Winter's Bane

by: Alex Funk

            Ragnar trudged through the familiar snow as he had so many times before reveling in the fierce bite of the cold. He didn’t know how many times he had traveled this forsaken land but somehow he always returned to travel the tundra. Suddenly a large portal appeared about one hundred yards ahead of Ragnar. Ragnar’s hooded cloak billowed around him as he came to a leisurely halt. In quick succession three humanoids exited the portal. These fools were none of Ragnar’s concern for they were obviously strangers to the tundra and were probably soft city folk. Without thought Ragnar’s warrior instincts rose to eliminate the threat but Ragnar suppressed them instantly realizing that he would enjoy the company even if they were enemies. At a slow and confidante pace a fourth foe exited the portal. Just as the fourth being emerged, the portal came crashing down showing to Ragnar that the fourth was the magic user. The first three arranged themselves to the sides of the fourth one clearly indicating who was in charge here. Finally the fourth one spoke, “I am the mighty sorcerer Darkmane and I come to offer my brethren a position in my guild.” When he finished speaking he lowered his hood and revealed his heritage to Ragnar to make sure Ragnar believed him. Ragnar was put off balance by seeing another of his kind but only shortly. When Ragnar recovered his balance he let out a deep hearty chuckle. At this Darkmane exclaimed angrily, “How dare you scoff at my offer! You haven’t even heard all of my offer yet you chuckle like an idiot.” Ragnar’s hackles rose viciously and his chuckle abruptly turned into a primal snarl. Darkmane had regained his composure and quickly asked, “Why do you chuckle at my offer?” Ragnar silently decided he’d show them his secret even though his vicious instincts screamed for him to let the last thing they knew be his secret. His muscles flexed in anticipation as he slightly crouched. With a great burst of speed and strength Ragnar let his wings find their full wingspan destroying his cramping cloak in the process. As the cloak fell to pieces around him, he stood up to his full height, which is around eight feet. Being an experienced warrior he always walked in a deceiving way; when Ragnar was walking he was only 6 feet tall. The cloak and his pack fell away as Ragnar revealed his full strength. The three henchmen obviously didn’t realize what had just occurred but Darkmane was stunned. Darkmane stuttered out whatever he could, “ How…what is…when…it can’t be.” Darkmane couldn’t understand how this was possible for he knew that Ragnar was half human and half dragon just as he himself was; “But it’s impossible for him to have wings or be over seven feet tall”, Darkmane told himself. Ragnar stretched out his sore but mighty five hundred pounds of muscle. Ragnar smiled at the fools as he lovingly thought how he could easily lift three thousand pounds of the ground. Ragnar let his voice boom out among the tundra “ If I were to join your measly guild you would no doubt presume to command me?” Darkmane quickly covered his awe and shock with the determination of a sorcerer. He calmly replied, “ But of course I would be in command of everyone in the guild but you would have slaves, power, warriors under your command, and much, much more.” Ragnar decided to end all of this boring talk because he was remembering why he traveled the tundra and mostly avoided the joy of companionship. Ragnar got in a low crouch and gathered all of his strength into his lungs. Ragnar’s heritage made this skill all the more powerful and even the best of barbarians are no match for Ragnar anymore. The tundra appeared to sense the gathering of power and it seemed as if all of nature started to run away. Ragnar rose and let out a tremendous sound that perfectly conveyed two emotions Ragnar knew well, pain and shame. With his head raised to the heavens it seemed as if it was a cry to the gods of how unfair life is. The effects were amazing to Darkmane but he had no time to admire the cry for he was making a dimensional door as fast as he could. As the cry issued forth from Ragnar the snow was pushed down and out creating a bowl like effect. The three fools with Darkmane had no spells to relay on and instantly lost their ability to hear for the rest of their lives. Darkmane had opened the door and was running through as the war cry hit him. He was only deafened but the effects were sure to wear off eventually. As if being deaf for life was not enough the bowl of snow hit as well and they were tumbling towards their doom before they knew what hit them. Ragnar reached behind his back and grasped the familiar handle of fete his dragon sword. Memories flowed back to him as if conveyed to him by the sword. He had this sword made for him special because of his strength and size. In the forging of fete the master blacksmith was a family friend and promised to make it for Ragnar if he provided the materials and the magic for the forging. Ragnar had eagerly agreed at the time but when he later thought of the deal he had no idea of what materials he should gather to make a weapon worthy of him. So he went to the wisest person he knew, his mother. After his birth Ragnar’s mother left him to be raised by his father as a bastard. When he was old enough his father told him of where his mother’s lair was and how to reach it safely. Ragnar had been forbidden by his mother to visit only once a year but he always visited her at least once a year to keep even a small relationship open between them. This year was different though because when Ragnar reached his mother’s lair he found the entrance decimated and a clear sign of a ferocious battle. He felt a rage he had never known existed in this cruel world raise up beyond his control. Out of control he recklessly threw himself at the wreckage blocking the entrance. Afterwards he was thoroughly bruised and beaten to a point of near death though no wreckage was in sight any more. The harsh winds bit at his throbbing wounds but he ignored them all only letting one thing occupy his mind at that time. Hazardly running through the tunnels he hurried to reach the main lair. Upon reaching the main lair he was near unconsciousness but that would not stop him now when he was so close to his goal. Trying to make sense of the room took great effort but he finally managed; when he did he wished he hadn’t. As the room’s sensations reached him he realized the room had an aura of death and destruction. The room was desecrated and things were damaged in a way that it must have been done by acid. When he realized what had to have caused the damaged his rage that had been simmering after the attack on the wreckage flared up into an inferno. Ragnar couldn’t even feel his injuries any more but when his eyes finally found what was causing the awful stench of death he issued a war cry that may never be matched for eternity. When Ragnar woke up he no longer knew what day it was or how long he had been asleep but he knew what he had dreamt. Ragnar gathered up his mother’s most powerful magic she had left in the rubble that used to be called a lair. Then he collected bones and pieces of his mother as the final materials for the forging. Ragnar embraced the sad memory with all that he had accomplished and all that he will accomplish with fete. As one the memories faded into the distant recesses. Suddenly as Ragnar’s memories faded he realized his instincts were pounding against a wall he had automatically put there. Instantly Ragnar knew what he had done wrong; he had given a powerful wizard knowledge of his strength and time to act. Ragnar silently cursed himself as he gave a familiar twist of fete to release the locking clasp and quickly located the three to be dispatched first. Sad feelings assaulted Ragnar as he realized they were tumbling towards him and that because of the cold they were only wearing leather armor with heavy furs. He thought they would have at least put up some sort of a fight or make it hard for him but this wasn’t even going to be a challenge. He familarly got into a stance that would give him the leverage to make a side swipe at the trio and put both hands on the sword; sure he could use one hand but using two let him put more power into the swing and he had a lot of power to put into it. With a grunt of effort he swung fete as if it was an extension of his arm and dealt a quick death to the first two but only mortally wounding the third which sent a spray of blood down the blade making the runes glow bright with bloodlust. In Ragnar’s rush to find the sorcerer he didn’t see his first victim’s decapitated head get in his way. A resounding crunching noise echoed of the walls of the bowl, which caused the anguished cries of the still living foe to greatly increase volume. Ragnar grimly chuckled at the craziness of it all and the fleeting thoughts of how great of a skill that last one could have had in war crying. As he hurriedly reached the edge of the bowl Ragnar’s memories flashed of a time when he had given a wizard time…Ragnar crushed the livid memory and silently vowed never to let a battle get that out of hand again. Ragnar decided to unleash one of the most difficult war cries ever known. He gathered his strength and his memories till he could gather no more. Darkmane had healed all of his injuries and had in place many more protective spells than he had before including a spell that kept loud noises from reaching his ears. Darkmane had heard the death of his men only a short time ago and was preparing a vicious fireball to pay his brethren back. Ragnar once again released a war cry but you didn’t hear a thing at all because this skill is the releasing of every sound you know which, cancel each other out making an area where all sound is canceled for a time. Another bowl like effect started to appear and Darkmane realized he’d have to strike quickly before his brethren realizes that Darkmane has a protective spell in place. Darkmane ran forward with all he had and made ready to release his terrible spell. Ragnar instantly reacted to his instincts as he saw the wizard charge into the bowl and start the motions of a spell. Ragnar half flew half ran at Darkmane as the sorcerer came to a surprised halt. Ragnar let his wings fully take over as he took a mighty chop at the wizard. Darkmane scrambled to get away as all of his enchantments crumbled under the sundering blow. Ragnar cringed as his whole body reverberated after the blow. Darkmane ran for all he was worth trying to reach an area unaffected by the mysterious war cry so that he may get away from this terrible nightmare. Ragnar quickly dropped fete because when he saw that the wizard was running away the sword was still lightly vibrating. “Nasty spell that,” growled Ragnar as he shot into the air and began a mirthless dive to bring an end to the sorcerer’s getaway. The biting wind of the tundra viciously harrassed Ragnar as he dove at the scrambling mage. Ragnar's powerful dive connected solidly into Darkmane's middle back which quickly replied with a bone-snapping crack. The two half dragon's tumbled erratically with limbs and claws slamming into each other. The struggle was vividly decorating the snow with strings of blood. Darkmane knew even with his draconic strength his opponent was easily overpowering him and that if he wanted to live any longer he would have to get out of this confrontation. Darkmane played his ace as he released his stored energy searing into Ragnar's chest. The acidic impact tore Ragnar off of his prey stunning him momentarily. Darkmane seized his chance enacting his prized amulet once more to save him from disaster.As Ragnar regained his surroundings he spit blood furiously as he cursed the foul sorceror and looked around to make sure the battle was over, for now. Ragnar assesed his wounds silently raging at his such foolish behavior; "oh well", he thought, "life's not life without mistakes,and they seem to give a being something to do anyways." He let out a mirthless laugh as he thought of the next time he would meet with that Darkmane. As Ragnar put fete back into it's rightful place he admiringly examined the damaged battlefield. He let out a heavy sigh as he fixed his pack and cloak back into place. He assumed his familar hunch as he stoicly headed to the unforgiving horizon.