Sunset
The cabin was dark. The only source of light came from the low fire burning in the hearth. It was quiet save for the sound of burning wood. The cabin were sparsely furnished. There is a small table with two chairs to the left side of the door and a small kitchen to the back. The wall above the hearth were adorned with a few hunting trophies. There was also a chair in front of the hearth, and in that chair sat a man, a very old man. He was clutching a thick woolen blanket around himself. Blank lonely eyes were staring at the dancing flames casting flickering shadows around his cabin. For the past twenty odd years, Thorvardr has been spending his life sitting in front of this very hearth day after day, night after night, staring at the mysterious dance of the flames. Occasionally, he does go out to hunt when when the need arises. However, he is an empty husk merely existing. Only the hope of regaining that which he has lost kept him going.
This day however was different. Thorvardr’s eyes unexpectedly brightened, as if some flicker of life has returned to him. He stood up and walked to the armour stand in the corner. Donning his armour, placing his sword on his left hip, swinging his bow and quiver across his back, he walked out his cabin while throwing a thick fur coat around himself. Cold piercing wind came blasting in as soon as he opened the door. No mere wind is going to stop Thorvardr this day. He trudged out into the snow and slowly make his way down the hill heading north towards the Ice-bay of Nerath. The landscape was barren and white. No signs of life can be seen for miles.
This year’s winter has been exceptionally harsh. Game was scarce. Roaming packs of wolves grew bolder and started hunting closer and closer to human territory. Even the fearsome Frostrage Bear that has always been a rare sight can be seen often on the fringes of the tiny human settlement of Nerath. Wild beasts aren’t the only ones affected by this year’s winter. The people of Nerath are also growing desperate. Constant raids by the orcs of the Stonespear Clan has made their food supplies thin. Hunters are now hunting Frostrage Bears just to fill the stomachs of their families. Frostrage Bears stands at eleven foot in height and is something not to be trifled with.
Once upon a time when Thorvardr was young, he used to be the legendary hunter of Nerath. He used to be their protector, their hero. Time has not be kind to Thorvardr. After losing her, Thorvardr no longer cares for the living. The lives and well being of Nerath no longer concerns him. Today, just like any other day Thorvardr avoided the Town of Nerath. However, he did stopped for a moment to glance down at the shimmering lights far below where he stood. Nerath, Jewel of the North casts a beautiful glow of yellow, blue, green and red lights contrasting strongly with the grey and white backdrop.
A gush of bone biting wind woke him from his reverie. Pulling his fur cloak tighter around him, he continued on his long trek towards the ice bay. He sensed that he was followed. He knew wolves were following his trail eagerly, but he paid them no heed. “Let them come!” he thought to himself, taking comfort of the fact that the very fur coat he wore was made from the hide of the great arctic wolf, Fenrir. If he could take down the King of Wolves with his bare fists, taking on a few wolves with steel will break no sweat.
After a few hours of trudging through snow, the Ice-bay of Nerath was within sight. The sun was breaking through the thick fog masking the bay. With a sudden burst of energy, Thorvardr increased his pace, almost to a trot. Soon, Thorvardr reaches a place called “The Ice Queen’s Rest”. It was so named because of the unusual formation of ice and rock that resembles a throne overlooking the bay of ice. He walked up to the throne and sat on it. Looking out over the bay, memories from his past came flowing to him. Image overlaid image, his life played before him.
He saw his trek into the Ice Queen’s Rage, a forest made of icicles and home to many of the Frozen North’s shadowy denizens. Creatures that mothers used to scare little children into behaving, creatures that made grown men tear. Thorvardr went into the Rage and saved the mayor’s daughter from their clutches and lived to tell the tale. Women were often taken into the centre of the Rage where a monolith of ice stands. This imposing structure is the home of the Ice Queen, and it is here that the women were sacrificed to maintain the queen’s youth.
Being revered as a hero of Nerath, he has also accepted the mantle of the Protector of Nerath. He leads the Wardens scouring the surrounding of Nerath hunting down threats. He adjudicates and mediates conflicts. The Council even seeks his inputs on the administration of Nerath. In many ways, he represented Nerath. Times were good then.
Then came the time when Nerath was devastated by the white dragon Shandarass. He led a company of angry survivors to Shandarass’ lair. Relying on his wits, he carefully lured Shandarass into a narrow cavern where his men hid. Through careful maneuvering and cunningly placed traps, they managed to slay the dragon. To prevent another tragedy of this scale from occurring ever again, they slayed the remaining young wyrms and made sure no eggs survived. The Frozen North is a harsh land. There was no room for compassion.
Leading the survivors, they rebuilt the town of Nerath. It was during this time that he met Alystair, widowed by the carnage wrought by Shandarass. She became to Thorvardr what Thorvardr was to the people of Nerath. She was his pillar, his foundation, his life. Life was good. He was happy for the first time in his life. In time, his frequent expedition out of Nerath grew less. He delegated most of his responsibilities to the other Wardens. The more time he spent with Alystair, the more he is happy.
The Frozen North is never safe. Vigilance is the key to survival. As the people of Nerath grew lax, its Protector relaxed, danger looms. The Ice Queen has not forgotten Thorvardr’s transgression into her realm. The Ice Queen does not forget. In the year 0929 N.R. (Nerath Reckoning), the Ice Queen sacked Nerath. Legions of wolves, bears and other creatures of her realm came pouring forth from the Rage. As Thorvardr stood, he saw Nerath crumbled to the ground, the men slaughtered, the women abducted. As the roof crumbles and buried him beneath the rubble, he saw Alystair being dragged off into the distance.
By the time he awoke and the rubble brushed aside, only the ruins of Nerath remains. And then he remembered Alystair. Anger rising, he charged headlong into the Rage cutting down any who stands in his way. Upon reaching the top of the Ice Queen’s tower, he saw something that shocked him to the core. Upon the throne sits Alystair.
Thorvardr’s vigilance has denied the Ice Queen access to the source of youth. As she aged, so did her power. The Ice Queen unleashed the last of her powers in a bid to regain power. She died for that effort and Alystair being the most gifted in the Art inherited her will. There will always be an Ice Queen. With an act of mercy she blasted Thorvardr out of the Rage.
With, that Thorvardr lost his will. He was a broken man. He left Nerath to live a life of solitude ever griefing, forever regretting. And so he sits here on the “Ice Queen’s Rest” looking out into the great Ice Bay of Nerath wishing that Alystair will return to him. The sun sets and so did he.
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[...] been writing this short story for a long time now. I started on this piece late last year. The storyline has changed considerably [...]