Dawn of the North

Sitting just a mile from the northern shore of the Grand River Jord, Fallreach stands as a testament to man's strength. It is a city surrounded by two heavily protected walls, guarded by cannons and guns that stood near a hundred feet tall, made from gray bricks cut directly from the mountains. The walls stood wide as houses, hiding a great many tools of defense within. Great crossbows firing an explosive shot and devices that shot flaming oils, the walls were impenetrable and so ancient that many believed the gods themselves built them.

Six great bronze gates dot the walls on the north, south, and east sides, with two tall towers on either side. The city that sat at the base of the Gold Mountains covered a great swathe of land, making it the largest in the known world other than Orgithika in the far east and Canterlot in Equestria, its grandeur stretches into the great pine forests of the north of Niln. A city filled with rickety old structures of wood and cloth, and beautiful stone-carved manor houses, a single grand clocktower at the center. On its south side was Farmer's Town, a village of sorts that provided the city with crops and animals.

To the east was Whore Town, a village made up of brothels that were outlawed in the city. The ones closest to the wall were richer, the women were young and beautiful, but expensive. At the edge of Whore Town was where the women were, older, and uglier but cheaper. North was The Kingswood, a great pine forest where game roamed, where kings and nobles hunted when their duties became too much.

It was home to Great Elk, Great Boars, White Tail Deer, and all manner of game. Above the city, sitting on the western Gold Mountains and upon the tallest mountain named Oldjorin is the keep, the keep is at the top of three great staircases. The first goes up to the smooth stone walkway area, a tall portcullis with two round towers topped by pointed conical rooves standing on either side.

Past the towers, another staircase turns north and leads to the second set of towers before turning west and leading to the last set of towers that went straight to the eastward-facing castle. The castle's out bailey went from the face of the mountain and wrapped around like a huge cacoon. Six towers marked the bailey two along the north and south sides and two on either side of the steel gate. The Great Hall looked small from where it sat, but the grandeur of this keep sat hidden inside of Oldjorn.

Youngfall 8th, 145 PIE

Just Outside of Fallreach

The ground was brown with fallen pine needles, obscuring the grass of the forest floor. Pines soared over the party as they walked between the thick trunks of the trees, the sun hung overhead, peaking through the branches and leaving the forest floor a mix of dark and light. The party was made of five men, there were two Wolf Guards. Great soldiers donning glinting steel plate armor of the highest quality, crested helms topped by dark blue horsehair, their cheek guards folded out.

One had a braided red beard on his seasoned face, bushy red eyebrows over gray eyes sitting in deep and wrinkled sockets, narrowed in the sunlight, long red hair hidden beneath the helm. The other stood out, his face was pale and worn, a long beard was platinum in color, his old eyes a crystal, glowing blue. They wielded the same weapons, a long spear, a lugged head at its top, and large kite shields of strong Stonewood painted blue, showing a wolf head and crossed swords.

On their left hips rested the ancient and traditional Ulfbehrt sword, a pommel shaped like a wolf's head, and a wheellock on their right, made from white wood and silvery steel. The next was a young man wearing green, his trousers fit loose, meeting black shoes wore a dark green blouse and a feathered cap of green. His hair was blonde, his face clear of blemishes, and his eyes alive with the blue that many Northerners held.

He carried the king's gun in his hand, a wheellock rifle, its barrel was long and dark, the rifle's stock made from dark oak wood, engravings of animals carved like the ancient Northerners would. Lines that were carved in such patterns to make birds and deer and boars come to life. Then there was Wulfgar Frost Breath, a great man donning black oil steel plate armor, carved with elegant engravings and beautiful golden inlays upon his pauldrons and his breastplate.

His greaves and sabatons sat bare of carvings, baring only the matte black of the steel. He carried only a simple Ulfberht sword at his hip as his greatsword would be too large to carry whilst hunting. Leading them was Rignar, King of Niln, a massive broader than a Northerner and taller than one, standing over seven feet in height. He was believed to be part Jotunn to many, he wore a thick black cloak made from the pelt of a black bear, clipped onto a black tunic by silver chains.

His trousers were thick and heavy, made from black wool, his boots made from black leather went halway up his calves. His face was seasoned and tough as leather, his eyes were protruding from his wrinkled face, underneath bushy black eyebrows. His long and flowing black hair seemed to mix with the fur of the bear's pelt on his back, making it look like part of him. His face was covered by a thick black beard that went down to his chest where multiple golden necklaces and pendants for the many gods of the Axonnism Faith hung and a leather bandolier wrapped across.

His hands were large and rough, fair like his face and worn, gold and silver bands hung around his wrists, carved with depictions of warriors and battle. His strides were long and his footfalls heavy, his face was firm and cold, his emerald eyes holding no jovial feel in their gaze. A light breeze blew south, pushing the stench of the city away and blowing the aroma of the pines over the hunting nobles. the nobles meandered northeast through the forest for what must have been an hour judging by the position of the sun.

They all halted when Rignar lifted his enormous hand, signaling them to stop their walk. The beast of a man raised his thick black eyebrows and slowly rotated his head, looking to a ridge north of them, covered by pine needles and shrubbery. he turned his huge frame in that direction, making his way over to the ridge with long strides, his group followed behind as quietly as they could in their plate armor.

They made it to the ridge where the tall king stood crouched on one knee, looking over the ridge, a smile had formed on his face. At the bottom of the ridge, some eight yards away stood a great boar. Its fur was black as charcoal, its tusks, in spite of being buried in the earth, were a beautiful white color. Rignar turned to look at his green-clothed servant, he did not speak but his servant knew what he wanted, it was written in the iris of his deep green eyes that dug into his soul, his long rifle.

The servant quickly handed the long beast of a gun to the towering king. Rignar grabbed the wood and steel contraption with both hands. He then pulled a cartridge from the bandolier Using his stained teeth, he pulled the end off of the cartridge, pouring the black powder into the long barrel of the rifle. He then pulled the long ramrod from beneath the barrel and began packing the cartridge and ball into the breech of his rifle.

He then reached his hand into a pouch on his side, pulling out a spanner wrench and placing it onto the lock, turning it three-quarters and placing the wrench back into his pouch. Then he reached his hand down to his hip, grabbing an Auroch's horn from his side, capped by a pine rubber stopper in its tip. Rignar grabbed the tip with his stained teeth and pulled it out with a quiet pop. He poured a conservative amount of black powder into the priming pan of his rifle, and then closed the dragon shape lock down into the pan.

The tall king placed the buttstock of his rifle into the thick wool of his tunic. He put his left hand on the forward end away from the trigger, He then locked the fingers of his right hand into the trigger guard at the back, putting his pointer finger just before the long slender trigger. His deep green eyes looked down the sight of the long gun, pointed at the back of the boar's head. His breaths were slowed, his hands steady as the mountains, his finger lightly on the trigger.

He drew in a final, deep as he squeezed the trigger

"MY LORD!"

a man's voice cried out from behind, a great flash of fire and smoke followed by a thunderous and hearty crack of exploding powder and a puff of black and gray smoke like that of a dragon signaled that the gun had fired. Below the ridge, a resounding snap was heard. Great splinters of pinewood were sent flying as the musket ball struck a tall pine above the black boar, embedding itself deep into the trunk.

The boar stopped its digging, and out of shock and fright, retreated deeper into the pine forest with loud snorts. Rignar lowered his rifle and lowered his brow in anger. The hulking beast of a man raised himself up from the ground, still facing away from the men who walked with him. he let out a low groan of anger, like that of a beast, deep and rough, shaking the earth. Rignar turned his massive form around to face the men, spotting the man who had interrupted his hunt.

It was a man named Orngiir of Clan Dragon's Horn. His face was young yet still marked with a beard of light brown hair that also marked his head, the side of which was shaved and the hair going down his back braided. He was broad like most Northerners and tall, but still shorter than the king. He wore upon himself a blue and black surcoat was draped over a pair of black breeches and brown leather boots, and Ulfberht on his hip.

Rage filled Rignar’s eyes with a green fire, his mouth was turned down in anger. He stared angrily at Orngiir before he began to make his way over, long stride after long stride. His servant quickly ran over to him shaking as he held his hands out. Rignar angrily pushed his hunting rifle into his hand and against the servant's chest with a clank, not even stopping his angered walk. Rignar came up to the Northerner, pressing close to him, causing Orngiir to lean back.

The brown-haired man quivered in fear as the giant of a ruler looked down on him with rage. The king drew in a deep breath and then bespoke in a voice that shook the very earth they stood on, that echoed deep into the core of all the men in that forest.

"What is the meaning of you interrupting my hunt, AND DRIVING AWAY MY KILL!" His shout of anger was like an earthquake, it seemed to echo through Orngiir's soul like it was a cavern, his voice shook the very heart in his chest like a deep drum.

"S-sire" his voice while deep, was shaky and afraid "A message has come to you... it's from Jarl Denethor M'lord" Orngiir handed the king a small piece of rolled parchment he had been holding in his hand. Rignar unrolled the white piece in his hand and read the Nilscikt writing on the page. Rignar's face contorted with rage, his brows turned down deeper and the lips hidden beneath his beard were pressed together in anger.

He crumpled the parchment in his exposed hands, he rotated his broad figure around to face his companions calling:

"We return to the keep at once!" his voice shook even the strongest amongst them in fear "Horki!" the bearded guard with skin pale as snow turned to him "Tell the servants to ready my horse and regiment of guards at once, for we ride to Barrowtown," he nodded and began walking back to the keep, Rignar and the others following close behind. As they walked, Wulfgar got closer to Rignar, whispering in a voice hard as stone and cold as ice:

"What did the message say?"

Rignar turned and looked down at him, still walking.

"There's been an attack at Nelcreed,"

"An attack you say," responded Wulfgar, still whispering "That's just the Jarls concern, why would he ask for the king to go all the way down there for an attack on a village, it was probably no more than mere bandits,"

"If a Jarl requests the king come to his hold, it must be serious," Rignar replied, "Besides, bandits are what we should hope, it could have been rebels, invaders, or..." he paused, stopping his walk "Pyromancers" he whispered under his breath, True fear seemed to wash over him at the utterance of that word, his eyes widened and his mouth sat agape as his mind flooded with visions of fire and death fro years past.

He knew it was unlikely, but all the battles he had seen would not prepare him for the decimation of the Fire Rebellion less than ten years prior. Such a horrible time that kept him up some nights, but it was all in the past and there was the future of Niln to look to.