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Saga of the Dark Skald- Prologue: An end, a beginning.

"There are no heroes." - Ancient Erisdanian proverb.

Darkness and perpetual gloom filled the silent hall. Its walls clad in stone dressed by ancient artisans with great spiraling stone columns vanishing into the lofty void above. At the far end stood an aged oaken door. Once a solid secure portal, time and neglect had worn it away to fragile matchwood.

The oppressive silence of the once grand hall was broken by distant cries and the ring of steel upon steel which echoed from deeper within the stone corridors and chambers that made up the great labyrinthian warren.

The oaken door burst inwards, splinters and debris skittered across the flagstones as a loud crash of thunder reverberated through the stone hall.

A score of creatures, dirty, bloodied and battered in their coats of chain and slashed and torn surcoats hurried inside. "Bar that door!" A large armoured wolf commanded loudly as the last creature entered. "Secure the room and tend to your wounds! Quickly!" He barked at the rest.

He took a moment to recover and steady his own breathing as his men jumped to follow his orders. He reached up and removed his helm, wiping away the grime and perspiration from the fur around his tired red rimmed eyes. He inspected the cracked metal dome of his helm before he tossed it aside. "Useless." He huffed and looked back to the barricade his men were erecting across the ruined portal.

His name was Olfen, king of the Tarn. A giant slab of muscle and fiery fur that towered over most of his kinbeasts. Clad in chainmail interwoven with strips of steel with a greathammer clutched in his massive fist. He cut an impressive and intimidating figure. One that could have easily stepped out from some forgotten legend past. But such things were unheard of. There were no heroes. There never had been.

He watched as the survivors of his army braced the door with anything they could find. He snarled in frustration and rage before he cast his wrathful gaze to the rest of the room. He noted several of his following securing another exit out of the room. He could see the stairs leading up. At least something was going right. He huffed and clanked over to them.

Olfen had done what no other had done. He had taken the fight directly to their ancient foe. He had led his army from his mountain city, north through the haunted depths of the Whispering forest to the fortress at the very base of the great stone pinnacle of Titan's peak.

He had turned back the black furred tide of barbarian Ulvarg wolves over and over again upon the slopes of the mountain. Until finally they had breached the fortress gates and the battle had spilled into its labyrinthian halls and corridors.

That had been four days before.

For four days and three nights. Olfen had led his army through the corridors and passages. Fighting desperate, savage and bloody close quarter battles against the numberless hordes of black furred Ulvarg. No quarter was given or asked for.

But this was their home, their mountain and they knew it well. The Ulvarg butchered their way through his stalwart and courageous men before they slunk back into the darkness dragging the wounded off to torture and consume them.

Olfen's Five thousand men-at-arms, reduced to a mere score and a half within a few short days.

He cursed as he strode passed his men and ascended the stairs. He had started to regret his foolhardy plan. But it had been the only way, what was done was done and there was no turning back.

The Ulvarg, for as long as time could remember, were the insidious darkness of their world. Worshippers of the Dark Skald. The first god. The creator and destroyer. They sought the ruination of all and the rebirth of a darker, crueler world. Olfen had struck first. Preempting an attack on them to see their kind eradicated once and for all.

He would ascend to the peak of their unholy mountain and smash their temples and holy places until there was nothing but dust and rubble! Had it only been so easy.

He stopped as he reached the top of the stone stairs leading from the hall. The temperature in the room had dropped significantly that for the first time in several days he could see his breath curling away from his maw in small delicate wisps. He exhaled and watched as they danced briefly and then dissipated. He fancied he could hear the distant howling of the wind. Oh to be free of the oppressive heat and closeness of this accursed mountain. He rejoiced inwardly.

For the first time in some time he felt reinvigorated. He turned to face the battered and exhausted company that was all that was left to him. "Come! Let us leave this hellspike!" He punched his armoured fist into the air and then pointed onwards down the winding passage before he began to stride forwards. His kinbeasts fell in behind him. Their previous despair and exhaustion slipped from them like a silk cloak, replaced with a cautious growing hope as they followed their king.

They padded down the corridor into a vast antechamber where meticulously carved columns and murals depicting worship of the Dark Skald festooned the walls and alcoves of the room. Olfen paid no heed to the beautiful yet terrifying images that adorned the walls. His eyes were fixed solely upon the great stone doors that stood on the other side of the room. The final obstacle between him and his freedom.

He roared and raised his greathammer in his two mighty paws before he charged towards the stone doors and swung with all his strength! The doors exploded outwards as his hammer struck home and unleashed the magical energy contained within the runes engraved into its head in a cataclysmic blast. The stone slabs that had once been doors slammed into the snowdrifts outside with a loud whump!

The sharp biting wind struck him and his company moments later like a colossal tidal wave, forcing them to scurry back inside the antechamber. A blizzard raged furiously outside and blinded them with thick sheets of snow and ice.

Olfen growled and protected his eyes with one paw as he stubbornly forged his way out into the storm. A momentary break in the storm's fury took his breath away. For the briefest of seconds. He had glimpsed the dark foreboding carpet of fir and pine trees that made up the Whispering forest. They had finally reached the summit of the peak.

He stood like a great stonewrought sentinel and allowed the wind to buffet and tug at him for a moment. His blood red cloak snapped in the wind as it tried to topple him. Lost in the moment as he silently gave thanks to the fates for making it this far.

A sudden cry broke his reverie. "Sire!" One of his hearthguard shouted over the roaring storm. He looked towards the soldier then to where he was pointing. A stone temple, covered in layers of snow stood at the very peak.

Squat and ominous. The temple clung to the peak like a black spider to its web. Insidious and evil in its intent. It made his fur crawl just looking at the unholy structure.

He steeled himself. "Onwards!" He hefted his hammer. "Let us be done with our bloody business finally!" He roared over the storm and rallied the stragglers towards the great carved doors of the temple. His kinbeasts charged forward with a renewed surge of energy as they saw the end of their conquest in sight.

Within a dozen paces of the temple stairs. The snow exploded around them! Black shapes burst from their concealed hiding places in a flurry of snow and violence. They fell upon the battered column of warriors with vicious chipped and serrated swords and axes. The temple doors themselves flew open and savage Ulvarg bowbeasts armed with recurve bows, barbed arrows already nocked began to send death zipping through the icy blizzard towards them. What arrows that were not whipped away by the storm found their mark in the flesh of the beleaguered soldiers.

Olfen snarled with hatred as he smashed the first barbaric cur to reach him into the ground turning the snow around his shattered body pink in a small cloud. "Stand together! Fight as one!" He yelled over the howling gale. Whether or not his kinbeasts could hear his words, he did not know.

A second snarling black maw of sharp teeth and rage filled his vision. Twin serrated axes flashed towards him in lightning succession. He narrowly fended them off, raising his weapon moments before the axes bit into his flesh. The blades screeched along the solid lump of metal that formed the head and haft of his greathammer with a flash of sparks and the ear jarring whine of tortured metal. The ulvarg savage snarled at Olfen as they briefly locked their weapons together and glared daggers at each other. "Du'ska'ika farlo heran!" It growled gutturally in its black tongue.

Olfen recoiled in disgust from the rancid rotten meat odour of the savage's foul breath. He huffed and readied himself to strike back with a rising upper swing that would have sent his foe flying to his dark master. The moment before he could put the strength needed into the blow. One of his heathguard barged into him. "Woe Weaver!" He heard the soldier yell a warning before his cries of agony almost deafened Olfen to the storm.

He watched in horrified fascination as the brave hearthguard was reduced to bloody meat then to ash and dust before there was finally nothing left to mark his existence. He whirled around to face this new source of dark hellish magic. There stood before the temple a figure. Naked except for a loin cloth and festooned with trophies and fetishes made from bones, stones and gems. His features hidden by a faceless mask. He stood oblivious and unconcerned to the cold freezing wind or the storm that raged around him.

A Woe weaver. A servant of the Dark Skald. Dark maguses sworn to his service in exchange for the secret magicks of creation and destruction. Rumoured to be invincible demigods capable of terrifying feats and cruelty.

And now one stood before them and their final goal.

"D'RAK'BALOOOOR!" The magus roared and gestured towards the embattled survivors. Olfen threw himself bodily onto the churned up pink slush that now covered the ground. He felt the whoosh of dark malignant power surge towards him and his men. Screams and howls were swallowed up into the wailing storm as more of his kinbeasts fell to the cruel magic unleashed upon them.

The Ulvarg savage tried to take advantage of Olfen's prone state and finish him off with a vicious overhead swing. Olfen reached out and grabbed his enemies leg and sank his fangs deep into it. He felt his fangs scrape the bone and tossed his head from left to right several times to rip and tear it asunder. He pulled his foe down as the Ulvarg screeched in pain. He crawled onto the fallen Ulvarg and began to rip and tear at his throat with his wickedly sharp teeth. He felt the hot gush of blood, heard the dying gurgle of his foe before he surged back to his paws.

He snatched up his fallen hammer and pressed on through the storm. He didn't spare a glance backwards. He knew that the battle was lost. But he would be damned if he would allow the magus to continue to exist evermore! His gaze bored into the back of the Woe weaver as the creature entered the temple.

He thundered up the steps and crashed into the unprepared Ulvarg that blocked his path. Two swings. Like the tolling of a hammer upon an anvil. His foes fell from him in a bloody ruin. His next strike smashed through the door into the temple.

Within the unholy sanctum stood a faceless obsidian statue holding forth an hourglass and a quill. There were runes etched into the stone with gold all over the statue's body, none of which Olfen could read or comprehend. At the base of the statue stood the Magus. He was watching Olfen expectantly.

Olfen hefted his hammer and began to plod towards the magus and his diabolic idol. As he neared him, the magus spoke.

"Olfen, King of Tarn. You have been..Expected." The magus hissed in a sibilant whisper. Olfen frowned. "Expected? Expected your own death so soon, did you? Saw me coming in your magicks?!" He growled menacingly towards the magus.

The magus laughed softly. " You can do me no harm great king. I am beyond your mortal comprehension." He raised a paw and conjured a globe. "I was ancient when your world was sung into the great saga by the Skald." He informed him and threw the glowing orb into the air where it hovered and revolved slowly around magus.

Olfen huffed. "What is that supposed to mean?!" He growled and clenched a paw tightly around the haft of his greathammer. "That you are older than time?" The Magus looked towards the king. "Yes." Olfen could hear the smirk in his tone. "And you can have this power too..Great king." His voice was as soft as honey over naked steel. The orb descended towards the altar at the base of the statue and flashed blindingly for a moment before fading.

The magus stood aside and gestured to the altar. "Take it, immortality, power, everything you could ever want.. Is yours. A gift for making it this far." He bowed to the king.

Olfen snorted and stepped forwards to examine the so-called gift. It was a jet black stone. Carved with twenty faces, each bearing a different rune and no bigger than a pebble. "A stone?"

He sneered and looked to the magus. "The Story Teller's stone." The magus corrected. "With it.. You can ascend as I have done into the ranks of the Woe weavers." He purred.

The warrior king glanced at him and for a moment beheld the impossible. The magus whom he had perceived as an Ulvarg had shifted into something more feline with tawny fur and dark brown patterning. He drew back, his paws tight around his greathammer once more.

The magus laughed softly once more. "Oh yes. Ours is a most unique power." He purred. "You could be a demigod, great king... With but a simple..Pluck." He whispered invitingly. His voice changing from the soft hiss of a feline to the warm seductive timbre of a female. "You could finally rest. Lay down that heavy hammer of yours and regain your strength.. Just by taking that stone."

Olfen sagged as the magus's words seeped into his mind. His body felt heavy, he ached with fatigue and hunger. He hadn't slept for days. The wounds he had suffered during the battle throbbed dully. He was tired. He wanted it to end.

His hammer began to slip from his grasp and he found himself reaching towards the stone. "Yes. Take what is yours!" The magus coaxed him eagerly.

As Olfen's paw neared the black stone. He felt his mind clear suddenly. As if cold, clean water had seeped through the sludge that engulfed his mind and washed it away. He snapped his paw back. "No!" He roared and with one final effort brought up his hammer and brought it down with all his strength onto the altar, shattering it into thousands of shards. His second blow smote the statue from its pedestal and toppled it crashing to the temple floor.

"DEFILER!" The magus roared in not one but many voices. Each one more terrifying than the last. "You dare desecrate MY sanctum!" The magus raised their paws ready to summon their unholy magicks.

Olfen's third and final blow struck them in the trunk, shattering their ribcage and sending them flailing through the air before landing in a bloody pile.

Olfen panted heavily. He could feel the last of his strength leave him and fell to one knee. He looked up as the magus gurgled a horrific sound, blood bubbling from their lips and trickling out from under their mask as he lay amongst the shattered remains of his gods temple. They were laughing.

With juddering pain wracked gasps. They spoke. "Olfen..Great king." They spat blood down onto the ground irreverently . "You have chosen..Poorly.. You have struck your very name from existence by defying.. Our creator!" They rasped and stared at the king through the slits of the mask. "Your legacy will be as dust on the wind. An echo in the void! You are nothing! You will be forgotten like all before you! No beast will remember you! Your name and deeds will be lost to the sands of time!" They raved as their lifeblood seeped from their ravaged body. "The skald will write you out of the saga.." Their eyelids flickered and the light faded from their eyes as they gave one last raspy bubbling sigh.

Olfen leaned heavily on the haft of his hammer. "So be it.. If I am to be forgotten, Skald.. So shall you.." He vowed and closed his eyes. He grunted and began to chant. The runes of his hammer began to glow and sing as he did so until they began to emit a fierce blinding light that filled the temple.

The wolf king's chanting grew to a thunderous cacophony before he chanted the final words with the power and force of a mighty bell. As they left his maw, the runes glowed fiercely, cracks ran down the length of his hammer before it split and detonated. Olfen, the temple, the peak of the great mountain and everything and everyone upon it were engulfed in a raging magical blast that split the heavens and sundered the storm.

For a few moments, night became day across the whole of the Whispering forest. The blast could be seen as far away as the great Southlander capital Crownspear leagues to the south. The sound echoed across the land like a sudden thundercrack. So loud that any who heard it were deafened for days afterwards.

In his final moments before the explosion took him. Olfen looked up and thought of his family back home in Tarn. He smiled with content. The skald could not completely remove his legacy. Not whilst his blood still flowed in his childrens veins. There would always be heroes. He closed his eyes and faded..

Dawn's first rays had come and gone as the young rusty furred wolfess tossed and turned in her sleep. Sunlight streamed through her large lead lined windows and banished the darkness from her opulent room. One of the sun's rays caught her directly in the face as she wrestled with her silken bedsheets in desperation and rolled into it. Eldrana cried out as she was startled awake. She sat bolt upright in her bed. Her panicked gaze sweeping the room for a moment.

She patted and pinched herself hesitantly in order to dispel her suspicions. Her long white cotton nightgown was completely soaked with sweat and stuck to her fur uncomfortably. Her breath came in ragged gasps and pants as she fought to calm herself. The door to her room shot open as her maidservants rushed to her side.

"Are you alright my lady?!" The younger of the two, a fox maiden called Eleanor asked. Eldrana shook her tousled head. "I had.. Such a frightful dream. Battles..Monsters." She mumbled. " The Ulvarg." Eldrana rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She missed the elder feline maid making a warding gesture. "Speak not of those monsters, child." She remonstrated. "They are aught but bad omens and fairytales." She nodded firmly. Eldrana looked up at the older maid. "Yes, Thank you Agnes." She smiled sheepishly at the grey tabby cat. "I should do well to remember to not read such dark tales before bedtime." She sighed tiredly.

The elder maid nodded. "Quite. Now we need to prepare you for today's festivities." She beamed at the young wolfess. "Your father being invited by the duke himself is such an honour!" She cooed. Eldrana frowned. "So they say.." She replied and rose up so her maids would dress her.

The two maids chatted and chunnered on to her and each other as they dressed the young wolfess in her finery and cinched in her waist with a corset.

However. Eldrana's mind was far away and lost deeply in thought. Had it all been a dream? After all? She wondered. Something at the back of her mind told her that it wasn't so. That she had seen something from a forgotten age.

She shivered as the shadow of premonition stole over her..