To the far north

As he saw it, nothing could live in the far north and all that could was deadly. It had been a childhood fancy of his to hear the stories of what lay there, delightfully warm by the fire, relishing the next adventure in the story.

All worthy heroes had travellef there, to seek a kidnapped maiden, treasures, their fortune or banish the dangers beyond. The dangers were many. Storytellers spoke of slow deaths under the claws of animals never seen by anyone still living, their claws like a grown man's forearm or beasts half human half not, fearless and fearsome.

Some thought that the wild direwolves and their masters were just tales and lived in the almost far north, where it was not snow all year round and some cattle could be kept and a few things grew. There was talk of gems in the mountains and some were drawn by the story of the cousin of a friend's neighbor who was said had made his fortune.

That was what had moved his family there. At first he was devastated to hear of it, but it was true that living was hard and there they had a chance, plus their land would be truly theirs. He had sworn service, taken arms and could not leave with them.

It was not a year later when the stories began. Families disappeared in the night, not a trace of blood, but never to be heard of again. A few months later there began to be blood. Later on, farms began to burn in the middle of the night. They never found anyone, but there were tracks on the snow and voices had been heard, carried by the wind.

Now he would march there, to meet what lay beyond the far north.


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