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A winter wind whispered through the ancient and dark stone halls of the castle ruin as its long forgotten doors were shoved open for the first time in countless years. The hollow tune of whooshing air echoing across the battle-broken bulwark that had once been a stonemason's pride and joy in a bygone age as the disturber of this decrepit fortress stepped on through into the entrance hall. Snowflakes ghosted in the wake of the stranger's path like a cloak made of winter. The rotten would door was shut to keep the winter cold from making itself a home, which it turn shut out the light, shrouding the room in darkness.

"Just my luck that the latch rotted before the door did," the stranger spoke as if to someone else, his low, bass voice echoing off the time-worn walls. Silence was all that responded. The stranger fitted a torch each into a sconces on either side of the door and lit it, the room now illuminated with the warm glow of fire. He looked something of a giant snow monster, being nearly eight feet in height and covered head-to-toe by a veil of snow. The monster notion was proven false, as the man pulled the sodden cowl of his bear fur pelt down from his head, to reveal that he is a direwolf with fur as white as the snow. The caked-on white crumbling off his shifting figure as he peeled off and unfastened the damp cloak from the studded leather armour he wore, and let it hang over his thick and well-muscled arm. Neath that cloak was a great ax strapped to the man's back. Its handle was a rich and dark ebony was as long as he was tall and sheened with a finish to make it weatherproof. Its head was a double-ended, broad curve bladed beast of glittering steel etched with a fine carving of a snowcapped mountain.

His eyes, blue as an unclouded spring sky, scanned the broken walls that stood only by the still-strong pillars that lined the walls to his left and right. Worn and faded and falling tapestries festooned their ancient bodies. His large, roughly calloused paw grabbed one of these old fabrics and brought it to his sopping headfur, shaking out the long white hair that was tied into fifty braids--one for every four seasons that passed after his birthing. A fifty-first would be ready to braid at the end of this winter.

"Abandoned... But it will suffice until the storm passes," he spoke aloud again, as if slightly mad. But this seemingly insane ritual was a remedy to keep him from madness, as he had not heard nor seen another living being for three-quarters of this winter season. He treaded aimlessly through the entrance chamber, feet-paws stirring the caked dust, making a path of faux smoke behind him, whilst stepping carefully over the collapsed wooden beams of rotted ceiling supports. He reached the other end of the hall, which ended in a great metal door, rusted with age. On it he saw many worn yet still fine engravings of the faces of kings who perhaps ruled this once grand castle. But their names were surely forgotten along with the rest of this place.

He thought of himself similarly, memories of him to be forgotten by the future to come, as he was once a king of his land. But now he was only an exile, with nothing left to him but his life, his possessions, and his name... He spoke his name, "Rorik Kordor," as if to greet the carvings as friends welcoming him to their ranks. A deep frown crossed his broad face as he stared hard at his own reflection in the remaining smooth and sheen surface of metal, seeing the many years already passed in the fine lines of dawning wrinkles, but the strength in it that meant that many more years were to yet to be seen. He saw himself being etched right there, without a name. His frown deepened. "If I have many years, will they be spent like this?" he questioned aloud as he ran a paw over the rough hues of rust.

But troubling thoughts did nothing for his current situation. He felt exploration of this ruin would help him endure the wait for the storm, and find him a warmer place to sleep should he have to spend a night. He hoped he didn't. Rorik placed both hands against the rough metal and began to push. Corded muscles flexed under his thick pelt, as he levied all his mountainous strength against it. He grunted with effort as he planted his feet and pushed with his pillar-like legs. But despite all his efforts, the metal simply groaned in protest, and did not yield to him. The wolf growled in frustration and slammed a large fist against it, the loud bang echoing throughout the hall.

"Gods be cruel... " Rorik growled, "Is this my true home, now? To be forgotten along with the rest of this castle, it's kings, and what it stood for? Did I not forfeit my titles, my claims, my family, my everything to save the life of my son!? Do I not deserve at least a warm place to lay down in the winter!?" He clenched his fists hard, chest heaving with each frustrated breath as he shouted his rage into the open air of the hall. He felt tears well in his eyes, back thudding against the metal door. How he missed his home, his family...

He still remembered what transpired that fateful day as clearly as if it happened only moments ago... He could see the inferno that consumed his family's home when he closed his eyes, and could hear the battle cries of the raiding barbarians that ravaged his land in the persistent silence. "Ilana.. my dear wife... I lost you in that blaze," he said as if telling his story to an audience, wishing someone were there to hear it. "And my son, Ned... blamed for negligence... Only thirteen braids on his head and the council wanted him punished. Damn those old scroll muzzles and there insane "traditions.." He's just a boy, what could he do? It was those damned Va'aka that attacked us, not him!" He had to laugh despite the tears that trickled down his cheeks, feeling utterly insane that he shouted all his grievances for no one to hear... But how much he wanted to hear a voice, to see another's face...

"Well if your son is in danger, exile, why are you so far down south?" Rorik heard a suave voice say from behind one of the pillars. "And I've never seen a northerner cry.. But I suppose even the direwolves of stone and ice still love their families."

In an instant Rorik drew his great ax, the weapon an old, familiar friend in his hands who'd seen him through many battles. "Who is there? Show yourself!" He commanded, growling maliciously about the room to find the speaker.

"I mean you no harm," the voice responded in a measured tone. A fox with fur as black as coal peeked out from behind the pillar to the far left. "So, do be so kind as to lower that ax, please?" he said with a disarmingly charming smile. Too charming for the Direwolf's liking. "My name is Vyrin. There.. how can I mean you harm if you know my name?" He came sauntering out into full view with silent paw falls, puffy locks of brown hair bouncing with each sublime step. His bright lilac eyes glanced at the still-brandished ax, and raised his paws with palms out in peaceful resignation. He dressed in fine black studded leather armour, with an azure cloak fastened around his shoulders.

Rorik simply hmphed, withdrawing from his battle ready stance and letting his mighty ax rest on his shoulder. Perhaps the long loneliness made him forget kindness, but he reminded himself to be grateful for hearing and seeing another's voice and face that were not his own. "Apologies Vyrin, I am Rorik," he responded. "You.. startled me." He eyed the black fox up and down, noting his slim figure, dexterous pose, and tbe many bandoliers of daggers lining his armour.

"A pleasure Rorik," Vyrin responded and lowered his paws, letting them rest on his sides, which Rorik's eyes followed carefully. His lips crooked in a smirk when he caught the giant's gaze peer him up and down. "There's no need for apologies from someone so handsome. Like what you see, northerner?" he added with a toothy grinning and wiggling his eyebrows seductively. It only drew an angry glare from the giant wolf, which Vyrin waved at and laughed. "I jest, proud warrior."

"It's good to see another face Vyrin, but don't press my patience. You will find it shorter than you'd like from others of my kin," Rorik warned flatly. His ears welcomed the sound of another voice, but little did he enjoy that it was wasted on jests.

"Oh, really? The biggest direwolf I've ever seen and your cock is the size of my toe?" Vyrin joked again, his careful feet carrying him to where Rorik stood. He raised his paws when Rorik fingered his ax. "Alright, alright, I'll stop! Apologies Rorik...!" the fox exclaimed, clutching his head, as if it were to fly off at any moment with a single chop of that ax.

The direwolf grunted, letting the head of his ax rest against the ground with a resounding clang, hands crossing over the handle. "What are you doing here, Vyrin? Following an old direwolf just to vex him? ...An assassin perhaps?" he asked rather coldly, the words chilling Vyrin like he was standing under a waterfall in winter.

"No, not at all! I came in to hide from the storm only an hour ago," Vyrin replied with his hands raised again defensively. "I simply jest because if a northerner is sad, it truly must be something sorrowful. But why not put a smile on those stone lips, and laugh a little? Hehe, I'm sure you'd look finer with a smile," he added with another sly grin.

Rorik's eyebrows furrowed as deep as valleys, studying the fox again. He seemed harmless enough, if too flirtatious, which he ignored. "I suppose you've heard my grievances. Yes I am sad Vyrin. Why is it you care?" His cold blue eyes were looking him over again, seeing that the azure cloak was fastened around him by a sigil. It was a silver brazier with a sapphire carved to look like flames. Very slight recognition of it crept into his mind, but his lack of knowledge for sigils left him unable to determine its origins.

"I care, perhaps, because it's rare to see such an especially attractive direwolf weep," the fox said in a more sympathetic tone, a delicate paw coming up to pat the giant's muscular arm. Vyrin eyed the ax again, admiring the fine craftsmanship that balanced beauty with effectiveness. "Say, I've heard that northern exiles had to leave behind everything... That they were no longer worthy of any vestiges of the proud north."

"Steel forged by one's own hands is seen as a very part of the creator. By every right, even in disgrace, what they made is a part of them, and they shall not have it taken. They will live with it and die with it, as if it were any other part of them," Rorik replied levelly, lips forming into another thoughtful frown. "Either way," he said, arm declining away from that overly touchy black paw, "why are you here?"

"Hiding from the storm--"

"But why here?" the Wolf said, cutting Vyrin off with a raised paw, while his icy gaze swiveled over the worthless worn masonry. "In the middle of a ruined city? In winter? Alome? There's nothing left on its bones to pick. So I will ask again and I want you to tell me why," he commanded sternly.

Fear shaded Vyrin's face, as the perceptive wolf saw the truth all too easily. "H-hehe, smart one," he stammered, his finger fidgeting at the blue-fire-brazier fastening his cloak as if it were all the weight of all his fears. "Alright... I'm here to find something. Someone, and somethings to be precise." He trailed off, his gaze wandering the room again, paranoia pooled in their lilac pedigrees.

"Well, who and what?" the Direwolf pressed, as his eyebrows furrowed again in perplexity for Vyrin's sudden fright.

The fox's lips had spread into a broad smile, the vestiges of his fear veiled behind its charming sheen to let them dissolve and be forgotten. "Hehe, oh, just a necromancer and a few of the risen dead." He looked over his companion once more, nodding with approval. "Say, you northerners are an honorable and strong lot. I lost my allies in the storm, and it's always best to face these necromancers in numbers. Would you, oh great and powerful Rorik of the north, be willing to assist me on my hunt? The realms of mortal men would surely be grateful!"

"Craven," Rorik spat with a deep scowl carved onto his lips, giving Vyrin a cold. hard stare that made the fox feel he were standing out in the blizzard naked. "You abandoned your allies when you knew there was a dangerous enemy? Were you planning on using me as fodder as well?" The direwolf brandished his great ax again, snarling at the fox. "Fear is no excuse for leaving your allies to die, and no charm shall convince me to do the same!"

"No.. No! Not at all, fair, noble Rorik!" Vyrin exclaimed, paws raised in defense. "Okay, yes, I... I fear, but how can you not!? But, no, I didn't leave my fellows and I won't leave you to face them alone!" He cowered with hands clasped over his ears.

Rorik slowly lowered his ax again, giving a piercing look to Vyrin. "And what happened to your allies?"

Vyrin carefully rose again, his ears drooping flat. "The men and women I was with were killed in an ambush." His eyes looked around the room as if expecting, fearing monsters to seep from the shadows, before falling back to the direwolf. "Upon the honor of my Order, I swear that is the truth, and I swear to fight beside you, honorable Rork," the fox stated with finality, and raised the small sigil on his cloak for emphasis.

Rorik's gaze examined that sigil carefully. "And what honor is staked upon your brooch?"

"Do you not recognize it?"

"No."

"Hrm." Vyrin tapped at his chin thoughtfully, head tilted to the side. "I thought everyone knew of my order, the Order of Azure Fire?"

Rorik's brow became furrowed valleys again, as he mulled over that name. "Ahh. The ones who hunt atrocities, such as the undead," he said after the long, contemplative silence.

"The very same, northerner." Vyrin crossed his arms again, now giving his own hard look to Rorik. "So, was it really necessary to threaten me?"

Rorik frowned thoughtfully as he mulled it all over "No it is not, and I am sorry for my misjudgement," Rorik said with a guilty sigh, his own ears pinning down. "Very well Vyrin, I shall help you bring this necromancer to justice," he said with a kinder tone, as a large hand clasped Vyrin's arm.

"Heh, why the sudden change of heart?" Vyrin queried with a mocking smirk whilst his tail flapped behind him, slightly leaning himself into that heavy and warm paw. "Am I not a craven anymore?"

The leaning was met with a scowl, but one not as sour as the others. "Because it is the right thing to do. I am sure you would do the same for me, if I were in your situation," he replied with a broad grin. "You have my ax."

"Awh, and I thought you northerners had frozen stone hearts!"

This time Rorik's broad mouth quirked up in a smirk. "Hmhm, that's because you southerners have no tact. We direwolves find how you southerners dwell on cultural differences annoying."

"Now you tell me you're sensitive!" The fox exclaimed, sharing a jowl with his northern companion. "I like the north, as a matter of fact. Handsome men, pretty women, the best mead in all of Vaaldus!"

Rorik was pleasantly surprised by his lifted spirit, sharing mirth and smiles with a man he barely knew. But it was welcomed, oh so welcomed, to hear and see another. He surely would have gone mad if he didn't for any longer. But there was still the matter of a necromancer in their midsts. "Where is the necromancer?"

The sudden serious shift in tone killed Vyrin's levity. His ears pinning down again. "I don't know Rorik. He could be outside, or beyond the giant door, but if he is beyond that door, I am not sure I could help you open it by force. I think we would need to enter the castle in another way, but that means risking the blizzard..."

"Then it be best if we wait for the blizzard to pass," Rorik interjected, "We would surely freeze to death or fall into an ambush when weakened and blinded by the cold."

"Ah, yes!" Vyrin felt great relief that his dreaded confrontation would be abated.

"Why do you fret so to face the necromancer honorable Vyrin?"

"You northerners are too perceptive, huh?" Vyrin's face crinkled in disdain for how transparent he felt under the look of those handsome blue eyes. "Please do not press further, it is a subject I do not desire to discuss!" he exclaimed, his arms hugging around his stomach defensively, as if he were about to vomit.

Rorik's curiosity only deepened now, but he dared not press any sore wounds the fox may have been hiding. "Alright, Vyrin, I shall honor your privacy," the tall wolf responded kindly, as a hand once more clasping the smaller fox's shoulder in comfort.

"Thank you," Vyrin replied, patting the larger hand in appreciation, and of course enjoying the contact with the well built northerner.

"Of course," he responded with a firm nod, before pulling away.. "We should build a fire... It will keep us warm. Why don't you gather the tapestries for kindling?" Rorik said. He crossed the room to where some of the wooden beams laid and cut chunks of it with powerful chops of his ax.

"I know how else to keep warm," Vyrin suggested, smiling smugly at the direwolf's back, as he quickly gathered some of the fallen fabrics.

"No," Rorik responded coldly.

"Aw, no fun at all!" Vyrin pouted at him, as he used one of his fine knives to cut up the fabrics strewn about the floor. "Please? I feel a dreadful chill."

"No." Rorik repeated with seething irritation for having to repeat himself.

"I promise I won't get too feely!" Vyrin insisted with a jutting pout.

"NO!" Rorik roared, giving a strong enough chop to slice right through the wood and straight into the stone, cracking it.

"B'aw, fine, fine!" Vyrin crossed his arms with a hmph, sticking his tongue out at Rorik. "I thought part of your northern culture was all about loving other men!"

Of course Vyrin's words were met with unamused silenced. Rorik pilled up chunks of the wood in the center of the floor whilst Vyrin scattered a few scraps of torn-up fabric over it. Rorik knelt before it, striking a stoke on his ax to create sparks. He blew carefully on the spreading sparks, and grinned triumphantly as flames roared into life, the orange licks sweeping over the fabric and igniting the wood. "There, that will last us a good while, and we've plenty more to last the day."

Vyrin sat in front of the fire, arms crossed, head tilted up--way up--to look into the mountain of a wolf's eyes. "...Thank you, Rorik, really," he said with much kinder smile.

"Of course," Rorik responded with a smile as broad as a valley. "Let us eat and share stories to pass the time."