Beregor Stonefist grumbled as he crunched his way down the hill in Bjora, from the basecamp set up by the Vigil. He’d worked with them before, many times, in his years with the Firstwatch. They were good people, all. But bad things were happening to them and he couldn’t stand for that. He normally found himself more comfortable in the role of a hunter.

That’s how he’d lived for 20 plus years of his long life. He was approaching his forties now, but he was suddently finding the heavy armor he was strapping on earlier in the day more comfort than ever. He held a blazing torch in one hand, and thick, heavy blade in the other. His longbow and quiver still strapped to his back. He couldn’t completely give up the hunter.

He felt his hackles rise as he saw the blue sickly glow surrounding the cadre of figures in front of him. All Icebrood, and all former norn. He could barely make out the frosty air seeping out of the face slits in their helmets. Icicles hung from the horns attached to them. Blood dripped from their weapons. They all stood over the remains of a vigil patrol, not even 300 yards from the Jora’s Keep. But just around the bend and out of sight of the tower guards. Bold. That made him angrier.

He growled and pulled his weapons close and muttered an angry request to Bear. He willed the magic embedded  in his torch to glow greater as he smashed it to the ground. Molten earth erupted from the ground, causing the air to sizzle and frost melt around them. One was impaled immediately through his leg, up through the sole of his foot all the way through the meat of his thigh. He felt the fire inside himself rising, ready to burst. So he let it. He howled with a bestial, unnatural source. The part of him that was saddened to slay his own kinsman evaporated immediately as fire filled his veins, his lungs, his mouth. He could taste ash. He roared louder, sounding like a true bear as he tore into his foes. His sword rending and tearing and thrusting through the body of his next foe, the torch emitting out waves of flame as he gripped the handle of it tighter. He bashed it again into the ground and then lit up his sword as well, ripping balls of fire off it into his next foe.

Three lifeless bodies littered the ground around him. He hardly felt any less angry. Not any more satisfied. This was no justice for those Vigil laying dead on the ground. Perhaps that meant he’d just have to go find more.

“Excellent work, Stonefist.” He heard the voice and turned to meet it. Folgar Fistpuncher. A member of the Obsidian Heart. Another guild that the Vanguard had begun a partnership of sorts in the trying times. The Heart was on official enlistment with the Vigil, while the Vanguard were doing Contract work.

Beregor caught his breath for a moment and let his rage subside. The flames on his sword fell to dull embers for a moment, then subsided entirely.  “Care to join me?”

Folgar gave a giant grin and nodded. He hefted a giant battlemaul over one shoulder, the end of it carved to look like a giant, jagged fist. “I’d love to. Lead the way, Beregor.”

Author Riathan
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Comments (1)

  • Ari
    March 31, 2020 at 10:15 pm
    My distinct impression of this is: "I'm too old for this shit."

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