Garrius

by Garrius Elliotsen
Born and raised in Hahnmark, a young lad learnt to tend to the earth. As the rains fell it meant the ground would produce a bounty to be harvested. The power of the Winter Realm assisted in shearing away the weeds, giving life to that which needed to prosper in the harsh months, and washing away the foul death from the soil after the battles.

The lad tended to the garden, ensuring the herbs there had the best chance to make it from the ground to help the fighting men and women empire. Under the guidance of his Father Elliot, the young boy Garrius was trained to heal the sick and wounded however was necessary, be it through the application of herbs directly to the wound, or by brewing potions.

While he was shown how to prepare potions and tend to wounds, Garrius was, and still is, of interesting character. Often, he would mix random herbs together, not knowing the outcome. Days were spent wondering of things he should not have. While Wintermark as a nation shunned the mentioning of certain names, Garrius often found himself questioning why, if any reason, this was done. Even after consulting Stormcrows, Garrius found himself with yet more questions and often left with few answers. Perhaps one day this curiosity for the unknown will find a way to enter his life in a way no one could anticipate, but there are many moons yet to turn, and tales to be told before something of this potential magnitude would rear its horned head.

Upon coming of age, Garrius left the homestead to wander the wilds of Wintermark and the wider world, dedicated to ensuring those that fell fate to the beasts of the Empire would see another dawn, and fight another day. Never once did Garrius envisage his future as it stands, nor dream of what lay ahead. Those that he healed thanked him and went along their way. As he wandered to wilds, Garrius often took advantage of the Wintermark tradition of hospitality to rest for the night, and fill his stomach. By morning, the Hall he rested in would be stocked with a few herbs and potions as payment, and back out onto the road he'd be. It wasn't until a run in with the Kelvinson's that things took a turn, but it is still to be determined whether it was for the better, or for worse.

An orphaned family of three tended to a farm. Each with their own skills and traits, they worked hard to ensure each of them prospered. Their loyalty to each other was unbroken even in the harshest and most turbulent of times. Seachord the Artisan, versed in the crafting of weapons and armour, kept them well equipped to defend their farm from bandits and raiding orcs. Wulfric the warrior, skilled with a pair of axes, defended them in the bleakest of times. Theodral, the ritualist, ensured they could endure the darkest hour, and live to see another winter. Now, while each of the family had their skills and used them to great effect, they lacked the skills and knowledge that Garrius possessed. While Wulfric could fight, should he be inured it would take a long time for him to stand again. While Theo commanded the Summer Realm, he could not do so at will without the potent capabilities of certain herbal concoctions.

It was the offer of shelter and food that brought Garrius into their lives. It was his skills that gave him the offer to stay, to tend the land with them and grow herbs there. The farm grew food, and kept a few reindeer for meat and furs when required. Garrius, in addition to tending to the herbs he began to grow, was also allocated to the job of mucking out these reindeer.

Before long the days turned into months, and shortly after, the Kelvinson's and Garrius headed to Anvil for the first time, it was the fourth gathering of Nations in the Empire's capital. They arrived by cart as most did, each with their own ideas, dreams and fears of what this gathering would bring. Theo made short work of meeting new people and promptly proceeded to drink away the days, often finding himself in some sticky situations as the copious amounts of mead and cider turned the usually composed mage into nothing more than a slurring idiot with a mind driven by a primal instinct. Garrius followed Wulfric in search of skirmishes, as the healer, Garrius was often kept close by in case of an emergency.

Before long there was word that a party would be taken out into the depths of the forests. It was assumed to be within Varushka, however this cannot be verified. Wulfric rallied to the call, bringing Garrius in tow should things go sour. Through the sentinel gate for the first time they marched, fellow Wintermarkers at their side. The mist and fog obscured their vision from what lay deep in the darkness. Onward they pressed, over fallen trees and pits in the ground, wandering for what seemed like an age until they heard it, they all heard it. Screams pierced the eerie night's calm, bloody curdling howls of pain ripped through the ears of those present. In the distance lanterns were lit, fog and smoke swirled and chats were raised as a ritual was cast.

The bulk of the warriors surged forward to investigate, Garrius keeping close. Armed with only a buckler and longsword, Garrius was under armed at best for what was to come.

They approached the ritual with speed, shrouded figures danced and chanted. Bound to a rocky outcrop by chains on her ankles and wrists, a young woman screeched in terror.

"For the Empire!" cried out the men and women of Wintermark as they plunged into the black. Smoke filled the forest, blades clashed with the shrouded figures. And then, as quickly as it started, silence rang out again. The calm returned, all bar the panicked victim still chained to the outcrop.

The warband looked around, unsure of what had happened. The smoke grew thicker and thicker, until, piercing the vail like a spear through a boar, they struck. Clawed fiends lunged at anyone and everyone. Cries rang out as bodies fell. The warriors grew weak, some paralyzed by the tips of the brutal extrusions shooting forth from the fists of these horrors of the night.

Garrius found himself backed up against a tree, buckler held in front of him to offer some protection. With a swing of his longsword he struck a blow that send a beast back into the shadows. From his right, a warrior of the mark sprung forward, clad in chainmail, a fur mantle adorned his shoulders. In his blood-stained hand a vicious axe was held aloft.

Again the hooded creature struck out from the smoke, only to be met by the axe of this brave warrior. Garrius looked on with wonder as the chain clad warrior became a flurry of martial prowess and ruthless intent. Sprays of blood spewed from a wound carved into the neck of the claw fiend as it fell to the ground.

The warrior was wounded, but not beaten. Garrius offered to tend to his wounds, applying True Vervain to the afflicted areas. The rest of the warband fought on, beating the claw fiends back into the ground, or into the shadows never to be seen again.

Freeing the young girl from her binds, they marched back through the darkness of the forest and through the Sentinel gate back to Anvil. The young girl collapsed from her wounds shortly after returning and sadly died of her injuries. A Priest was called, a veteran of many conflicts with a short, tidy white beard. He was Varushkan, Garrius could tell by his thick accent and attire. Piercing the vail between life and death he was able to gain her last words and information of what had happened for her to meet such a fate. Garrius watched on as the priest preformed his rites with wonder. This priest went by the name of Starach.

Throughout the Gathering of nations Garrius found himself in far more situations than he was comfortable with. Honour duels with the Jotun orcs left Garrius with his arm cleaved, unable to heal anyone before it was fixed by another physick, and a drunken cheese board in the local tavern known as Tyke’s lead to Theo being more than annoyed at Garrius’ concept and application of magics. And while Garrius will often demonstrate his power magic to anyone who asks, there is still a sense that Theo is still a little more than annoyed by this, even if Theo does occasionally provide a jaunty tune to occupancy the ludicrous display around a hearth fire in Anvil.

The carts soon rolled out of Anvil and the nations dispersed, many leading their military units in the fight against the barbarian orc forces, while others returned to their homesteads to prepare for the long winter. The Kelvinson’s and Garrius returned to the farm, still excited from their first encounter on this scale with people from other nations.

Garrius resumed tending to his herb garden, making preparations for the next Gathering. Herbs grew, and the reindeer grew too. Garrius had become quite fond of them in the short time he had been in charge of their care, even to the point that these cattle started gaining names.

As the cold nights drew in, word was received at the farm of a call for warriors from the Bourse. There had been rumours of an attack on a valuable Illium mine there, and the Bourse was looking for anyone who would answer the call to investigate. Wulfric and Garrius left the farm in the capable hands of Theo and Seachord and set out into the depth of Varushka, in a region known as “The Dark Hearts Vale”.

Deep in the Heart of Varushka they trekked. Wulfric had never travelled this far into Varushka without a guide before, Garrius, had never been to Varushka. The tall trees the lined the pathways like high walls loomed over, casting shadows that played tricks on the mind. The still of the night was eerie, often giving way to the distant murmur of a crows call, but in those moments of complete silence, it was hard to know if you were alone, or being stalked.

Before long, figures were seen in the distance. The rattle of chainmail and the clank of plate was a familiar sound, though in the dark of the forests, it wasn’t a welcome addition to the soundscape. Wulfric and Garrius proceeded with caution, keeping a constant eye on the shadow cloaked figures moving toward them. As the figures approached, one opened their mouth and bellowed, “WULFRIC!”

The figure stepped into view, it was Horsa. Garrius and Wulfric had met this Horsa in Anvil at the last gathering of nations. Garrius and Wulfric dropped their guard as more and more bodies came into view. Every nation was represented. Nobel knights of Dawn, Archers from Navarr, priests, senators, generals, all were in attendance.

As the mass of people conversed, a voice shot over them.

“Hello Friends! I trust you were sent by the Bourse, no?”

Everyone turned to look upon who had spoken.

“I am Boris, your guide, quickly, follow me, we must not wait here any longer”

While a friendly voice, there was a definite streak on panic within it.

And with that said, and his lantern raised, the war cry was raised. The Thule had been tracking us, and had us all surrounded.

Boris led everyone up and through the forest, all the while being hounded by the Thule. Garrius was holding a flank while Cantiarch’s Hold of Highguard protected the rear. Step after step they drudged. Rain began to pour but the heroes of the empire did not falter. The Orcs hacked away where they could, and struck from the bushes and shadows, concealing their movements.

“Quickly, we must hurry, come my friends!” cried Boris.

Garrius and Wulfric, now being pushed with everyone into a column has they struggled up a hillside, found themselves in the middle of the pack, not wanting to get drawn out, but still to hold their ground and protect the flanks as instructed.

Seconds bled into minutes, and as the minutes passed it became more and more clear that the odds were against the empire, and the Thule had stacked the deck.

Many people dropped to the ground as the barbarians kept up their vicious attacks. A Navarr healer, quick on her feet, darted around administering herbs. Isenflay was her name. Her red hair partially stuck to the side of her face by the rain, caught the moon ahead and shimmered like polished copper. Garrius sheathed his sword and became to pick up where Isenflay has begun, healing those that were wounded.

Soon the rain let out, and at the crest of the hill a village was alight in the distance.

“There, just down here!” proclaimed Boris.

The Thule number were growing thin without the aid of their healers this deep into the forest. Finally, we had broken their onslaught, and made it to safety.

Carrying the wounded, everyone made it to the village, those that required it were seen to by the physics of Highguard, Jada and Lyca.

We gathered inside the village hall where we were all addressed by the general and senators in attendance. The Speaker of Varushka, Starach, was in attendance to begin the formalities. While it was of no concern to Garrius, he simply wanted to get dry, and get some warm food in him on the bourse’s crown, Wulfric took the opportunity to learn what he could, listening intently as a brief summary of our objective laid out by the bourse quickly turned into an argument of who would lead us in our expedition. The generals and senators argued into the night, Garrius however found the food that was laid out for them, and could be found for some time in and around the village kitchens, sampling local delicacies.

The villagers soon explained that the children of the village had all be taken. One night they simple vanished and didn’t know who else to turn too. While the expedition may have been sent here in search of the Illium mines, it became quite clear there was more to this village than first thought.

Before long there was a murmur from the woods surrounding the village. A single, deformed, grotesque figure lurched from the shadows. The priests of Highguard took stance around the village walls and gate. They rang their bells to ward of this supposed evil. Chants were raised into the night and this being tried to smash its way through the locked and barred gate. The nations stood watch as Highguard took up arms against the create. It’s body, carved with Winter Runes fought for its life but was bested by the many blades in the hands of red and white clothed priests. With a final howl the beast was laid to rest.

“Peta!”

A voice from deep within the village cried out.

“What have you done to Peta!?”

The voice of horror signalled a grave error on the behalf of Highguard, and indeed the rest of this expedition.

It soon transpired that Peta was the son of the Baker. He had been cursed by a Sovereign that lurked deep in the Vale, however Peta watched over the village, and helped to protect it from all who would seek to raze it to the ground.

This was merely the beginning of what would soon become a hellish holiday for Garrius. Shortly after Peta had been slain and the villagers began to mourn, a piercing howl sliced the cold winter air. Garrius set out along with Wulfric to investigate. Up the hill they had once come down they marched. Into the darkness they ventured, closer to the cries. Cries, it soon became apparent, was exactly what they strode towards. A girl, dressed in white robes, sobbed. Her face was dimly lit by magic emanating from her hands. Garrius approached with caution.

“Are you ok?” he questioned.

No reaction was given, just more crying, sobbing weeping.

“Garrius!” Bellowed Wulfric.

Garrius’ attention shifted. A single red eye shone in the dark. Lunging from the night came a huge claw clad in fur. Razor sharp knives jutted forward from the paw. As the creature came closer it was clear this was no mere wolf of the forest, this was a Winter Wolf. More fearsome than any dire wolf the Empire had faced, this beast could slay an army.

Garrius and Wulfric leapt into action. The commotion drew the attention of the Highguard, still manning the gates and walls. Few came to lend assistance, but those that did came armed. Tyrus, Lazarus, the fighting force of Cantiarch’s Hold, came to bear arms against the Wolf alongside the Wintermarkers. Blades flashed against the moon light, blood splattered to the ground, platemail clanked with ever swing of the sword. They fought hard, but the Winter Wolf found itself evenly matched. It turned and vanished into the thicket, and with it, leaving only silence. No more sobs, no cries were to be heard. The ghostly figure of a girl had gone too.

As many of the senators in attendance spent the rest of the evening laying out plans for the coming days, the generals took some men and women to patrol to forests, to ensure everything was clear. Throughout this time Garrius was greeted by the Crone, an old, shrivelled woman with a strangely deep voice. Her advice was simple, Stick to the Path. Here in Varushka it was not wise to leave the path. The creatures that lurked in the depths of the forest would only attack if you attacked them, or left the pathways that cut through the vale. While the intentions of this warning were quite clearly for the better of everyone’s health, it was often forgotten.

At a point in the evening, everyone was called to the great hall to discuss who would lead this expedition. Much like before several moments of arguing broke out between senators and generals. Not standing for such rabble, Garrius and Wulfric left the hall to wait outside, and discuss between themselves, over a drink of course, what they thought was really going on here, and the lunacy of the generals and senators bickering. How could any of them lead if they can’t even get through one meeting without an argument?

Sometime later the senators and generals were convening outside the hall. Wulfric spotted them and stormed over, his mind still angered by their infighting.

“Listen you lot, I’m sick and tired of your fighting!” Wulfric yelled at them, his face turning red as he worked himself up. “Sort yourselves out or I will sort it for you!” He threatened.

Garrius leant round the large frame of Wulfric after his tirade and gave a very stern “Yeah!” while shaking a fist...menacingly.

“Wulfric, was it?” The soft voice of the League General questioned. “Thanks for your words there, however we sorted everything out about five minutes ago”

Everyone stood silent for a moment, and then laughter broke out between everyone. Garrius and Wulfric conversed with the Generals and Senators, learning everyone’s name and station before finding a bench to rest on.

Time passed quickly, and before long the village was set upon by creatures of the night.

“Help me” a voice sobbed in the dark. “help”

The voice sent a shiver down Garrius’ spine. One by one another voice began to echo through the trees. “help me” they cried.

Figures danced, arms cuffed by chains, through the crying spirits. In their hands they carried lanterns which seemed to lure the spirits wherever they pleased. The village soon found itself surrounded. Everyone stood guard, waiting for the attack, silently watching the figures dance and cry.

Through them all, in the distance, fog rolled in. Thick, choking the air itself, it moved with haste towards the village. From it, first came a figure. Horned, with gnarled skin, then a voice.

“What do we have here then? Come on, out with it. Why are you in MY Vale?”

Everyone began shouting at once, pushing open the gates to attack this deamonic figure. Sword and axes were raised against it before it simply raised its voice.

“Enough!” The sheer weight of this foes voice was enough to set every aback and pay attention.

“I am here for one very simple reason.”

Everyone stood silent, listening carefully

“I am here for wishes. It’s quite simple. I need wishes, your wishes, the villagers wishes, just wishes. Bring them to me, to the well, and I will in turn leave the village alone. Got it?”

The creatures clawed hand offered out parchment to write wishes on.

“Bring them to the well at the bottom of the hill before midnight. I will grant those that I see fit to grant”

“Who are you?” Questioned one of the Highguard, his face obscured by a hood

“Me? Who want to know who I am? Has no one told you? I am Cadaver! This is my Vale! These are my spirits. Any more stupid questions before I go?”

“Uhm yes, just one there.” A Navarri with a distinctive two handed spear stood forward. His long blonde hair caught the moonlight and shimmered.

“Yes, right, what are you doing here anyway? Who said this is your Vale?”

A collective ground was heard, but quickly broken up as Cadaver went into an outburst of rage. He ordered the spirits to attack before taking his leave, proclaiming he wants wishes as he did so.

The spirits were dispatched eventually with the assistant of Highguard hearth magic, or bell ringing as Garrius saw it, and as the night progressed, several ground make the trek to the well to place wishes within it as requested. Garrius on the other hand spent the remained of the evening guarding the village, and the kettle, just in case any orcs fancied themselves a quick pillage of the sugar bowl.

Hours later Cadaver returned, wishes in hand that had been placed within the well. Garrius’ memory isn’t all the clear as to what transpired, but he does remember a lot of shouting between the Highguard, the Navarri, Dawnish, Varushkans and Cadaver. Garrius for the most part watched on and kept on eye on Cadavers Cohort of spirits.

With the excitement dying down for the evening, Garrius and Wulfric found a bench, and drank themselves into a stupor until the Sun was cresting the horizon. Only then did Garrius finally make his way to a bed.

The following day began as you would expect. Breakfast was had; people discussed the plan of action for the day. Several scouting parties were sent out throughout the day. Clues as to what was happening here started to become uncovered. Illium in the mines, an enchanted axe, a rather sketchy boyar. For Garrius it all passed in a blur. While out on a scouting mission Garrius, Wulfric, Horsa and League General Gabriel tracked a single orc up a steep hill and cornered him at a shrine on a cliffs edge. They forced him to his death, only to be greeted by at least 7 more orcs as they turned around. They fought their way through, but as one was killed, two more appeared, each time stronger than before. Soon they orcs were employing poisons to fight back Garrius and crew. Still Garrius fought on alongside Horsa and Gabriel, pushing the orcs further back so they could make their escape back to the village. Soon a familiar howl torn through the air, another Winter Wolf sprang across the battlefield. Garrius, Wulfric and Horsa moved to engage while Gabriel dispatched more orcs.

An opening was driven open as Gabriel took his two handed great sword and cut a path through 5 orcs. They all made a break for it. As they raced toward the path they left, and in hindsight probably wouldn’t have, they were welcomed by a dryad. Not wanting to piss off any more local fauna they decided to leave this one be and just go back to the village to recover from what ended up being quite the tale.

Back in the village Garrius spent some time getting to know his new brothers and sisters in arms, there was Lyca of Cantiarch’s Hold, and Jada of the Shattered tower, both physiks like Garrius. This was good to know, as while Garrius was a skilled physick and apothecary, he quite often got carried away and forgot these things in the heart of the battle.

Garrius and the Highguard physiks were joined by Eisenflay, the Navarri archer who had darted through her battle lines on the approach to the village tending to the wounded.

There was Starach, the speaker of Varushka, and his companions Ozren and Valentyne. They had travelled here as a matter of national pride and defence.

Finally there was Jan, a simple man also from Varushka too, a warden of the roads and seasoned veteran of many wars. He held a large stone hammer in one hand and a shield in the other. This shield soon became known as the Varushkan tourist board.

In time these people would become a large part of Garrius’ life, however this is just the beginning of those stories, and the midpoint of this one.

That evening one group marched in the mansion in an attempt to stab the heart. It was believed this was linked to the spirits that wandered the forests. Another group stayed back at the village to prepare for what was to come. It was clear that the mansion group had succeeded. Loud, piercing screams rose into the night signalling this fact, and with it, the war began.

Legions streamed from the woods onto the village. The dead rose again. Men and women of the empire fell as Garrius, along with Jada and Lyca did their utmost to ensure no one lost their lives that day.

As soon as one ghoul fell, another rose. The onslaught was relentless in pace. The arm of Peta, long forgotten, rose again. His large, rune covered arm attacked on its own detached from the body which had buried the night before. It crawled eerily across the ground, knocking anyone in its path to the floor before pounding away at their limp bodies. It took Horsa with an enchanted axe to cut it down into manageable chunks.

Long into the night they fought to defend the village. Garrius tended to the wounded while assisting Lyca and Jada in keeping the make-shift hospital in tact as the attack went on. It was hard to discern what was the blood of patients, his own, and that of the raising dead that covered his hands and clothes by the end of it all.

It was not easy, but the empire won out that night, and indeed set the village free from what had cursed it. While not all the information on that expedition is contained here, it is important to remember that not all things should be shared so freely.

Over the coming winter, Garrius spent time with Wulfric on the farm. In between tending to the reindeer, a responsibility given unto him by Wulfric, Garrius maintained his herb garden. When these duties were complete, Garrius trained in the art of two handed fighting. Like Wulfric, Garrius sought to understand the art of wielding two weapons at once.

As the Winter rolled on Garrius’ skills improved. As a token of his hard work and dedication to learning these new skills Wulfric presented Garrius with a suit of chainmail. This would put Garrius in good stead for the coming battles. Word had been received that once in Anvil, the heroes of the Empire would muster and march on Skarsind. One final push to reclaim these lands once lost to the Thule.

It wasn’t before long that the Kelvinson’s and Garrius made their journey to Anvil. Along the way they had met more Winterfolk to join their hall. Their numbers doubled, as did their fighting force.

The day the Armies marched had arrived. In Anvil, the nations formed their ranks outside the portal. Everyone stood with baited breath waiting for the Egrigores to open the Portal to Skarsind. As the words were spoken, open the portal did. The armies flooded through. Thanks to scouts reports it was clear this was no easy battle. Word had been received that the Thule had fortified this position. Walls had been erected, traps set, the most fearsome beasts the empire had faced were goaded into battle by the Thule.

The imperial army carved a path through the forests, looking to outflank the Thule invaders. Pockets of Thule barbarians littered the trail, and were quickly dispatched, however something more sinister awaited them. Deep in the darkest part of the forest, with the clearing in sight, the cries were heard. Hooded figures swayed in the distance. The warriors of the empire held fast, assessing the situation. Closer they came until it became clear. Wraiths!

The alarm was raised, priests were called in. In the panic several warriors lunged forward to engage, but the magical nature of these beasts saw warriors cut down in their path like wheat to the scythe. As the priests were brought forward from the safety of the pack another scout returned with a new report. This time Ogres had been reported moving in quickly. The empire packed into a bottle neck in the forest, half from panic, half from wanted to stem the flow of casualties caused by the wraiths and ogres. This was the first time anyone had encountered either beast, let alone both together.

Garrius had seen enough. He and Wulfric moved to engage, taking the ogres head on, leaving the priests to dispatch the Wraiths. They made quick work of them alongside their new friends Starach, Ozren and Valentine, along with the rest of their family.

A peace fell across the army as every gathered their thoughts. The Wraiths and Ogres no nothing more than dust and crumpled bodies. Before them stood a large Fortress with a huge wooden gate. Above it, the parapet was lined with archers ready to pick off anyone foolish enough to charge forward unprotected by a shield.

Wulfric turn to an imposing figure commanded an impressive unit of shieldbarers, Axehind of the Dunhearth.

“We’ll charge; you follow us in”

Before Axehind had a chance to respond Garrius and Wulfric surged forward alone. First, ten, then 50, then 100 yards they charged as arrows rained down on them. Each arrow barely missing its mark as they bounced off the chainmail of the brave two. Garrius had to duck an arrow that was aimed right for his head. It turned into a race. The adrenaline coursed through Garrius’ body as the gate grew closer and closer. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as they gained ground, and in the corner of his eye he saw Wulfric beginning to flag. Garrius knew he needed to draw all the attention to him and let out a bestial roar. The Thule archers all turned to him, giving Wulfric a chance to compose himself for the final drive. First to the left, then narrowly missing his right foot, arrows danced and struck the ground around Garrius. Every step they rushed closer to the Fortress Gate.

It was the sun catching the head of the arrow that first caught Garrius’ attention, it was then the arrow striking him in the chest that drove the point him. Wedged in between the rings in his armour an arrow protruded, it’s tip mere millimetres from his heart.

With a crash the pair slammed into the gate, out of the view of the archers. Garrius turned to look behind him, and sure enough the armoured column of shields fell in behind them, punching the gate like a battering ram.

“Three, Two, One! Push!” Ordered Garrius. The shields lurched back before crashing forward in an attempt to break down the gate. Again and again the order was given to no avail. Fortunately, a Winter Coven in Wintermark, the Saker, had come prepared. A Ritual had been cast on an item that could destroy that gate. The barer was brought forward under the shields to protect him from the still raining arrows. The item was placed against the gate and the words spoken.

Smoke bellowed all around them, choking everyone attempting to break into the Thule fort. Garrius bore the brunt of the smoke, his lungs filled with vile yellow fumes and his eyes watered.

Axehind gave one final order to ram the gate and surely enough its bars gave way. With a mighty thud the gates swung open and the heroes of the Empire piled forward to engage the Thule. Short work was made of every last one of them. They had come too far and fought too hard not to claim victory on that day.

Garrius often looks back on this day with fond memories. It serves as a turning point in which a mild wandering healer took up arms and discovered his true courage.

That battle stood as a turning point in the war against the Thule. They were driven back enough that the empire now controlled a majority stake in the territory. Once again Skarsind was home to the Winterfolk. The military council saw fit to gift it back to Wintermark, and the spoils of war were divided amongst those deemed worth. For his actions during the battle and indeed in the Vale of Dark Hearts, Wulfric was rewarded with the Crimson Peaks Mining Company deep in the heart of Skarsind. It meant that the farm would have to be given up and the Hall relocate, but this was a small price to pay to assist in the rebuilding of the nation, and the bounty of Orichalcum bestowed by the mining company.

Garrius saw better of it and remained in Hahnmark, establishing his own stead away from the Kelvinsons. It was a tough decision for Garrius and would eventually lead to ties being severed.

On the contract, that meeting at anvil more unions were formed, and allies met in the Vale of Dark Hearts quickly became close friends. The Varushkan speaker, Starach, and his family had begun the long process of emigrating to Dawn. The call of Glory resounded in their souls. Jan worked alongside Gully, who, upon freeing the Vale form the dominion of the Winter Sovereign, had been given the title of Boyar for the Vale. It was now up to Gully to ensure it remained a safe haven as it once was.

More so, the hall that Wulfric and his siblings started, the Hunters of the Mark, grew ever more, and in doing so was able to absorb another hall into its embrace. The Hel Brethren were disbanded those that wished joined the Hunters. Garrius has appointed as the halls seneschal and would soon act in the stead of Thane Wulfric.

Days turned to months as the hall made the long journeys between Hahnmark and Skarsind establishing their new abode. Garrius assisted, and would often spend long periods of time in Skarsind, leaving his stead in the care of caretakers. Garrius still had a duty to the reindeer, and as part of that began to train them to assist in the transport of Orichalcum out of the mine. Sven, a particularly brash reindeer with large, imposing antler and a white patch over his left eye, became a favourite of Garrius. The two grew a bond and, certainly from the outside, it would seem as though to two had a serious relationship. Garrius will assure you however that there was never any funny business going on, Sven is a reindeer after all and it’s strictly platonic.

Come the Autumn the Kelvinsons had relocated and established the mine as a functional company. It out produced the average mine quite considerably, putting Wulfric in a fine position financially. Garrius on the other hand found himself at a loss.

Throughout the Summer months something had niggled away at Garrius, it wasn’t something he could identify right away, but it was there. Throughout everything it was as though he was a shadow to someone else, that no matter what Garrius did, he was always the follower. This niggle turned into a sadness over Garrius. It was hard for him to express in its entirety, through fear of being disloyal to his Thane, and indeed his hall, conversely, it was also not courageous to face these problems without a hint of Valour. Garrius took some time to ponder on his feelings before settling on the root of this issue.

Before this could be addressed however, the call to arms was raised. Wintermark marched on another Thule entrenchment within Skarsind. Joined by Dawn, Highguard, Navarri and the Imperial Orcs, Wintermark once again sought to defend their homeland. Garrius began to find comfort in battle, and sought to engage in as many skirmishes as he could to distract himself from what ailed his mind, this battle however, would become one that scarred many a mind, and gave birth to many tales all in one swing of the axe. This would be the battle of Ikka’s Tears.

The nations poured through the portal, ready to engage what lay ahead, Word had been received of a strong force looking to reclaim the lost ground of the Thule, but no one could anticipate what was to come. Out into the open fields of battle, the nations formed their ranks. Wintermark, flanked by Navarr stood ready to receive a large band of Barbarians. It was clear these were veteran Orcs and seasoned warriors. With a roar akin to a lion the two forces met. Garrius drew his twin blades and danced his way through swafts of foes. First one, than another, each one cut down like the last. The Navarr gave their war cry, “Bangarang” they bellowed before crunching into the side of the Orcs. Wintermarkers and Navarri alike, side by side, fought on. Casualties were felt by both nations, but the Orc number did not let up.

To the left, the Wintermark line became staggered and broken. Sulkavaris, the Wintermark Egrigore, some 35 feet from Garrius was cut down by a mighty cleave. Garrius charged through the battle line to pick him up and drag him back.

“Get off me, let me fight!” cried Sulkavaris.

“You, heal him!” barked Garrius to the nearest Grimnir. It was Ymma, the head of the Grimnirs in Wintermark. Oath sworn to follow the warriors into battle and heal them when needed, she was the best of the best.

Garrius turned away as Ymma began to mend the gash in Sulkavaris’ leg in order to provide defence should it be needed. His eyes darted from left to right, scanning the battle lines seeking the weakest point in order to lend assistance.

There, on the right flank, Dawn, house Orzel. The house formed by Starach, Ozren and Valentyne after they had moved from Varushka. Their distinctive Red and Black tabards, edged in gold trim were becoming buried under a tide of menacing orcs. Garrius sprang back behind the Wintermark shield wall and sprinted across the battlefield to lend assistance. Swords drawn, Garrius plunged without thought of his own safety into the flank. It gave House Orzel time to pick up their fallen and tend to their wounds. Yet again Garrius had given the empire another chance to stave the hand of death by offering his own life, like as he did not 2 summits ago against the Thule Fortress.

The battle raged. Thule reinforcements streamed from the west. Garrius moved as quickly as he could to rejoin the struggling Winterfolk. It proved a wise move as Ymma found herself ever more cut off as the flanks collapsed around her. Garrius would not see the head of the Grimnir fall and took it upon himself to ensure her safety. As the Winterfolk and Navarri were herded like cattle around the Thule bastion Garrius caught a glimpse of a commotion in the middle of the battle field. Dawnish Knights and Winterfolk still standing were engaged in a melee with a huge, hulking mass of flesh and metal. Bodies were thrown to the ground and trampled underfoot. Brave men and women screamed and writhed in agony as the tusked brute made light work of even the heaviest armour. It was on this day the nations bore witness to the War Rhino.

Chased and herded, Garrius took up a rear guard to protect those fleeing.

“Go, get to safety, don’t stop and don’t look back!” Garrius ordered Ymma.

The Thule were relentless. Those they captured were strung up against their bastion walls and tortured.

Moving quickly, Garrius was able to create some distance between himself at the rear of the remaining Winterfolk and Navarri, and the quickly advancing Thule.

What was left of the nations formed a hasty retreat. Back through the forests, the broken lines and beaten bodies carried the dead that they could rescue, and what was left of their spirits.

At least 70 Wintermarkers died that day, and countless more throughout the Empire. One such casualty was Seachord, Wulfric’s sister. He body was laid to rest under the vigil of the hall. While Garrius struggled to come to terms with what was happening, conflicted by his worries and dwindling empathy, he was still able to pay his respects.

The dead were mourned across every nation.

Generals passed through each nation offering their condolences. Garrius watched as countless people came up to him to offer their support, while simultaneously congratulating him for his efforts on the battlefield.

Why always him?

Garrius still had a battle raging in his head, and one that would not rest. Throughout the Dark Hearts Vale, through all the trials and tribulations they had been through, The Charge at Skarsind, and indeed the Battle at Ikka’s Tears, Garrius had time and time again proven himself worthy, as a courageous warrior, as a loyal warrior and healer. Why was it Wulfric that saw the spoils of war, Wulfric that everyone turned to in their hour of need? Why was it Wulfric that reaped the glory and praise of the Generals? Was it simply that Garrius didn’t do enough? Wasn’t ever good enough?

Every moot at every summit, those deemed worthy had been named. Someone protects their Thane from an arrow, “Thaneshield”. Another dispatched a wraith, “Wraithbreaker”. One more shoots down a Thule General with an arrow, “Truestrike”. Even Wulfric is named “The Humble” at the behest of Sulkavaris.

Always in his shadow.

Perhaps it was always this way. Perhaps Garrius’ skein is written this way, but his time will come.

As the nations departed one more time to return to their home lands, word was received of some strange goings on, on an Island in the Brass Coast. Led once again by Wulfric, he and Garrius set sail on a new adventure.

Weeks at sea left plenty of time to think. Garrius spent a lot of time contemplating what had gone on before, and why he felt he was often over looked. He was often rescued from his thoughts by Theo and Jacob. They had joined Garrius and Wulfric on this ‘Holiday’ to the Brass Coast and proved a welcome distraction at times, when they weren’t bickering.

Sand was swept up into the breeze, and made vision poor. They had arrived in the Brass Coast, that was for certain. The air was warm, rendering standard Wintermark dress rather excessive. Garrius and the rest of the Hunters weren’t used to this level of heat and found it most discomforting.

Joining Wulfric was Kendra. Kendra, a slim cambion with large brazen horns that curled round, one each side of her head, nestled between dreadlocks in her brunette hair, was Wulfric's wife. They had met some summits ago in anvil and recently decided to wed. This was of no concern of Garrius save for the fact he found the union somewhat odd. More so, it had led to Wulfric speaking of moving the Navarr, forgoing his Wintermark heritage.

It is important to note that, at this juncture that all knowledge of this expedition is to remain secret. The events that transpired are of a sensitive nature, and so will be expunged from the remained of this telling of events.

Home from the Brass Coast and back in Hahnmark, Garrius was able to reflect. With a new ornament for the mantle finding itself a home above the fire, Garrius was finally alone. The time away had been good, and time with Wulfric had rested Garrius’ mind, at least for now. It was quite clear that Garrius had a much bigger role to play, and his skein contained many twists and turns. What will come to pass shall pass, wisdom that had been passed onto him while in the Brass Coast. It was at this point Garrius looked to get himself back to his old self. He tended to his herbs and forgo headed to Anvil in the winter that year. The rains, as he came to find out, made it quite inhospitable, so it turned out to be quite the lucky escape.