Lords of the North • Chapter 02

## All Things Die

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### Eastern Reaches*(16th of Maer, 4E 776)*

Upon waking back in Kalahan's village, Deremr asks the warband what they saw, offering to help them make sense of the visions. Kalahan, troubled by the lack of Marcella in his own dream, shares most of the details but not all, neglecting to mention that the Valkyrie they saw may have been his own mother. Deremr seems to think that the vision of the Corpse Hall is a good omen, and calls for the feast to start, which it does in earnest.

While the rest of the warband begin to partake in the celebrations, drinking and feasting alongside the rest of the village, Kalahan and Marcella have a quiet talk about what each of them saw. Marcella's visions were of her home, Lavente, on fire and overrun with monstrous creatures. Kalahan asks her if she wants to return home, but she says that she wouldn't have left if she didn't mean to follow through to the end of his journey. Though she's also worried, she intends to see that happen.

With the feast still ongoing, Kalahan goes off to the edge of the village to think alone for some time. He is approached here by Deremr, who has noticed Kalahan's unusual quietness. Here, Kalahan tells him the full story of their dream, and the two strike up a conversation about Helde, his mother. Deremr, who seems troubled with his own thoughts, takes him to a low hill near the village, with a sight of the distant mountains to the south, where he had scattered Helde's ashes.

Here, on this quiet hill, he tells Kalahan the full story of his mother and father's meeting: how his mother had been a free spirit who longed for distant lands, how she had found his father heavily wounded after fighting and killing a pack of wolves barehanded, how the two had fallen in love in their time alone, and how he, Deremr, had found them there. Kavavhik and Urskaya had been at war at the time, and he had been angry, arguing with Helde about her duties to the tribe and how she would never be accepted if she chose Arlak, an enemy, over them. She had argued back, swearing to kill anyone who opposed it. Arlak, not wishing to tear Helde away from her family having been exiled from his own Deremr presumes, had left that night and never returned. Distraught, Helde became distant, and almost suicidal in her pursuits of battle, and in trying to keep her from losing her family Deremr had lost her instead.

The weight of the retelling clearly having left Deremr exhausted, he asks Kalahan for his forgiveness, claiming it had been his fault his mother had died. Kalahan insists that was not the case, that her decisions had been her own, and that fate had simply willed it. Deremr accepts this, though he does not seem convinced.

The two return to the village, tired and ready to sleep, but along the way spot a lone traveller approaching the edges of the firelight. Upon hailing the stranger, Kalahan introduces himself with his titles: the Battleborn, the Red Angel. The stranger, introducing himself as Ku'arr Crimsonwing, recognises the latter and tells Kalahan that he was a servant of the Allfather that had received a vision of an angel in red, and had been sent north by his order to see it through.

Seeing that the diminutive figure meant no harm, Kalahan and Deremr invite him to the fire and offer him a place to rest for the night, for which Ku'arr is grateful. He offers his allegiance to Kalahan's warband on this journey, as his order had instructed, and Kalahan accepts, telling him that they would be leaving at first light.

### Eastern Reaches*(17th of Maer, 4E 776)*

After the much needed rest of the previous night, the warband packs up their things, gathers supplies, and sets off early in the morning, cutting straight northward with Gera scouting the way ahead and Ku'arr soaring above in his crimson wings. The day largely passes uneventfully, and they make camp in a sheltered crag of stone just around twilight. Boryenka constructs a shelter of packed ice and tarp which would do as well, if not better, as any structure in this wilderness, and the group settles in for the night.

Over the course of the three watches, which pass uneventfully, different members of the warband have their own little talks, getting to now each other's stories better and welcoming Ku'arr into this diverse group he had joined.

### Eastern Reaches*(18th of Maer, 4E 776)*

The day's travel passes largely uneventfully. Their journey takes them now into the vast flat plains of this region: rugged, featureless terrain dotted with occasional pillars of stone or rocky crags. Around noon, they cross the main and only real road that traverses this area, which they had previously followed for some time when travelling out of Aldrhun. They cross it, continuing to head straight north, and camping on a quiet sheltered hillside for the night.

### Eastern Reaches*(19th of Maer, 4E 776)*

Under a clear sky, the warband continues on into the wilderness, leaving behind the sparse tundras that the nomads usually migrate through. They trudge through the melting sleet and cold mud that remains of the blizzard from a few days prior, bracing against the occasional frigid gusts of wind from the northeast.

In the early evening, they come to a strange cluster of gigantic ruins, which they surmise to have once been the remains of a jötunn village. The ruins are long abandoned, and all that remains are the collapsed walls of several houses, which are nonetheless 10 feet high or more. Ancient wind chimes still tinkle in the breeze, giving the entire village an eerie cast to it.

"*Moving further into the village, you enter what would have once been the central square. The towering bones of ancient houses surrounding you are eerie, in a sense. The ruins of a world that's completely gone. The only traces of a past that passed millennia before you were even born; before most of your* ancestors *were even born. The scale of history here is overwhelming.*"
 ― The Storyteller

Deciding to camp in the village, they also scavenge the ruins to see what they can find, managing to unearth a few ancient, stoppered, drinking horns and massive silver arm rings. They make camp in the most sheltered house they can find, and pass an uneventful night amidst the soft whistling of wind as it passes through the ruins. Half way through the night, when the clouds part enough to reveal the moon, Arianne witness the ancient runestone that marks the outskirts of the village glowing, seeming to absorb and reflect the moonlight.

### Eastern Reaches*(20th of Maer, 4E 776)*

The next day is Vanya's birthday, reaching 29 years of age. Having gotten a good's night rest in the ruins, the warband continues northward, eventually coming to an icy gorge that directs them slightly eastward when they are unable to find a crossing point. Some time later, Gera spots a collapsed watchtower up ahead on the bank of the gorge, with a similar style to the houses in which they had rested.

Upon investigating, he startles an Eldvarnir (a fire giant) that was living inside. Fiercely territorial, the jötunn charges out to do battle with the warband, making use of his massive stone totem pillar and an assortment of ancient runic spells that spew fire and napalm onto the group. Though the fight is a tough one, the warband manages to dispatch the giant, with Vanya crushing his head underneath his own totem.

Resting after the fight, the group recovers a magical belt from the dead jötunn which only Boryenka has the size to wear. Torfin also chips off some shards from the totem pillar, planning to maybe use them later. Leaving behind the crumbled remains of the tower, and the body that's still smouldering with fiery runes, they push on and cross the gorge barring their way, under a cold breeze sweeping in from the mountains. They make camp before it gets too dark, felling another elk for dinner and roasting it over the fire.

### Eastern Reaches*(21st of Maer, 4E 776)*

The early morning brings with it a slightly overcast sky: pale grey clouds rolling in from the west, moving fast with the wind. By now, much of the snow of the previous blizzard has long since melted away, living little but sparse brown grass and the occasional patches of stubborn white. The warband continues their dogged march northward, the day passing uneventfully.

Along the way, they pass a few other strange outcroppings of rock that they think might have been jötnar ruins once, but none of these are anywhere near as in good shape as the village or tower they had previously encountered. By and large, little remains aside from lichen encrusted rock and buried piles of rubble. They make camp that evening in the shadow of a low hill, half-weathered away to form a cave-like indentation that provides shelter from the faint drizzle that has now started.

### Mountain Foothills*(22nd of Maer, 4E 776)*

By noon the next day, they catch their first glimpse of the lonely mountain peak that is their destination, the dull cloud cover parting for a few moments to reveal the sheer sides of rock towering into the sky. By this point, they've entered the foothills of the mountain already, the terrain steadily giving way to steeper hills and valleys, with which comes an increased density of trees, though many are still barren and low to the ground. Over the course of the early afternoon, the persistent drizzle begins to shift into light snowfall, weather conditions continuing to worsen.

A few hours into the snowstorm, with visibility now greatly reduced and the wind picking up, the warband comes across an Urski patrol, two armoured riders atop panserbjørne, that question their business here and warn them of a storm building just north of them.

"*You would do well to turn back. It is no time to be going north. There is storm building near the mountain. If you run into trouble, nearest outpost is eight days west of here. Travellers are welcome, especially if they can fight.*"
 ― Urski Scout

Thanking them for the warning, the warband presses on, now with wary eyes peering into the haze of snow. Come nightfall, the storm has only worsened, large clumps of snow carried adrift by turbulent winds making it difficult to see much further than a couple dozen feet. They make camp in the best shelter they can find, by a crag of rock, and manage to set up a fire thanks to Boryenka's survival skills.

Their rest that night is however swiftly interrupted, by a small group of demons - bearing the same fiery orange eyes as the undead they had fought days prior - that barge into the camp and wreak havoc amongst the sleeping warband. Recovering quickly, the group fends off the larger, burly, stone-encrusted grendls and slowly deal with the slippery tatzelwurms that weave their way through the stone beneath their feet and erupt outward to capture them in their serpentine tails. By the time the creatures lie died, much of the group is bloodied, and the storm shows no sign of improvement.

### Mountain Foothills*(23rd of Maer, 4E 776)*

By the morning, the warband having spent the rest of a fitful night's rest keeping an eye on their surroundings, the storm has only worsened. Flurries of snow continue to howl past, rain coming down in a blistering torrent, and the distant sound of thunder echoes through the valley. Realising that the storm won't be letting up any time soon, and wondering if it were more nefarious, the warband pushes stubbornly north towards the mountain itself, trusting in the occasional glimpses of hazy sunlight that filter through the clouds, like blurry dots in the sky, to give them a sense of direction.

It is slow going, trudging uphill through torrents of rain carrying sleet and mud downhill, ice cutting at their faces, eyes narrowed against the wind. Step by step, they climb into the foothills of the mountain, the hills growing sharper, crags growing taller, though none offer any respite from the constant hail of snow.

By the evening, worn out by the harsh journey, they are ready to collapse into whatever camp they can make in this hell. It's impossible to tell how far they've made it. The storm continues unabated, wind howling, snow pouring. The warband as a whole is miserable, wet, and exhausted. They build a haphazard shelter between two hillsides, and huddle together in the protective confines of snow walls and the warmth of a sputtering fire. The storm rages on over the night, and the warband spends some of their watches discussing the oncoming difficulty of climbing the sides of the mountain with the blizzard trying to push them off, but aside from the ongoing storm winds nothing disturbs their night.

### Mountain Foothills*(24th of Maer, 4E 776)*

The next morning, they briefly consider waiting to see if the storm would lessen, but Marcella catches a glimpse up ahead of the mountain peak they are heading towards.

"*You follow her hand and look north, through a sudden gap in the storm that gives you a glimpse of the mountain peak looming in the sky. Above it, the sky is aflame. Boiling black clouds swirl in a turbulent maelstrom, crackling with ominous lightning: orange and red. The colour of fire and blood. The same colour that was in the eyes of the demons that you killed, and the undead before them. There is nothing natural about that storm, each bolt of lightning that cracks down to shatter against the rocky peak seeming to test some defence, probe at its weaknesses. Whatever is at the top of that place, the storm has come to claim it.*"
 ― The Storyteller

Realising there would be no outlasting this storm, the warband trudges on, battling against the full force of the storm every step. They haven't gone far before they hear the familiar howls and shrieks of draugr up ahead, though they quickly realise that the sounds are not headed towards them, but rather climbing up the mountain.

### The Mountain*(24th of Maer, 4E 776)*

Quickening their pace, they finally reach the base of a narrow path winding its way up the mountain. Above them they see dark shapes clambering up the mountainside, like insects on a wall. Worried they will be too late, they rush after them. The sheer side of the mountain provides some shelter from the storm, blocking wind from the north, but the nature of the storm is tumultuous and hail comes from all directions, threatening to sweep them away. Above, the roar of thunder continues, answered every time by loud echoing shrieks, growing closer.

A few minutes later, they reach the rear guard of the undead, and find themselves confronted by a solitary figure: humanoid, standing some ten feet tall, broad and dressed in bulky plate armour encrusted with dark blue permafrost. Two beady eyes, encrusted in the same blue ice are locked on Kalahan as he approaches, and a rumbling grating voice greets him first.

"*The lady of Naz’barleíd bids you greetings, paragon. You were expected. She asks that you turn back. Abandon your pursuit here, and your men will not be harmed. She is generous. The Voice of the Gods has been claimed by the true lord of storms. If you continue, you will find that he is not as generous.*"
 ― Wraith Knight of Naz’barleíd

Undaunted, Kalahan challenges the claim of the wraith knight, declaring that if the Bannerlord wishes him to be here and to cut through each and every creature in his way up the way mountain, he would do so.

"*Come then and die, paragon.*"
 ― Wraith Knight of Naz’barleíd

The group assaults the undead, defeating the knight and pushing past him into the horde that is crawling its way up the mountain. In a bloody swathe, they tear through the backs of the collection of undead and demons alike, fighting their way inch by inch through the assaulting forces, until at last they emerge onto the summit, where the maelstrom rages around a singular quiet circle at the very centre of the plateau.

### The Summit*(24th of Maer, 4E 776)*

In the short calm at the top of the mountain, they meet with the Voice of the Gods, an ancient human being that looks weary of life and barely holding on to whatever power kept this mountaintop safe from the storm. Around him is a stormy blue dome, the edges of which are littered with the lifeless bodies of undead that seem to simply have been extinguished of whatever force kept them going beyond death.

"*I have long waited for this moment, Son of War. You are welcome.*"
 ― Voice of the Gods

The shaman greets the warband, and one by one speaks with them of their past and their future, giving advice where it is needed, and answers in a scant few cases. He speaks of loss, despair, and of moving beyond such things, letting go of the past to embrace the present and what comes next. To Arianne in particular he speaks of the looming threat in the north.

"*The forces of the Wraith Queen of Naz’barleíd have grown stronger. This, you know. But the foul powers of Drauzaloth are not the only forces at play here. The storm around us, and those that come with it, bear the mark of another: Rhagorak, the Chaos of Creation. A bargain has been struck. These creatures of the abyss have long warred with one another; they are beings of greed made manifest, lust and Hunger in their purest form. And now, something, or someone, has brought them together. It has happened elsewhere as well, and that cannot be coincidence.*"
 ― Voice of the Gods

He warns that when the true storm came, and these forces made their play, no one nation or people could weather it alone. To that end, he turns last to Kalahan, to whom he speaks of his father, his fate, and his burden.

"*Kalahan sva’Arlak. Battleborn. Son of War. The threads of your fate are the hardest for me to read. What you came here for, I can give you. Your father, Arlak, still lives. He is west of here, in the town of Svalengrad. You will find he is not the same person he once was, but you should know, he has endured much, and he has strength in him yet he himself may not know.

As for what you must do next, I can only offer you the advice of an old man. You were born to this purpose, whether you wish it or not. The Bannerlord has chosen you, I can see his mark upon you as clear as day, but that does not make you immortal. The power that grows in the north cannot be defeated by one man. Nor by eight.

Rescue your father, discover the truth of his exile, and return him back south. Your people are fractured and weak. The Iron Lords call for war, because their pride would not let them have otherwise. Your uncle, Zavek, is amongst them. They will not survive this. You are the blood of both Kavavhik and Urskaya. You can show them the true enemy. You can persuade them. Unite them. You* must *unite them.*"
 ― Voice of the Gods

Upon delivering these final words to Kalahan, who is pensive and solemn at having received this final indication that his life was not destined to be simple, the old shaman turns to the storm, and looks out at it lost in thought, speaking only to himself.

"*I have spent so many years looking through time, by the gods’ blessing, looking at that exact moment. From this mountain, I have seen futures come and go, moments found or lost, like snowflakes melting in the dawn. And after each one, there is always another, and they all led here. But never further. Beyond this storm, these last few moments. I am blind.

Yes. This is where I die. Do not fear. All things die someday. It is the manner of our lives that has true meaning. Do not waste yours.*"
 ― Voice of the Gods

Upon those last few words, a crack of lightning in the storm reveals the looming shape of a massive winged figure, curling horns atop its head, and eyes burning with a raging fire. A flaming chain, tipped with a massive spike, bursts through the energy barrier that kept the lesser undead at bay, and impales the Voice of the Gods, tearing him away into the storm. Moments later, the gigantic winged creature lands atop the mountaintop: a form of molten rock and lava bubbling through cracks in its carapace, beady eyes flaring with orange flame, a fanged mouth roaring with a furnace within, bearing with it a massive mace of fire, and the same chain on which the shaman's body now turns to ash.

"*Paragon. I hoped I would find you here. I am the Swordbreaker of Rhagorak, Champion of the Storm. Face me, Champion of War. Show me your god's strength, and let me show you mine.*"
 ― Swordbreaker of Rhagorak

Fierce, desperate fighting ensues, the warband on its last legs but fighting strong nonetheless. One by one they fall and rise again with renewed strength, until at last Kalahan drove his starlit blade into the creature's blazing heart, shattering the arcane core that held its form, killing it forever, but causing a massive burst of flame to erupt outward, dealing the final blow to Arianne, who lay dead on the mountain's peak.

Unable to linger, with undead still climbing towards them, they employ one last desperate manoeuvre, doing their best to slow their descent with spells, and leaping off the outcrop into the storm, which sweeps them away into its black embrace.

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