JOHANN II

Once, some years back, an extraordinarily deplorable scandal had rocked Altdorf, of a sort that had not been seen in decades. This of itself was quite impressive, for Altdorf was already a city of great ill-repute, perhaps even more so for those who resided there. He and his colleagues in the College were mercifully insulated from it, protected from the view of the unwashed rabble as they were by the magical veils that conceal many of the Colleges of the Orders Magical. Even so, not even the glimmering bronze domes of the Celestial College were high enough to escape the outcry all together. It was said that a rather wealthy and influential burgomeister had been discovered by the witch hunters to have fallen to the depredations of Chaos and become a cultist of the Serpent, Slaanesh. Yet that was not the end of it, for it was discovered that the wretch had established an orphanage for the sole purpose of producing innocent children for his depraved rituals. Even now, he shivered to recall the haunted faces of the surviving children, the dead glassy orbs of their eyes, ushered as they were to the pyre. It was simply not safe to let them live, as tainted as they might be by the Chaotic, though some of the Light Order grumbled at the barbarism of it all. It was a quick affair, at the very least, the witch hunters dousing the children with as much oil as possible while piling the driest wood they could find about their feet. In an instant the fire had roared into existence, the pyres crackling with malignant intensity as the skin instantly roasted and charred on their bodies.

They had not so much as whimpered.

That was certainly more than could be said for the heretic, for certain. His punishment was devised after no less than three days by a team of veteran witch hunters. He was castrated and blinded simultaneously, his skin peeled from his face, and finally he was broken on a wheel in front of a jeering crowd. The witch hunters were so proud of themselves they petitioned the Emperor himself to make it the legal punishment for those who kidnapped children for malefic purposes in Altdorf. Karl Franz granted them that. Such was the fate of all those found guilty of such a horrific crime.

Johann chanced a look behind him, for there indeed following behind them were two children, both tied up by the wrists, a bored looking Klaus staring straight ahead behind them, trying to ignore the grey-eyed girl's constant whispering with her brother, gesturing all the while at himself, Klaus, and their lupine companion. All the while the pregnant direwolf loped, occasionally disappearing into the underbrush only to reappear like a phantom some time later, silently staying by the side of the marked Carroburger. His brother had returned to the Tower, the two having come to the conclusion that it was better that only one of them be murdered by the witch hunter if it came to that, rather than both. Neither truly believed that would happen, but you never knew with Klutzer's brethren.

Sigmar preserve us.

It was not meant to happen like this, his first meeting with the red-haired boy the gods showed him in his dreams. This boy whose soul burned like a beacon, who was incredibly powerful with the Gift. He had thought himself free of any potential tails when he had left Winterfell, had not even bothered to glance back. Such arrogance that was. If a Grey Wizard was around to witness it, he would no doubt mocked Johann for his carelessness. Yet here they were, and there was nothing that could change that. Thus, his plans must be altered, somewhat. So be it.

Johann slowed his pace a bit, hanging back to walk beside the children as they marched in the direction of Winterfell, the Wolfswood all around them. At the least, the full moon still shined, allowing their way to be well lit. The girl silenced instantly, but dared to give him a contemptuous glare. He regarded both Starks with a raised eyebrow, watching as they tensed up, trying not to look at him. Johann cleared his throat.

"So, you are Brandon and Arya Stark, if I remember correctly?"

Bran nodded emphatically, but Arya leaned in towards him, a suspicious gleam in her eyes.

"Are you going to kill us? Is that your direwolf? Are you a wizard?"

Johann sighed deeply, steeling himself against her barrage of inquiries.

"No, I will not kill you, and no it's not my direwolf. If anyone, it belongs to Klaus there," Johann found himself struggling for words, as he tried to decide whether or not to disobey Klutzer and inform the children that yes, he was a wizard, technically speaking. "...and you are correct that I am a wizard, though those among my Order prefer the term Magister."

While Klaus looked at him like he had lost his mind, the children gasped in shock, their eyes growing wide with wonder, despite the bond of enchanted vine that still coiled about their wrists like an emerald serpent. He found himself distantly pleased, for he was not the first mage to indulge in savoring the air of awe and mystery that clung to his brethren like perfume.

Klaus shook his head, apparently resigning himself to flagrantly disregarding Klutzer's gag order.

"I must interject, wise Magister, for this noble wolf does not truly belong to me," Klaus stuck his nose in the air in a fine approximation of a stuffy Reikland bureaucrat as spoke with a strangely educated fashion for a State Trooper, "For all wolves are the blood of Ulric."

There was silence for a few heartbeats, until Arya spoke up, naked curiosity in her voice.

"Who's Ulric?"

Johann glanced at Klaus, who returned his confused look before responding to the girl, his accent dropping back into its natural Middenlander coarseness.

"...Ulric? You know, the White King, the Bloodhand," Klaus listing off the various titles and local names that were often given to his god, growing frustrated by the utter lack of comprehension of the faces of the children, "The Wolf God! You bloody people have a bloody wolf on your sigils, yet you don't know about the Wolf God of Winter?"

Bran and Arya both shook their heads, but Bran leaned in towards Klaus, eyes bright.

"There's a god of wolves?"

Klaus chuckled at that.

"Of course, lad. He's one of the mightiest of the gods too, for he lends his strength to the armies of the Northern Empire. It is said he appears as a great white wolf, whose howl fills the hearts of the vile with dread and the hearts of the faithful with righteous fury. When winter comes, men turn to Ulric for the strength to last through the winter. He is known across the Old World, and yet you have never heard of him? Who do you keep faith with?"

The two young nobles shared a glance of their own before Bran spoke up, his tone reminiscent of a scholar giving a lecture.

"In most of the Seven Kingdoms in the south, people worship the new gods of the Andals, the Seven," A contemplative frown appeared on the boy's face. "Though Mo… erm, I mean Lady Stark, and Septon Chayle say that the Seven are actually just the seven faces of one god. It's very confusing." His face scrunched up at that.

Arya piped up beside him.

"But we're Northerners, and ours is the blood of the First Men," Her eyes shined with pride at that, her tone reminding Johann of a Reiklander speaking of his own heritage. "That means we keep to the Old Gods. They say they're gods of the trees and the stones, that they have no names but can see through the faces on the weirwoods. Father tells us that even though they don't have any priests or holy books or septs, the Old Gods are just as real as the Seven. He says that the Old Gods never forget, and that you can never lie to them."

For being as young as she was, Johann was surprised at the solemnity and seriousness she held her beliefs. She sounded like half a Warrior-Priest. But beyond that…

"Gods of trees and stones? In the Empire, only two gods have dominion over those. Taal and Rhya, the God of Nature and the Goddess of Life and Fertility."

Before his sister could respond, the Gifted lordling beat her to it, auburn brows furrowed.

"You've talked about the Empire before, but we've never heard of it. Are you from beyond the Sunset Sea? Maester Luwin says that no one has ever crossed over and returned, but I don't know where else you could possibly be from, since you appeared out of nowhere. Did you use magic to come here?" Now the boy swallowed, his voice a tad quieter. "Did you send the Sign?"

Very clever, too. Perhaps too clever.

Their group had been wondering at first as to why these natives knew where to find them when they first arrived. It was only after some clandestine work and some well placed bribes with what gold they had on their persons that they had recounted to them the story of the twin-tailed comet that appeared over the tower. Needless to say, it had shaken them all to the care, that Sigmar himself clearly was watching them here. Most of all, it meant his plans must be accelerated. That the boy had the wherewithal to try and connect all these happenings at such a young age marked him as unusually bright.

Being clever was a fine thing, a gift from Verena that marks one as special. But for a mage, it can be as deadly as poison. Being too clever leads to arrogance, and an arrogant mage oftimes finds his soul dangerously at risk of falling to the machinations of the Old Night, of the Dark Gods. So much this boy did not know, ignorant of both his potential and his peril.

"Perhaps that is a story for a different time," Johann tried to think of a different topic. "We should be close, shouldn't we, Mister Edelmann?"

His hailing of Klaus went unnoticed, for the grizzled swordsman's eyes darted to and fro, his entire manner reminiscent of a hound searching for a threat. Or perhaps even a wolf. Johann strained to see what he was looking at, but found the light insufficient. Klaus halted, and raised a fist, signalling for them to stop. His hands slowly went to his scabbard, fingers clasping about the worn leather hilt as the blade slowly drew forth from the lacquered wood. Even in the pale moonlight, it shone gloriously.

For his part, Johann reached for his staff, gesturing towards his visibly frightened young charges for silence. Wordlessly, they nodded their compliance, subconsciously drawing closer to each other as they warily glanced about the foreboding gloom.

Suddenly, the night was pierced by a rustling, and into the lonely stretch of constricted forest stepped several figures, cloaked in tattered cloth and ratty leather. Johann counted about a dozen hunched figures, some having wrapped their clothes with greasy furs. One was a scrawny looking older man in a black coat, and even from where he stood Johann could see that he lacked ears. Among their number one of the strangers stepped forwards. This one was big, a head taller than the rest, bald with skin an angry windburned red. He hefted in his right hand a shoddy axe with a rusty iron head, but still clearly sharp enough to do a bit of damage. His voice was low, an unpleasant raspy growl.

"What have we here, some kneelers out for a stroll in a dark forest?"

Klaus stepped forward, hefting his greatsword upon his shoulder with false nonchalance.

"That's exactly what it looks like, mate. So I suggest you and your friends there continue on your way and we'll call it a night"

At that the bald man rumbled with laughter, though it was devoid of good humour.

"Well, way I see it, there's lots of us, and only two of you," He glanced over Klaus's shoulder. "And two children. Not much of a warband, I'd say. So how about you give us those fancy gemstones that blue robed ponce over there is clad in?"

Johann noticed what he'd said about their numbers and glanced around, quietly cursing under his breath. The direwolf had chosen a poor time to vanish.

Klaus gave a chuckle of his own, which was similarly hostile.

"I don't think that's going to happen. Last warning, friend."

Before anyone else could do anything, the black clad man's eyes widened and he stepped up behind the bald man.

"Stiv, wait! I've seen those children before, when I was recruiting for the Watch. Those are Ned Stark's issue. Perhaps we should…" He trailed off as Stiv turned to give him a frosty glare.

"What the fuck did I tell you, Gared? Keep your crow mouth shut."

Arya glared at the man, and piped up behind them.

"They're wildlings from beyond Wall. And he's wearing a Night's Watch cloak. He's a deserter!"

Gared looked like he wanted to say something, but suddenly gave an alarmed shout and pointed forwards.

Klaus had taken the distraction to make his move, leaping forward with a swiftness that surprised even Johann. With one smooth practiced sweep he cleaved Stiv in two, the magnificent glitter of his mighty zweihander suddenly muted by the gore and viscera that coated it. Shiv collapsed in pieces, entrails spilling onto the cold dirt even as his upper body still shuddered with his death twitches. Klaus whirled to dodge the blow of another wildling axe, catching and deflecting the blow on the dwarven steel of his left pauldron. Klaus grabbed the blade of his greatsword and jabbed it like a spear into the guts of the wildling, who moaned in pain and futilely grabbed at the nasty hole that had been pierced in his center. Another two advanced, but were stopped by a howl from the forest, as the pregnant direwolf finally made her appearance known, leaping from the brush to rip the throat from a spearwife. Unfortunately, one of the wildlings was fast with his hands, and whirled to strike with his axe. In other circumstances, the wolf would have dodged with ease, but was weighed down by her pregnant belly. She was struck square in the neck, whimpering with pain and stumbling back into the underbrush in escape. Klaus now leaped back, waving his sword at the crowd of now ten, none of whom were eager to charge at the veteran Greatsword. Alas, that came to an end when Klaus shouted in pain and grasped at his right leg, where an arrow plumed with goose feathers now bloomed, a wooden stem with growing petals of red that spread across the immaculate white of his uniform. He staggered to one side, supporting himself with the greatsword, his balance utterly lost. A few of the wildling now inched forward, even though Klaus now brandished the dagger from his belt at them.

It seems he must now intervene. How tiresome.

Johann was not at full power, this much he would admit. Here, the Winds blew, but not like they did in the Old World. Until he finished charting the stars and scrying the cosmos, he would be limited. But even limited...

He stepped forward, the stone on his staff glowing with ethereal energy, sapphire light bathing the entire scene. Both Stark children gasped behind him, too amazed to even consider fleeing like they should be. The wildlings saw too, and halted immediately, glancing at one another with naked wariness on their weathered faces. Johann raised a hand and grasped it around the stone, crackling energies dancing in his very hand now as he pulled it away. Under his breath he mutter the words of a spell, High Elven words of power that had been drilled into him from childhood as he marched towards the increasingly nervous savages. As his chants grew in volume so too did the magical power in his hand, and when the wildlings finally decided to turn tail it was too late. He unleashed his wrath, a bolt of chain lightning exploding from his fingertips, striking the two closest wildlings, including the short archer who hit Klaus. They screamed in agony as the heavenly energies roasted them alive, their furs catching on fire as they convulsed uncontrollably. From them the lightning jumped, striking three more in quick succession, who all suffered the same fate as their wretched fellows. Now all the rest of them screamed in terror, sprinting away in a mad dash to escape his wrath. Secretly, he was pleased at that, for he felt himself grow quickly lightheaded, the world spinning around him as he supported himself with his staff. He raised a shaking hand to his nose, his fingers still smoking and reeking of ozone. Blood ran from his nostrils and stained his fine robes, brought about by his magical exertion. This was most unfortunate. Another bolt and he likely would have passed out.

It seemed not all the mob had escaped, for the one named Gared had apparently tripped, and now had scrambled across the dirt to a tree, was whimpering like a babe. His hands were raised to his face and his eyes were wide with terror, and as Johann regained his footing and approached him, he could smell that that man had soiled his black robes. Klaus limped over, grimacing with pain and still grasping at his breeches leg, which was now almost entirely red from the knee down. He still managed to laugh at the pitiful wretch.

"You got off cheap, mate. Chin up, we won't kill you."

Gared babbled pathetically.

"Oh thank you, my lords, thank you! I.. I.. I didn't want to attack you, I swear by all the gods! I just, I had to escape from the Wall. I had to get away from them!"

Johann frowned. Them?

Before he could inquire further, Klaus swore next to him. Johann whirled about to see that the children were now gone. In the woods, they could be anywhere, but it seemed that they did not need to look far. Growing rapidly louder Johann could hear the rhythmic clopping of horseshoes. Many horseshoes. In the growing light of early morn a column of horsemen raced down the forest path, bearing banners of wolves. At their forefront rode Lord Stark and his sons. All three wore identically fearsome expressions, and the sons each had one of the children in the saddle in front of them, Bran with Robb, Arya with Jon. That was not what frightened Johann. What did frighten him was Klutzer on a black stallion beside them. His eyes were nightmarishly cold, and pierced right into Johann's soul. Beside him, Klaus managed to give a little bow.

"Good morning, my lords! Fine day for a stroll."

Johann could not help but snort. He had always been fond of gallows humour.