notices Johann's absence."

So here they were, snaking through this wooded deep, their way shone only by the light of the moon. Yet, Klaus found that he did not truly mind, for the silence provided for him a means to think, to contemplate on what the Wolf-God had given him. It was said that quiet meditation was best after a divine event, that one may know the will of the gods while the memory of their interventions were still fresh and sharp. He figured a quiet walk through the trees was the next best thing.

It was cold and long going, and he was certain that the hour of the witch, midnight, had come and past. Now was the early morn, and the ever increasing tension in the air as the sun prepared to crest in the East, where Sigmar had journeyed beyond the World's Edge Mountains and transformed from man of flesh to god of eternity. At least, in the East back home. To be frank, Klaus was unsure of what was East to this land, or really anything about this land. He knew he should be more upset about that perhaps, but after all, ignorance can oftimes be the greatest of virtues, lest heretical knowledge corrupt.

Finally, the shaded trees that engulfed them lessened, and he could spot a dim glow ahead, telltale signs of a small campfire. They passed the threshold into the clearing Jakob had mentioned, the heavens shining with previously hidden radiance from the shining stars. It was a small clearing, only large enough for perhaps 4 or 5 horses to stand end to end. There indeed sputtered a small campfire, a hooded figure huddled over it, seated upon a fallen log. It looked up at their approach, revealing the weathered face of Johann. Johann rose and met to embrace his brother, identical grins of joy lightening the usually reserved and mysterious mien of the mages. Johann turned to him and gave a slight bow, his demeanor once more turning serious, hardening like molten silver poured into a water basin.

"Ah, Mister Edelmann. I was not expecting you to accompany my brother all the way out here."

His words were polite, but cool, and his eyes were narrowed at Klaus suspiciously.

Jakob seemed to realize what the issue, and raised a calming hand towards his skeptical kinsman.

"Peace, brother. Klaus here is not an agent of the witch hunter, or at least not his spy. I asked him to join us for a very different reason. If you would, good sir."

By the gesture Jakob sent his way, Klaus assumed he meant to show him the Mark, dutifully unstrapping his plate armor and pulling up his grimy tunic to display the sign of Ulric's favor that now emblazoned his chest like the heraldry on a knight's shield. As if that was not enough, the pregnant she-wolf chose that moment to stalk into the clearing, amber eyes clearly sizing up the Celestial Mage.

To his credit, Johann kept his face free of shock, though his eyes widened, time-worn wrinkles creasing around the sockets. He stared at the Mark for some time, and finally sighed, his eyes turned upwards.

"Then it is as I suspected. I have spent much time scrying, seeing, listening, charting. But most of all dreaming, for they speak to me, tell me of a great mission we must undertake. I believe that this was meant to happen, that we are the chosen instruments of our gods in this new world. Your Mark of Ulric only proves it. I have seen a great doom, sent to me by none other than the Lord of the Dead himself, who demands action. A plague, a plague of the vile Undead."

Klaus gulped, making the sign of the Comet over his heart. It was as instinctive as breathing. To be touched by Morr Himself was no small matter.

Jakob crossed his arms.

"You are not the only one who has seen threats in the night. I commune also with Taal and Rhya, I hear their whisper on the wind. I fear I am no druid, to be an expert on these things. But something, there is something else. A scratching, I've felt it, a gnawing on the roots of this world, as it were. Its faint, but its there. Like some dark presence, trying to tunnel in. What it desires, I shudder to imagine, for I have no doubt that it is as malevolent as it is vile. I… I'm not sure what it could be."

Jakob looked rather ashamed at his ignorance, his head hanging low.

Klaus hesitantly spoke up, his voice shaking with barely disguised fear.

"Could… could it be the Ruinous Powers?"

Jakob locked his gaze with Klaus then, his forest-green eyes visibly haunted.

"Perhaps. But perhaps not. Perhaps something else."

Whatever else it could be, Klaus most certainly did not want to meet it.

Suddenly both Jakob's and Johann's heads snapped away, their eyes trained on a nearby patch of undergrowth that began to shake in response to their sudden motion, Klaus's hand immediately going to unstrap his sword from his back. Johann grabbed his own bronze scepter, the blue crystal at the head suddenly glowing with auroral energies. As Klaus watched, it grew brighter and brighter, until finally the mage pointed it towards the bush, which now rustled with the activity of someone or something scrambling, though he could not see what in the dark. A blindingly luminous bolt shot from the end, coming to rest over the growth, revealing in the corona two small frightened faces, one long and with eyes like grey smoke, the other high-cheekboned and with eyes of sky blue. Children.

Both were visibly struggling, but Klaus could see their feet were bound by roots that burst from the ground like some serpentine predator. Judging from the shining green energies that danced at Jakob's fingers, he had no doubt used his Life Magic to will them into being. All the while the direwolf curiously lazed about on its side, one shining eye passively watching the spectacle unravel. Johann was the first of them to relax, doing so even before Klaus had drawn forth his Zweihander, which itself draw a sharp breath of terror from the two children. Though the boy began to frantically beg for his life, tears of fear running down his face, the other one merely frowned and set his (her, he could see now, a girl, though a somewhat plain one) jaw in such a defiant way that he absurdly almost had to laugh. Klaus lowered his blade in appeasement, but she was the next to break the silence, her voice cutting through the incoherent babbling of her brother.

"I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if you kill us we'll kill all of you! The North Remembers!"

Jakob merely looked bewildered, but Johann closed his eyes while rubbing his temples, muttering in a tone of pure exasperation.

"Sigmar preserve us."