maul of winter

8/7/2019 Maul of Winter

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LOST

Mikaela Korinski shivered, she shivered profusely as her small hands clutched an old coat that belonged

to her father, who now lay among the ruins of what had once been the small market town of Dobrinka.

Her bare feet took her through the deep snow, almost not feeling the cold anymore. Icy-blue eyes

scanned the frozen horizon, wisps of snow, blown by the wind forming around her, her eyes now seeing

but shapes, faces of lost people and her small home town in Northern Khador. The child advanced

slowly, to the stump of a tree that could be seen from the snow, eventually moving into a crawling

position.

With every ounce of strength she dragged on toward the remains of the old tree, in her image, the only

shelter from the freezing snow and winds that carried whispers and other sounds with them. For a

moment she thought she heard her older brother Sergei calling out, but it was not to be. Driven to

survive she dug relentlessly into the snow at the stumps base with purple hands until a hole was

uncovered.

Dragging herself into the hollow stump she curled up, looking at her frostbitten hands and feet. She had

been strong as she had been taught but now somewhat warmer, memories returned. First they were

pleasant; the family home, small unassuming close to her fathers Jack workshop, their voices, those of

her parents and relatives. At first they came clearly but the black haze came, the shadow of death. The

dead that walked stormed Dobrinka, overwhelming the huntsmen. How could they even overwhelm

the huntsmen?, they were strong and brave; she thought. A man came, a creature of darkness

murdering, asking questions. Just as she ran through the snow as her father commanded her to do the

screams of the dying could be heard.

For a second her blue eyes closed, trying to shrug off the images. Not falling asleep was her priority but

she was tired and now the storm outside carried whispers but they were not something she understood.

A foreign tongue, perhaps Menoth whom she prayed to every morning and evening before bed was

trying to talk to her, encourage her to stay strong. Her eyes closed slowly as exhaustion took over, sleep

came as much as she fought it.

The Raek dubbed Hossir or Scythe in the language of the Nyss strolled forward, its maw snapping

closed. Behind it Rhyliss Wintershard followed, a female Nyss, still relatively untouched by the Dragons

blight followed. Trekking between a shard encampment and her village she had been caught in the

storm that now was abating. Hossir kept itself in sight, like a faithful hound, smelling, seeing in the

shadows, but just as the beast stopped by an old tree stump it hissed. A barbed tail began to flail slowly

as its foreclaws dug into the fresh snow.

Always hungry!, the Nyss thought to herself smiling. Just as her footsteps took her feet from the

Warbeast she recognized the screams of a child coming from inside the stump. The Raek was digging

furiously and soon its clawed leg went inside the stump only to drag a human child into the open. Far


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from any settlements the girl tried to free herself, a free frostbitten foot barely kicking at the Raeks

head but she resisted. Raising her hand, Rhyliss spoke quietly Hossir, leave her!.

Obedient, the Raek withdraw, slavering jaws still drooling at the prize it had found. A gloved hand

grabbed the back of Mikaelas oversized coat the girl turning around. Before her eyes stood a grey -

skinned woman with locks of white hair coming from underneath her hood. A Winter Elf; she heardstories of these people, living in hunting parties, sometimes engaging Khadoran hunters, other times

trading. Her mouth opened to speak in Khardic; D. d.. dont hurt me. I .. I did not mean to hurt your

animal. Tears rolled down her red cheeks just as the Nyss studied her, trying to fathom what was a

human stripling doing all the way there.

A terror-filled look stared at the hungry Raek and for a brief moment, in the clutches of the Nyss she felt

her mind commune with the beast. Hossir seemed to calm down, approaching Rhyliss and her captive,

its nostrils sniffing what it had initially taken as prey. Before a dumb-struck Rhyliss the child extended

her hand toward the Dragonspawn and it responded like a faithful hound. The elf unable still to

comprehend what happened set the child down, backing off slowly.

Thoughts filled young Mikaelas mind, thoughts coming from this animal, this frightening predator that

stalked the snows. She felt in it hatred, insatiable hunger but also a primal intelligence, lurking in the

depths of its mind. There was no soul but this hound belonging to the Nyss had intelligence. A small

hand touched the animals scaly hide and the very same moment its thoughts changed. Besides the

malevolence inside it moved around the child now like a dog, waiting for a command. As fear washed

away, human and Dragonspawn bonded.

Rhyliss hesitated a second but recognizing something she had seen in others, she grasped the child in

her arms, wrapping her in her fur cloak and resumed her trek to the Hyssar village. The human had

shown something only a few of her kind could do and if a Dragonspawn refused to hurt her it must be asign. Eager to consult her village mystic she hastened the pace. Hossir followed closely, suddenly

preoccupied with its new charge, hissing now and then, often its eyeless head turning toward the

creature the elf had found.

With the first suns rays appearing in the east, the silhouettes of several houses appeared in the

distance, smoke coming from each. Put together by the tree line of an evergreen it seemed a welcome

destination for any traveller across the frozen wastes. Opening her eyes Mikaela could see similar

Winter Elves greeting the female who carried her. Some however looked evil with spines, pointed chins

and horns. Hossir was still in tow, snarling at the Nyss who tried to approach viciously, its barbed tail

flailing in their direction. Not wasting time, Rhyliss moved toward one of the central huts, followed bymost of the Nyss community, curious of the human childs identity.

Laeryll Stormshadow, Seeress of the Hyssar clan bended over a large pot, slowly twisting a wooden

spoon in its contents, muttering words in the Nyss language. As the door to her hut opened she turned

to face the arrival but could not hide her surprise. Her apprentice had returned with a prize. Leaving her

instrument aside the black haired Nyss woman quickly moved toward Rhyliss location, grinning.


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Well well, what have we here?, she commented, trying to take Mikaela away from the younger Nyss

but the apprentice stopped her.

No, elder. This human turned a Raek bound on devouring her on the spot into something akin of a

hound. Hossir nearly attacked a few of our hunters to protect her, she spoke looking at Laeryll, giving

her a knowing nod. The human was a complete mystery but perhaps with the Seeress help they will beable to learn her secret. A hopeful look now studied the mystic, waiting.

Seer Stormshadow could not believe her ears. The child was not Blighted, not even a Nyss but what her

apprentice mentioned bordered the extraordinary. Taking a reluctant, scared Mikaela from her assistant

she placed the child on a bed and her clawed hands began searching through jars and bottles.

Frostbitten feet and hands would not be of much use. Finally turning toward her young guest she knelt

down and spoke in Khardic, Whatever you are human I will find out. But if I am to find out, I must cure

you first. You suffer from frostbite, but youre lucky. I am able to cure you, but you must promise me

youll do as I tell you to.

A nod was all the child could give. The witchs hands touched her frostbitten hands and feet, an oily

smelly salve now covering her skin. Covered in a thick arctic bear blanket she finally slept after being

LOST IN THE SNOW.

AND FOUND ONCE MORE

With a bare hand Rhyliss touched the girls forehead and sighed. Fever raged in her young body but the

Seers salve seemed to be working. It was the second day the lost child slept, wrecked by high fever and

four since she had been found. Now left alone with Mikaela, the apprentice seer did all she could.

Applied the salve regularly, worked her small amount of magical knowledge to assist with the healing. If

the Blight was at work perhaps the temperature was a sign of it. Moving away from the bed she set thesalve jar back in its place. A warm fire burned in the center of the hut, keeping everyone warm.

A low voice muttering Khardic words and a small hand emerging from underneath the blanket was the

signal the child was better. Blue eyes opened again and she attempted to see but her vision was foggy.

The smell of warm stew bubbling made the girl look in the pots direction, and then toward the fur

dressed Rhyliss. .. I.. I am hungry.., she said.

Shoving a bowl of stew under her nose, the Seers apprentice spoke on a commanding tone Here, eat.

The Elder wishes you to regain your strength and dont waste any human. You wont get more!;

turning toward her scrolls the Nyss seemed to mind her own business but the sound of a spoon hitting

the clay walls of the pot was a good sign. Mere minutes later setting the bowl down the human

youngster lay back on the bed. This house she was in it was odd.

Decorated with furs, skulls, minimal furniture save two shabby beds, a large cooking pot a table and two

chairs it didnt seem like much. Candles lit up the building, assisted by the central fire and for a moment

the shadows of this place seemed interesting. A medium sized cabinet held scrolls and a few books but

everything looked like it was going to fall over. The elves seemed mean or hating her to say the least, yet


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she felt thankful for their care. Her mind wandered away to sadder images and memories. Dobrinka, her

father, her mother, Sergei, the old Warjacks in her fathers shop, Sasha, the old Kodiak used for labour

by her father. She missed Sasha. Like with the Raek she had felt the Warjacks mind meld with her own

but afraid to tell her parents she remained quiet about it.

Her young spirit filled with the desire for vengeance on the evil dead who had taken her life away. Shehad seen Sasha fall under a wicked mans blade and in that moment she felt she lost a family member.

These beasts however, this Hossir, unlike Sasha was alive with a beating heart. Faint memories of gift

returned to her mind after she had heard the Nyss speak about it. She would ask the Seer if she

returned

The gift would be discovered


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The Heart of the Motherland

An old wooden wagon rocked and creaked on the old frozen road, drawn by two sturdy wooly Oxen,

gently goaded forward by a large burly driver. Draped in furs, a grumpy Kossite man mumbled under his

breath, adjusting his rabbit fur hat. The wind had stopped yet now the sound of the couple of wounded

from the back of his vehicle filled his ears. A woman tried to tend to them and while they seemed out of

any immediate danger their wheezes and pain filled moans disturbed him.

What kind of Khadoran moans like that?, Oleg Gregorivich asked himself. He had been a woodsman

for years, endured many hardships and now as his greying years approached he had to ferry these

people who lacked the strength to die fighting. Weaklings!, he thought as he drove on toward a

sprawling city in the distance. Relieved to see his journey of three weeks coming to its end he turned

toward Olga, his sister, who had been tending to the survivors from Dobrinka.

Olga, whats the status on those wretches? Any good to be salvaged from anyof them?, he asked,giving the three men and one young woman a look.

Oleg Gregorivich! These are our people; they fought to defend their town. You should be thankful the

Gods found them worthy of being preserved, she replied to his words, narrowing her green eyes

momentarily. The boy here, the woman continued, He seems to have some sort of poisoning, he will

need a specialized healer. Ive done all I could.

You and your compassion! Keep that for the old men and women who deserve it after serving our

country all their life. Alexander Karchev, now that is a hero!. It was all he said. The road was packed

with people going back and forth and behind him three other wagons carried what remained of the

town of Dobrinka.

As the gates of Korsk came into view a good hour later Oleg stopped his Oxen, just as a Winterguard

soldier stepped forward. A young man, in his late teens, the soldier finally addressed the caravan driver,

You, what are you carrying back there?, he asked on a relatively commanding tone.

Aged in his early fifties Oleg grumbled, Survivors from Dobrinka, and you should watch your tone with

me son. I served for ten years in the Widowmaker units, I do believe I am deserving some respect,

especially from whelps like yourself!.

The Guardsman nodded once, pausing, verifying the wagons interior but spotting Olga and her charges

he nodded, moving back toward the drivers seat. What unit were you in sir? My father served in the

22nd

company, southern armies, Kovnik Kolchenko.

Gregorivich could not help but smile under his bushy mustache. So, old Marek Kolchenko was still in

service, he considered and nodded. Kovnik Kolchenko is a good man, a good soldier and a patriot. I

hope your father is proud of you son. I will apologize for my outburst.


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A single hand signal from the Guardsman made Oleg return back to his caravan. Spurring the Oxen

forward he relaxed in his drivers seat, just as his wagons entered the muddy streets of Korsks outlying

quarters. Despite the pompous outlook of the noble populated districts, Korsks poor areas were

sometimes just better than slums. Yet energetic as always Khadorans moved back and forth, avoiding

the wagons. Here and there a beggar could be seen, asking passer-bys for money.

The spires of the Temples of Morrow and Menoth glimmered in the morning sun, their polished

rooftops reflecting the sunlight and with a smile, Oleg recognized the main building of the Druzhina, the

Khadoran officer school. Faces returned to him from the old conflicts, old comrades in arms. Many were

gone but it was just like yesterday he left for the front lines as a fresh recruit, the excitement, and the

fears. They had been good years, he deserved his retirement.

Pulling his wagon by a Morrowan run hospital in the merchant district he finally dismounted, eager to be

on stone pavement. A few sisters quickly turned toward the large Kossite man, towering above them, his

sheer size intimidating. Furrowing his bushy eyebrows he motioned them over, I have four wounded

from Dobrinka here. One seems to be poisoned..

He needed to say no more. One of the young women called inside and four men carrying stretchers

approached. Sturdy hands grabbed the poisoned boy, setting him on a stretcher and he disappeared

inside. One by one the wagon was emptied of injured and Olga, stepped off herself, pulling out a small

Menite symbol from underneath her fur jacket, Creator help them, especially the boy. I do hope he

survives. Compared to her large and well-built brother, Olga was small for a Khadoran woman with

similar dark hair and not as bushy eyebrows as his, typical for the Kossites.

With a hazy outlook on his surroundings Sergei Korinski opened his eyes. His gut felt completely dry, he

felt he was eaten alive from the inside. A scream would come natural perhaps but the pain sometimes

subsided. Water. Water please. Olga... It was all he could say, before a nurse approached, tryingto smile at him. His feverish skin was covered in sweat and the gentle touch of a tissue wiped it all off.

Feeling fresh cold water on his lips he opened his mouth to drink, only to see he was no longer in Olgas

care. A Morrowan nun tended to him, carefully, barely noticing his open eyes. Her whisper soon became

obvious, yet he realized it was a prayer. Unable to speak clearly yet, his hand gripped her wrist slightly

and she took the clay mug away from his lips.

Look at you, all fevered!. The woman grabbed an additional smaller pillow from nearby, keeping his

head somewhat raised. Ill tell Father Jorivich youre awake, blessed be the Creator and Morrow.

Without another word she rushed out of the ward room, calling a name, he could barely hear. Around

him he could see a hospital ward room, most of the beds empty, save a few where people he didntrecognize rested. Trying to put together what happened he sat up, feeling a thousand needles into his

every nerve or muscle.

Moments later, an elderly man wearing white Morrowan robes entered the ward and seeing Sergei

sitting up he could not help a smile. Moving in the young mans direction , he knelt by the bed, taking his

medical instruments. A quick examination made him turn toward the nurse who had been there earlier,

Gods be praised, Sister Elena, he is awake and sitting. Whoever kept him alive all these weeks must


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have been skilled, what we did was finish her work. Once more he turned on the patient on the bed,

What is your name son?, he inquired.

S Sergei Korinski, Father.

Mustering a reply the young mans mind now raced with questions. Where was Mikaela? Where were

his parents? Dobrinkas fate had been marked by death itself, had they survived?

Where.. am I?, the first natural question followed as he looked at both priest and nun, inquisitiveness

showing in his eyes.

Korsk. the reply came from the Sister who smiled, not sure what else to say.

Korsk, he was in Korsk, in the HEART OF THE MOTHERLAND..

....HAUNTED BY DREAMS, he stirred from his sleep, looking around his small room above the Mechanikshop, situated in the Market district of Korsk and he sighed. Images of his lost sister swarmed his mind.

Last he saw her, she was running in the thick snow. The merciless Khadoran winter could have turned

her into easy prey for wolves, snow leopards, Feral Ogrun or worse. Gathering his resolve he stepped

out of bed as the orange rays of the sun came over the citys buildings, like beacons of hope. Pausing

with his hand on the glass he closed his eyes.

Another mind, alien yet familiar filled his own. He felt the base instincts of something far too familiar in

proximity and leaning down to pick his shirt from a creaky nearly broken chair he descended downstairs.

Voices came from the workshop and as Sergei pushed the heavy door open, stepping into the work

areas of the shop, he saw the owner of the alien mind.

Turning in slowly, much to the dismay of the shops owner, Nicolai Fedorov, ignoring hand and voice

commands an old battered Devastator turned toward him. It stepped toward the boy opening its shield

fists, causing everyone in the shop to freeze in fear. A single mental command caused the machine

stopped, idle; its near spent boiler causing it to power down. The shop owner blinked, stepping quickly,

examining his young apprentice, finally speaking

Menoths breath, how did you do it? Thats boy, what did you do to it?, he inquired rapidly, shaking

the boys shoulder.

I felt its mind, Mr. Fedorov, it obeyed as its supposed to do but I felt it. We must nurse it back to healthand youll allow me, Ill do it myself. Ive already told you my father owned such a shop.

Unsure what to reply, looking at the other employees, a reluctant Fedorov inclined his head, Its due to

go back to fighting in two weeks. Do not be late with it, Sergei or there will be hell to pay!

Easily identifying the needed tools, the young man barely waited. He had seen his father work on a

Devastator before, he was familiar with it and its cousin, the Spriggan. Taking a piece of parchment he


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inspected each bolt, hose and assembly in the opened warjack with attention. The machine needed a

whole arm replaced and the damage was obvious. Caused by a high quality artillery shell, the blow

nearly tore the arm off. Besides that the steam systems needed replacing, most of them being so used

they barely were adequate. In spite of all its damage, the machines cortex was still in good order, its

instincts still there.

Six months had passed since his complete recovery and now aided by several other junior mechaniks he

climbed a ladder that took him to the Devastators arm joint. Chains were holding the damaged arm,

secured against a moveable crane that rested onto the ceiling. One by one the hoses were unhooked,

followed by the heavy screws and bolts which were given to Alexander, a younger boy serving Fedorov.

In a well determined order he removed each clamp which held the arm in place and turning toward

Draigho and Misha he waved his hand, Draigho, Misha, go easy, the arm is loose. Myself and Alexander

will push it from our end just as we did with the Juggernaut.

Heaving the control ropes of the crane the other two pulled and under the concerted effort of the small

crew the arm came off as predicted. With the arm now loose it was lowered onto the ground, besides

other old parts. Smeared in oil and grease Sergei took in a deep breath and after hours of grueling work,

he sat down at the feet of the metal beast. Parts had to be ordered from the Mechaniks Assembly and

the waiting would take forever.

He had to move, and move fast, yet all the work made him to THINK OF HER..

Nadia Zerinkoff, a young woman of sixteen walked slowly down the stone paved street, wrapping her

furred coat around her. Shop owners bragged with their merchandise to the beautiful, well dressed

young woman. Red locks of hair came out from underneath her fur hat and blue eyes inspected

presented items for sale. Approaching a carpenters shop, her attention was drawn to several small

wooden statues.

The left hand glove slowly came off as she reached for a wolf-shaped statue and after picking it up she

smiled. Ignoring the middle-aged woman that moved the counter she spun the small artifact in her

hand, finally looking up. She spoke her mouth to open but a males voice interrupted her

You like that miss, would you like me to get it for you, the stranger adorned in Druzhina cadet uniform

asked, throwing her a charming smile.

Shaking her head, Nadia kept the statue in her hand, replying quietly, I do not need anything from you,

sir, I will buy my own things, do not think your uniform is going to blow my mind away!.

Miss, a somewhat baffled young man continued, It would be my pleasure if you accepted the gift, I

insist. Standing up straight, with a smug face, he smiled with a hint of superiority.


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Coming from a noble house herself, she returned the smile, While your intentions are appreciated, kind

Sir, I choose to buy the item on my own!. Turning to the shop keeper, she searched her small leather

purse, setting several coins in the womans hand. A thankful nod was all that followed and as she turned

around the smile on Nadias face grew. Attired in somewhat clean clothing, nothing more than a grey

winter coat, trousers and boots, his head covered by a Kossite styled hat, the charming grease-monkey

she spoke to in Fedorovs workshop when her father visited the man appeared.

Walking in her direction he seemed to completely ignore the Druzhina cadets and move to the girl. An

excited look in his eyes, made her wonder and she broke the silence, not even bothering to look at the

few stains of oil and grease on the edges of his jacket as she gave him a light hug, Something has

happened, tell me, I can see it in your eyes

You wont believe it., Master Fedorov finally gave me a project on my own, a Devastator a real

Warjack. Remember how upset I was?.When he.., excitement made him to pause a minute, perhaps

puzzled by her actions.

When he took you off the other project, I remember, the Juggernaut, was that its name?, she

inquired, quietly, throwing a discrete look toward the trio of cadets watching the whole scene.

A crude interruption finally came, How about you mind your own business and leave her be, shes not

for you, mechanic. Go back to your workshop and play!, the insisting Cadet burst out, stepping toward

the couple.

The usual exchange of looks, followed by rising tensions came but now, the mechanik took his chances,

sizing up his opponent. While Nadia attempted to draw him away, Sergei politely responded, Cadet

Lieutenant, the young lady was talking to me. Sending me to my workshop in such a way only indicates

your arrogance.

Ill teach you a lesson., the cadet burst out, lunching at Sergei, and just as the first punch directed at

him followed. A second later a thin layer of ice covered the officer-trainees fist, slowing it down. While

prepared to defend himself, Sergei unleashed something he never suspected to have. The whole street

stopped, to watch in amazement as a cocky Druzhina cadet backed away, from a young man, wearing

stained clothing, tugged by a well-dressed young lady.

The gift had been unleashed and before the eyes of Cracks Jolinov the all too familiar smell of magic

filled the air for him. Cold, a cold that came natural to any Khadoran Wizard lived in this young man.

Perhaps he would be a good recruit, the Greylord agent thought

Unleashed the gift was and far to the North, she too had it


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A TALONED HAND, opened the heavy wooden door and the hunched silhouette of an old woman,

carrying a crooked staff appeared in the doorway of Fedorovs Mechanika. Intense brown eyes gazed at

the shop, eventually the sound of arguing voices drawing in the crone. A commanding voice boomed

over that of another man, asking questions, threatening. Another softer voice of another tried to defend

the accused. Feet covered in old ragged deer skin boots stepped up the stairs and along the narrow

corridor of the upper floor.

Koldun Lord Stephan Deleroski growled again, You disappoint us master Fedorov. Harboring a man with

sorcerous potential, NOT informing the Greylord Convenant could be taken as a crime!. His voice had a

strong threatening tint into it as the wizards cold eyes stared at Nicolai Fedorov.

All I can do is write a detailed report to the Chancellery of your actions. Until then you will not leave

town!, Deleroski continued, hoping his tactics would bear fruit. However something he could have

never expected interrupted his charade. The office door opened and the Crone filled the doorway,

chuckling.

You vill not take this boy avay, she spoke, her eyes turning toward Sergei Korinski, who was sitting

down, guarded by two Winter Guard soldiers, He is mine and he is not to become a Grey Lord, do you

understand that?.

As words rolled out of the womans mouth everyone in the room froze. Just like many others on the

street the presence of Zevanna Agha forced season men to hold their tongues. Satisfied she nodded,

raising some strands of old decrepit hair from her face, speaking once more, Now, the boy iz to decide

his destiny. Learn the True Spirit of Khador for in the North evil stirs while from the coast the dead will

arrive once more. Intently she turned to Sergei, waiting calmly.

Unsure what to think, overwhelmed by Zevannas presence Sergei looked at Master Fedorov then at theKoldun Lord. Standing up, he turned to Witch stepping in her direction, his obviously frightened voice

now filling the room, I will do whatever it takes to save the Motherland, I will follow her. She is old,

wise, perhaps she can teach me what I must know of my gift . Bowing before the Witch, unsure what

sort of behavior he moved to her side.

A frightening laugh came from the crone, as her taloned hand patted him on the shoulder I only hope

you vill not regret your decision. You vill not be coddled boy. With that she stepped out the door.

Hastily gathering his belongings, saying his goodbyes to Master Fedorov, Sergei stepped into the paved

street, following the old woman, between the people whom had formed a lane, allowing her passage.

Just as she stepped between two older trees and he followed, he no longer was in Korsk. A forest

clearing somewhere far from civilization was around him, dominated by old cairn stones, covered in

small wild flowers.

Gnarled trees seemed to whisper as the wind blew and their leaves growing once more in spring that

bloomed around. The witch was silent besides him. Old brown eyes looked up at him and she motioned

to him to follow. Walking through dense underbrush he felt vines and thorns scratching his skin but


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compelled to follow her, he kept going. Minutes became hours and the two walked as night fell. In the

distance the shape of a castle could be seen, the banners still fluttering in the twilight sky, one of the

three moons darkening it as it rose in the background.

Dragging his legs onto the muddy ground he approached the edifice and looking up he wondered where

they were. Two Iron Fang Pikemen raised their weapons and bowed heads in greeting the woman, gazesfollowing her bruised companion. Braziers and torches lit the hallways and yet the woman said no word.

Leading him to a remote wing of the castle, she pushed a double door open, leading to a large study,

laden with book-cases, a large desk near a fire-place flanked by Gargoyles, with a painting of a man with

dark hair, goatee radiating an aura of majesty.

A person stepped from the shadows, his features similar to the man in the painting and with a calm

voice he spoke, It is my ancestor, Drago Tzepesci, young man. Welcome to Umbrey. As it is polite, I will

tell you my name, he spoke, I am Prince Vladimir of Umbrey.

A baffled and stunned Sergei knelt before the legendary man, the Champion of the Motherland, he

gazed down. Not sure what to tell the man attired in aristocratic clothing, he just rested there without a

clue on how to react. Finding the courage he finally spoke My name is Sergei Korinski your highness.

Then you must realize why you are here, I am not a man of many words. A servant will show you to

your quarters. Be ready, the new road in your life begins tomorrow, he said, keeping a calm tone in his

voice, waving his hand. Stepping backwards, away from the presence of his better the young man was

confused. Tzepesci was involved along with the Crone of Khador, what had he ever done?

With a warm smile and a polite gesture of his hand a young man motioned toward the hallway to the

right, This way sir, the master had us prepare a chamber for you.

This would be a new adventure, a new road under the guidance of a great man, yet he never knew why

he was chosen, to be a student of the Dark Prince.


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Venting steam, the steam locomotive pulling a short train, made of four cars pulled into Korsks

central station, the screeching wheels of the machine filling the air with the sound of metal grinding

against metal. Unlike the other trains pulled at various platforms this one bore the Royal Crest of

Umbrey and soon heads turned. Winter Guard had swarmed the platform quickly forming by the access

ladder of the middle car.

With a stern look in his eyes an Iron Fang Captain came out of the railroad car prompting immediate

salute from the Winter Guard soldiers. Wearing ceremonial armour the man stepped aside and the

doors frame was taken over by an imposing man, not overly tall, well built with a commanding aura

about him. Loose dark hair fell on his shoulders and as he stepped forward wearing a simple ornate

breastplate everyone bowed down. Vladimir Tzepesci motioned his hand slowly and they all returned as

they were just as a new figure stepped out of the railroad car, flanked by a large warhound.

Sergei Korinski stepped onto the platform, moving to stand beside his tutor, gazing upon the assembled

Winter Guard. In one year things had changed, the once humble mechanik with dormant potential had

become a Journeyman Warcaster, trained by one of the greatest men alive. Even after all the time the

regal bearing of the last of the Tzepesci made him stay in his trainers shadow, knowing his place. The

two men, prince and journeyman warcaster walked slowly toward the end of the platform, the taller

one speaking quietly, You must remember why we are here Sergei. The Imperial Court is not like

Umbrey. A young man such as yourself is often considered easy prey for shrewd nobles and

Kommandants who might try to gain favors from me through you.

Korinski nodded once, walking now besides the Prince, I understand, My Lord. I will be careful, I will be

honest, I am still hoping to see Nadia.

The aristocrat sketched a small smile, setting a hand on his shoulder briefly, I am well aware of how you

feel. Youre one of the few who know of me and Kommander Kratikoff and it is best you keep it thatway. Silent once more the men walked out of the rail station, stared at by most Khadorans present at

the moment in their path. The coach carrying them to Ayn Vanars summer residence was decorated

with all the pomp a person of Tzepescis sation required. Bearing the Umbrean flag and that of the

Khadoran Empire, Iron Fang Uhlans followed on white steeds, turning many heads along the way.


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The setting suns rays reflected,against the roof of the imposing complex that housed the Empress

summer palace. Like a pearl of white, with ornate outcroppings the residence of the Khadoran Monarchs

stood as a jewel of Imperial architecture among the bleak edifices of Korsk. Surrounded by three layers

of walls, enclosed in the middle of a green carpet of carefully trimmed grass, live fountains that sprung

to life in an alternate fashion seemed to be a thing out of dreams. Just as the coach turned right toward

the actual palace, lined up Imperial Guards raised their swords in salute of the Umbrean prince.

Tzepesci turned slowly to his young student and spoke We will be greeted by the Majordomo and Court

Chamberlain. Remember the etiquette, he commented indicating the assembled nobles on the main

staircase. We will meet the Empress in her ball room later this evening. Remember, do not speak unless

spoken to. While I am an open man, allowing you to speak any time the Empress may not be

appreciative of this. An encouraging smile appeared on Vladimirs face as a page opened the coachs

door.

Following the Prince, Sergei stepped off the coach his gaze falling upon the bowing nobles. Step by step

he moved toward the top of the stairs where the Court Chamberlain and a Majordomo waited. Both

men bowed briefly at the last of the Umbrean Royal line finally the Chamberlain inquiring quietly,

Might I ask, who your companion is, My Lord.

His gloved hand gesturing toward Korinski, Vlad spoke after a few tensioned seconds, It is my

journeyman, Lieutenant Korinski. He serves my family and trains to better harness his abilit ies.

A surprised Chamberlain nodded, inclining his head toward the much younger man. At first glance the

uniform he wore was that of an Iron Fang, a crimson uniform, with riding pants, polished black boots.

Accompanying them a cavalry sword dangled at his belt in a carefully decorated scabbard with gold

inlays and small rubies along its length. A few decorations indicating service were on the young mans

chest. Well groomed hair and a shaved face, an overall air of order were the result of Vladimirseducation upon his young charge.

Lieutenant Korinski, it is a pleasure. I am surprised his Highness has taken another charge, I am Fiodor

Kuznietzko, before the man could finish, Sergei cut him off..

Lord Kuznietzko, I heard a great deal about you and your lands east of the Capital. My Lord tells me you

have made quite good progress with improving the soil, making it more fertile, he smiled in a friendly

way to the man, not allowing the older noble to attempt anything.

Baffled, the Chamberlain and Majordomo led the two within the palace itself. Unlike the stone halls of

Umbrey, Ayn Vanars palace was a masterpiece. Mosaic floors covered by red carpets with an easily

distinguishable Llaelese craft, gold inlays sculpted into columns, chandeliers made from Menoth knew

what lighting the hallways. Pages and servants walked by at their daily chores, bowing briefly as the Lord

Chamberlain led them to a set of enormous double doors.

Bearing the Imperial crest the doors were white with golden edgings like most others and slowly opened

from within at the hands of two Pages. Before them a long room opened up, flanked by pillars made of


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white marble, lit by several chandeliers high up. Red curtains covered each window partially the last

vestiges of light mixing with the artificial light of the room. A few nobles seemed to wait by the side,

entertained by drinks, officers from the High Kommand spoke quietly, bowing only briefly as Vladimir

was led inside. A few ladies in waiting exchanged glances, giggles staring enraptured by the commanding

aura of the Tzepesci heir.

In tow Sergei followed, lost in the grandeur of this chamber but soon he realized where he was. The

presence of a large gilded chair at the other end indicated a change of schedule. Within the chair a

woman sat, perhaps a few years older than him, yet he knew it was not so. While he had expected her

to wear lavish dresses her small frame was attired in a day to day dress that would have seemed

extravagant but also practical. Her brown maned hair fell in waves on her shoulders and intense green

eyes slowly looked up catching glimpse of the new arrivals.

Ayn Vanar the First, Empress of Khador and annexed Llael stood up, a small smile forming on her lips.

The two men stopped slowly and knelt before her, their heads bowed. One she knew, but the other was

a mystery. Much younger than Vladimir he seemed overwhelmed. A gloved hand moved to her cheek,

pondering the situation she motioned toward Vladimir, Rise my friend, welcome. Before he could

continue she stepped toward Sergei.

Just as her gloved hand stopped some distance from his eyes, shivering he gripped her hand, lightly,

barely touching the back of her hand with his lips. He was not sure what to say so he remained quiet,

letting go of the Empress hand, a discreet look toward Vladimir seeking approval.

Amused, Ayn spoke quietly, You may stand up now, young man. You have no reason to be afraid.

Turning toward Vladimir her voice filled the room, Prince Tzepesci, I had not known you had a new

apprentice.

A confirming nod came from the Umbrean just as Sergei stood up, with his head bowed only to move

besides his tutor. Indeed I have, your Majesty. The boy was found here in Korsk, nearly recruited into

the Grey Lords. Zevanna brought him to me and demanded that I train him It was little I could do.

You know Zevanna Agha always gets her way, he could have ended up dead or training under Zoktavir

where he would have fared far worse treatment, she commended, trying to encourage a scared Sergei

with a smile. To be frank, Vladimir, she continued, had I known we had another I would have sent

him to you as well.

Vladimir nodded once, in agreement with the Empress. Besides him, a stunned Sergei watched, not

believing his eyes or ears. He was back where he started, he was in Korsk and the ruler of the Greater

Empire was with him. Hope burned brighter in his heart, hope to make a name for himself, but above all

he hoped to see her.

He hoped to see Nadia


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The imposing manor, that housed the Zerinkoff family buzzed with activity. Servants and maids rushed

back and forth, carrying trays, curtains, clothes. The activity amused young Nadia as she gazed out the

window, letting out a soft smile. The carriage was being prepared, curtains with her familys cr est were

being installed, the vehicle itself cleaned, scrubbed to a shine by the handlers. Slowly adjusting her bluedress she climbed down the stairs only to stop in front of the main entrance as their butler, old Grigori,

opened the double doors.

He exchanged a few words with a visitor then stepped aside. A young man stood in the doorway,

wearing an ornate Iron Fang uniform, along with Lieutenant rank, heraldry of the Tzepesci, Magziev

ranking given to him by the Grey Lord Convenant. His face however made her smile widely, fumbling,

trying to find her words. A boy that once was a mere dirty mechanic now appeared before her as a

respectable young officer. Racing her mind suddenly made the connection, realizing he had not simply

joined the Army.

Invited in, he bowed courtly, something he had not done before, but remained silent. A dazzled Nadia

tried to hold herself back but before the eyes of her surprised mother she rushed to the visitor, hugging

him tight once, before realizing what she had done. L.. Lieutenant Korinski, what a surprise, it was all

she could say before the harsh voice of her father interrupted.

Good afternoon, Lieutenant, Mikael Zerinkoff spoke, looking at the officer, his gaze taking in each

detail. Appearing as any respectable young Khadoran officer should, he only seemed to stand out with

the heraldry embroidered on his tunic and Magziev ranks. For a moment the old man hesitated then

continued, It is a pleasure to have someone from Prince Vladimirs household in our home. Gesturing

toward the living room he continued, Do not be shy, please, come in. A drink perhaps? Surely you are

an unexpected visitor but it would be courtly of us to be good hosts.

An encouraging look from the girl caused Sergei to speak, Good afternoon, Lord Zerinkoff, I am pleased

to be here. I know I should have notified beforehand of my visit but as I undertook some tasks for my

Lord, I found myself in the neighborhood and..

Please, there is no need to excuse yourself, the nobleman intervened once more, an insisting gaze

looking upon the young Warcaster. In the hosts tow Sergei walked quietly, followed by Nadia and the

mans wife. A simple gesture by a fireplace caused Sergei to remove his military hat and take the offered

seat. What was in his mind, he did not know, but he hoped to see her.

Surely you do have a name yes?, Mikael inquired, quietly staring the boy down.

Apologies my Lord, I am Lt. Korinski, I serve as His Highness, Prince Vladimirs apprentice, he

explained, collecting his thoughts. Pausing a second he turned to watch the butler approaching. On a

calm tone, the elderly man asked, A drink for the young Sir?.

Gazing for a moment at Mikael and his daughter he dared to respond, A glass of whatever his lordship

is having would be good. A simple nod from the butler came as he stepped away, disappearing out of


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With a frigid blow,Frost Bite, the hammer struck ornate shiled, icicles forming on its scaly pattern, quickly expanding

along the dent and dragons head in the center. Big blue eyes gazed upon the warrior encased in crimson red armour before

them, following the war hammer. Despite the bulk of the armour, the warrior before Mikaela Korinski moved with a grace

possibly fueled by magic, his Iron-Fang like armour outfitted with an arcane generator, providing more than adequate

protection.

A small Menofix carved on the hammers pommel brought memories to the girl s mind. Foggy images of houses, similar to

those around her, ruins that came into her mind like a torrent, overlapped with her thoughts. Around her Dragonspawn

clashed with enemy troopers and Warjacks, yet deep inside her she knew it was a lost battle. Ethrunbal s voice attempted to

encourage her but it was a lost battle. Like the Hammer of a Vengeful god the Khadoran army responded. The Maul of

Winter, she thought. There was no time to be lost in what the enemy stood for.

Her mind reached out to a Carnivean that still lived and despite its wounds the mighty beast continued to fight. A broken

warjack lay beside it, and another attempted to free itself as the monster s maw opened, bathing the metallic beast into a

pillar of flame. Dazzled the mechanical monster fell, just as the Carnivean disengaged, running fast apace toward the

Warlock.

Seconds before she could barely parry the Cold enchanted weapon of the enemy commander struck again, Dragons tooth

covered now in a thin layer of frost. Forcing herself, she struck back, biting into his armour with her blade, yet much to her

dismay she did not feel the distinctive slowing of a sword passing through flesh. As if an eternity passed she saw her

Carnivean jump past Hossirs carcass, its taloned arm gripping the Khadoran Kommander, tossing him against an old

workshops wall. A victorious roar came as the frenzied animal continued on it s rampage through small walls, fences,

attempting to finish off its prey.

Stunned and injured, Sergei dragged himself up using his hammer as a cane. The power field generated by his Arcane

generator deflected most of the blow but he felt perhaps a rib broken from the impact with the wall. As if spawned from the

deepest hells, a Carnivean charged right at him, being seconds away. His helmet had flown off, bare head now visible, yet

he readied himself. The large beast was strong but not as fast as him. What seemed to be a desperate counter-charge sent

him dumbling beneath the beast that jumped in the last moment, his own weapon making contact with the large Draconic

beast.

Much to the beasts surprise a new threat had arisen on the battle-field. Like a wrecking ball of hard iron and steel a

Spriggan charged forth, bellowing smoke as its simple mind felt the desperation of its controller. With the force of a fully

throttled steam locomotive the warjack slammed into the animal, it s right arm moving back then forth. Pain spread as thetip pierced skin and bone, excruciating to Dragonspawn and Warlock. A casual push with the shield forced the dead Monster

off the Spriggans shield as it turned to look toward Sergei, before a mob of Nyss charged it.

Once more Khadorans clashed, brother and sister, in the snow covering the ruins of Dobrinka.

Mikaelas eyes opened wide, as she noticed the features of her enemy. Ten years ago she would have never thought

shed be here, close to the Menite temple where she once went with her brother, fighting him. His voice filled her mind as

instead of striking her, he spoke.

Mikaela I thought you were lost. What has gotten into you?, his words came out baffled, surprised.

Unsure if to strike or respond she hesitated, trying to fight off Everblight s urges, but finally gave in.Dragons tooththis

time struck its mark, poisonous fumes touching Sergeis flesh, only causing him to stare in disbelief. A sorcerous blast

tossed him against the Menite Temple s wall once more and the pain became obvious. He felt his own flesh contorting,

shifting around his wound, unbearable pain taking all over him.

More! More! More!, the Dragons voice commanded, Kill him, he is your enemy. Set aside weakness, you are my herald! .

A slender hand reached out, another ball of frozen fire flying toward the warcaster, with obvious intention to finish him off.

Forcing himself to resist, Sergei conjured his remaining power, a magical shield deflecting the blast into a nearby building.

Standing up, he saw a charging warlock coming straight at him, to take advantage of his weakened state. With the elegance

bred into her fighting style by Rhyas, Mikaela danced with her blade, having dropped her heavy metallic shield on her way.


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A near miss, followed by a strike fromFrost Bitesent the young woman to the ground with broken armour plates. Her

beasts either out of her range or dead were not there to take the hit for her. Despite Ethrunbal s voice, she tried to resist,

collecting herself. Coughing heavily, she attempted to speak, the strain of the Dragons will imposed upon her, and her own

will struggling for control caused her to remain where she was, blank eyes staring at Sergei.

Mustering her final effort,she moved her blade upwards, as the Dragon won for a mere moment. Skewering chain armour,

power conduits and clothing underneath, Dragon s tooth pierced her brother s chest, with a flicker the arcane generator

dying out. Injured, she finally gave way and closed her eyes.

The Dragon was gone perhaps and she saw things as they were. Summer in the family Garden, the image of her father,

repairing old steam jacks, Sergei and his friends often taking her for horse rides in the green fields. She remembered Sasha,

the Kodiak, many many faces of people from her past. Father Medelev, the Menite priest in charge of the village, fasting

and prayer days and the games she used to play as a child.

With a supreme effort she stripped off her breastplate, tugging on the Crystal thrust in her breast. As it finally broke free,

she felt the same. Besides her, encased in Iron Fang armour, Sergei lay, face down, gasping for breath. The last strength

left, made her turn her brother onto his back as she moved closer, looking at him. A final deep breath came from him and

soon he passed away, forever to join Menoth. Blood poured from her own wounds and she set herself to rest with her silver

hair sprawled all over his red armour.

Memories returned once more, and before her eyes Dobrinka seemed to be rebuilt, the souls of so many lost beckoning herto cross over. Close to the images of her parents she saw Sergei as he was, but wearing the Iron Fang armour. His hand

grabbed her own and she felt light as a feather. They both flew with the others to a White Marble city, where the faithful

stood vigil over a chaotic sea of shades. Soon before them was a large throne room, where a stern figure looked at them

both, encased in white armour. A nod came from this man of unseen before majesty and with a simple smile he motioned

with his right hand for them to join the others.

Snow began to fall over the battle-field and Sorscha Kratikoff stepped across the dead, looking at the surviving soldiers.

Weary, injured they gazed up at her as she stopped at the ruins of the Menite temple, kneeling down besides two bodies. A

young woman resting as if sleeping atop the body of Sergei Korinski, made the Warcaster move a few strands of hair away

from her face, only to reveal a striking resemblance her former subordinate and apprentice of the man she loved. A young

Iron Fang Lieutenant removed his helmet setting underneath his arm as did most of his men.

Another young Winter Guard rifleman closed in, looking at Sorscha, trying to hold his own emotions, seeing the man whocommanded them for the past five years dead. A large Khadoran flag covered brother and sister, as Kommander Kratikoff

spoke finally as her own fur hat was removed,Parted years ago, meant to die together at each others hands. Such is the

irony of fate. May they both find their peace.

As the shadows of night fell a silent wake held by the soldiers of the 31st Winter Wolves Regiment would be the end of their

service under Sergei Korinski. Besides the soldiers, idly a Spriggan, Devastator and Juggernaut jacks stood vigil over the

Korinski siblings. After years of anguish they had both found peace.

maul of winter

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