The high-priest of Ra, supreme pontiff of the religions of Ægyps, was named Sethir; the first to ever hold the position, he prophesied that he also would be the last to ever hold the office of high-priest, at the end of the greatest empire of Ægyps, when all has been lost and the gods had made their exit into oblivion. This proclamation was inscribed on the sacred papyrus of the priestly caste; it was henceforth known as one of the Doomsday prophecies. It was said that Sethir raised the great god-king Ahkmenhotep from infancy, that he had walked amongst, and instructed the five cities, before they all were amalgamated into Ægyps; it was whispered in hush tones, among the villas and palaces of Pharaoh’s family and courtiers, that Sethir the high-priest was responsible for the initiative that resulted in the creation of the empire, and that it was he, not the god-king, who truly ruled the kingdom. Sethir was famed in the cities of men as one of the legendary age-less ones, and many believed him to be the last surviving member of those known to be immortal. He knew all the mysteries; the winds answered his call, the waters conversed with him, in their own tongue, he knew the individual names of the 7 thunders and he knew of the treasures hidden in the four corners of the earth. He was the greatest sorcerer to ever live, said the Egyptians, and he would continue to live long after all of humanity crumbled away into dust.

The Great Hall

SkollWodin Keep (Skollvurn Forest)

Odo Radagastius, Viscount of the lower reaches of Skoll County in the Low Countries, sat before a sparsely decorated, but grandly acquitted hall. Below his throne platform, a yard from the bottom-most stair, stretched a grand table, with seats for a thousand; two lesser tables, to the sides and beside the colonnade of stone pillars which stretched to the vaulting ceiling over 60 feet high, could accommodate 200 each, but were nonetheless dwarfed by the sheer length and size of the central table. Beyond the colonnades on each wing of the great hall, elegant slim windows, rose into the air to considerable height, and between these windows hung the pennants of the House of Odo Fenrir; the red plain with a black ring around a black wolf head- some hung at half tilt from the tall pillars, swaying like giant silk fans over the hall. Around the semi-circle of the throne dais, on the first and second stair, was arrayed a compliment of 50 of the viscount’s bodyguard, forming semi-circles that created a path in the middle of the stairway to preserve the viscount’s line of sight of the hall. The throne dais occupied a good fifth of the hall; on the platform at the top, where Odo actually sat hung, separate flags with emblems representing the houses of the soldiery represented at the keep- these were set in stone, at cross-angles to one another, behind the throne, some nine posts in all, to represent their allegiance and vassalage to the ruling lord of the fortress and its garrison. Behind these, at the far end of the hall was a semi-circular hollow imposed into the heavily fortified back wall, like a space for a statue, which rose, like the pillars, to the very height of the hall’s ceiling where was interposed a semi-circular dome, of finest, clear glass, which allowed down rays of light on the throne dais in daytime. Towering for almost half of the 60-foot hollow, over the throne and its flags, was a marble statue of Greek Lycanthropy; a towering man-wolf, lower half human but with a bushy, swishing tail, upper half wolf with human physiology, standing on a jagged crag with a terrific snarl on its features. One of the flags of the house was wrapped ceremoniously around the statue, in the old Romani style. This statue stared out over the throne and the rest of the hall from a dominant vantage, and all guests in the hall saw it, and newcomers for the first time, attested that the statue was the greatest show of wealth than any excessive finery and embroidery display.

As Commander Katwulf strode swiftly but not stiffly down the great length of the hall, some officers standing before the throne, in conversation with the count, broke off at the sight of the crowd of villagers’ entrance into the hall, and even the bodyguard on the dais dispersed; they all went to occupy the lesser tables at the sides of the hall- the officers in one, the bodyguard and lesser ranked soldiers in the other. A large but young officer strode up the hall, with three more behind him; the man was easily 7 feet tall in the same reddish, polished armor as Katwulf, but a short, black cape hung from his left shoulder to his right hip, and hung to just under his knees. He had dark hair falling in curtains down both sides of his face, stopping just below his neckline which was covered in chain-mail underneath the armor, but he was otherwise clean-shaven, having no beard or mustache to speak of. As he passed by Katwulf, he inclined his head in a short, respectful nod and the red-haired man turned as he passed by the towering youth,

“Where are you headed now, son of Odo?” he chuckled, as the passing soldier stopped suddenly, looking bashful. The three guards following also stopped short, all saluting commander Katwulf with a clasped right fist raised to their left shoulders. And they stood in the salute stance while their leader conversed with the commander. It all gave the villagers a sense of the immense responsibility placed in Katwulf the herald, who was now their guide in the keep as well.

“Murle’ Wood Swamp” replied the young officer, as he looked commander Katwulf meaningfully in the eye; then there was a sort of growl and deep moan, emanating from both the young officer and the commander. The closer villagers to the two could swear there was a hound somewhere among them- no humans could achieve such sounds with their throats they said to themselves. But Rollo could almost swear it came from the two in conversation; due to Katwulf’s question and the officer stopping to respond, the entire procession of villagers gathered at the keep had come to a halt, mid-hall. Rollo brushed off the odd throaty sounds as some form of secret code of communication between soldiers, and placed no real weight on the issue. Katwulf meanwhile, was responding to the throaty growls with a soft maintained purring of his own. Then suddenly he nodded and saluted the soldiers in a similar fashion, with right fist to left shoulder.

“Then you must make all haste, Siberius. Also, wake up secret weapon number three- you must take it along with you.” Then Katwulf turned to face the crowd of villagers and, with a low bow, announced to them in a clear, audible voice and pointed at the young officer who was turning to make his leave.

“This here is Commander Odo Siberius, Commander of the garrison, and therefore all forces in SkollWodin keep” and there were exclamations of surprise and wonder among the crowd; none had missed the name of the young officer. And Katwulf smiled at the desired effect the news had on the crowd, while Siberius blushed red and looked at his feet.

“Here is the firstborn son of your lord, Odo Radagastius, and future lord of SkollWodin and the tri-fortresses. Acquaint yourselves with the face and bearing, for he is very much your Viscount as is his father”. Then the crowd of men bowed low at the waist but some of the children who didn’t know the formality bowed only the head. Siberius did not offer any greetings or platitude to the gathered villagers; he only nodded and resumed his brisk exit from the great hall with his bodyguard. And many stared after him in wonder, some thankful that they had met two generations of their leaders. Shortly after, the throng was at the foot of the dais, looking up at their lord, seated as he was on his high chair with the martial flags swaying softly behind him.

“Now you shall all present yourselves, as freedmen of the realm, before the Viscount of the lower Reaches.”

***

Radagastius was unlike the stories portrayed the Nordic nobility in all the odes and tales; yes he was tall, perhaps taller than the minstrels had accounted for in the nobility, but he was not fair of hair and features, nor slender like willow or graceful. As each villager went up one by one for introductions, for Katwulf had imperiously insisted that there was time enough, scaring many in the crowd even with a smile on his face, each noticed the battle-hardened features decorating the Viscount as he stood before his high chair now to receive their greetings. The Viscount had only one eye; where his left eye should be was a visceral scarring of tissue that suggested the eye had not been lost gently- though his officers begged him to adorn the scar with an eye-patch in the new manner among sailors of the North Sea, he refused staunchly to adopt such trifles for they would only disturb his concentration. Otherwise the viscount was an almost hulking figure, more like the ogre to be defeated by the graceful lord-knight than the vanquisher himself. He wore armor himself, just like all his officers, perhaps to indicate his preparation for battle in a show of solidarity for his subjects; they never believed the Viscount would actually ride into battle in the eventuality- but the lost eye was beginning to put a lie to that assumption in most of their hearts.

While the norm for armor among the common soldiery was brown, tanned leather hide and grey steel mail underneath, and the officers, like Siberius and Katwulf donned red and black colored steel armor plates over steel chainmail, the Viscount’s armor was entirely black, in a glossy obsidian-like glow beneath the torch flames. The only color was the red wolf head, as opposed to black on the fortress standards, emblazoned on his chest and the black, and a full length cape he wore hanging from his shoulder-plates to below his knees, which was black on the outside but with a deep red interior- this cape by coincidence was the most lavish thing on the count’s person, looking even more opulent than the glossy black armor. He wore no gold or gem stones on his fingers or head and no fabulous pendants hung from around his great neck- immediately, sum in the crowd got the impression of a veteran soldier, committed to the martial crafts, and coupled with the demure and humble bearings of Siberius, the Viscount’s heir, many felt more at home and comfortable with their lord instantly.

As the introductions wove on into the night, straggler families were intermittently escorted by soldier squads, from three to half a dozen or more, into the great hall, briefly distracting all in the hall by their entrance. About an hour or so before the midnight hour, a final group of soldiers was led into the hall, but this time with no villager families in tow. They were led by a man and woman, both of similar stature and facial features, both in the red and black mail and armor worn by the officer class. Behind both these officers some forty soldiers trooped in fine, neat formation; their armor and apparel however, were looking the worse for wear, some only wearing chainmail torn and perforated in places. As they approached the dais were stood the Viscount, the soldiers saluted and came to a halt just before the lowest stair of the dais, were the remainder of villagers to be introduced parted ways for them, while the already introduced had taken seats at the great table. The two officers, man and woman, continued to stride up the stairs towards Odo Radagastius; they stopped a stair short of achieving level with the Viscount and then announced solemnly

“Verdenstadt and Bruuksfurt have been mobilized, but at great cost. We have been invaded fully!”

For the briefest of moments, shock flashed through Radagastius, and the quick and discerning could just about realize the fact from his briefly dilated pupil, then he was a graceful statue once more, revealing nothing before the hall and his subjects. Like in the highest tower previously, his voice barely rose above a growl as he asked, “How many?” The sibling officers, Dromir and Bredda, looked at each other for a brief moment, the gesture alone presaging the ominous nature of their report. Their white blond facial hair and clear, almost milky eyeballs, more than anything identified the two apart from others; together they now faced their liege-lord and together, they answered

“At least half a Romanii Legion; there are auxiliaries coerced from the fair folk or hastily converted for the purpose. The heart of Neinart moves against Verdenstadt through the Murle’ Wood. Bruuksfurt in the middle, with SkollWodin, have been delegated to the auxiliary forces.” Their voices in unison had a mesmerizing effect on the crowd of villagers who had never heard them speak in such manner, never heard any two speak with such precision and accuracy. Bredda, the older of the two, though unknown to the crowd of civilians at the moment continued on her own, in a startling monotone from the dual voices of both siblings earlier,

“We believe their focus this time is fortress Verdenstadt. The auxiliary may just be a distraction, however…” and now Dromir took over the speech; the Viscount was slightly surprised that they had time to show off to the villagers till he remembered that they also spoke simultaneously in times of high stress, a memento from their childhood when they were never separated.

“…Many Serf families have been lost including some on their way here, and the untrained auxiliaries are taking a heavy toll on the neighborhoods of SkollWodin and Bruuksfurt. It seems their standing orders are none at all, just mindless ravaging” continued Dromir, and then they again spoke in unison, pronouncing their verdict to the Viscount

“It is hell in the field, sire. The invasion seems complete…” they finished in silence, heads bowed in mourning for all the deaths they had witnessed on their retreat to SkollWodin, to complete the mission given them by their lord. At this point, the Viscount inclined his head a little so he could see past the siblings; he noticed now that the squadron, 50 men at full power, was a little less than that number and that the men seemed a little worse for wear, with appearance and gear generally more disheveled than when they all embarked at first light. He hung his head for some of the quietest few moments in his life, when he felt like the entire occupancy of the great hall was fixated on him- though he knew the villagers had not heard a word of what Dromir and Bredda had reported, the soldiers had, including those at the other lesser table across the hall, who had not left the keep but had served duty at home that day. Then he sighed, a great deep sigh that echoed of all things portentous- regret, fear, longing, conviction. Again in a low rumble, his eye now peering at the siblings once more, he commanded them-

“For now, join us as I commence the Fidelity Oath of the Theriantophaly- it seems I may have to ride out earlier than I expected. I will have Katwulf administer the Initiation Ceremony on my behalf. Keeping the villagers from panic has become a priority, but truth must prevail still.” He scanned the faces of gathered villagers, the youths and their parents, silent and anxious altogether. “Go now.”

The siblings turned in one fluid movement and descended down the stepped-dais, curving to the right of the hall to seat among the officers, while their squadron marched in orderly fashion to the left to join the soldiers table, knowing as they crossed the hall with heads downturned that their appearance more than all else, inspired more fear than security in those they were sworn to defend and protect. Before the murmurs among the crowd could gain any significant audibility, the Viscount marched forward and descended the steps in a slow and calculated descent, taking them one by one to catch the attention of all in the hall and draw their minds towards himself and the stately podium of his seat of office, with its flags and the towering statue of Fenrir looming behind.

The Viscount had wished to have time for the villagers all to receive and digest the information he would now be sharing with them; he knew from experience that it was particularly difficult information to process, by the most open and willing minds, to say less of critics and the high-minded. More than the imminent battle in Skollvurn forest, maybe as much as soon having to announce the loss in death of their possible neighbors and friends to them, he dreaded the speech that accompanied the Fidelity Oath which he had to administer to the villagers and convince them to take as well as honor with their secrecy. Before he reached the final stair from the dais, he turned and looked back up at the high seat and its flags and he trained his eye longest on the statue of lycanthropy it seemed. He sighed again.

Odo Radagastius looked back at the hall before him, and now his one eye seemed to glow brighter in the din of night that oppressed the shadowed corners and heights of the great space. It was now fast approaching the midnight hour and the keep and grounds of the fortress had taken on that quiet that comes only with deep night and the inactivity of the wild things. And the Viscount began to speak; and he spoke in a voice rich and melodious, like a great orator from the ancient Greek or more recent Romani empire, like one who was born to such things as the forefront of armies and great gatherings.

“I will not prolong your long journey or your day with the tale of Odo Fenrir- I know that it tired me out also when I was the age of the youth before me tonight. It is enough that the statue of that great ancestor hangs over us all at the end of this hall, and that his spirit presides over this keep. And yes indeed, he is my ancestor; from him came Odo Grenrir, my grandfather and founder of the vales of the Skollvurn Forest wherein you all now reside in your various villages and hearths, and from Grenrir came my sire Odo Vastius, builder of the fortresses and battlements that wall the vales and stand as the bastions of our security, and I Odo Radagastius have begotten you Odo Siberius, whom many of you met in this very hall upon your arrival, a worthy and well-equipped young man.

“From my youth, upon my majority, I have kept an old and dear secret. One that was entrusted to my great-grandfather by others just as bound in fidelity to the hidden knowledge that now lies in these vales. For those of you who are hard of heart and credulous, I promise ample proof and explanation though you may all find that there is very little time. I believe commander Katwulf has declared my sanction on your status, all, as freedmen from henceforth?” There were silent nods and murmurs of agreement but all minds were now occupied by the solemn manner of the Viscount’s speech.

“This is done as a gesture, not just of goodwill on my part, but of some necessity. It is a tradition that has been followed by all our ancestors since we have inhabited the shadows and outlands of the forest. When any man or woman would wish to serve in the fortresses, as a defender, they are granted freedom, to take the oath of service as freedmen and freedwomen and to honor the fidelity of the secret of the Skoll woods. I attest that many of all your ancestors partook of the same oath and carried the same secrets I now intend to pass on to you, and I attest to no attempt at maltreatment or subjugation through the sharing of this knowledge. You all are free to indulge the secret and the oath as you see fit, and refusal to keep the secret or take the oath shall not result in your death or exile. I swear it, as lord and Viscount of the Lower reaches and the Skollvurn Forest vales.” At this point he stopped, scanning the villagers again with his one eye, searching for early signs of discomfiture and dissent. For a third time, he sighed. Then he turned his back on the onlookers seated at the tables before him, and facing the dais again, he first stooped low from his waist, so that most of his bulk covered in armor as he was, was now cloaked by his cape. Then he began to jerk oddly and increasingly violently; short, sharp barks escaped from where he stood and the only thing between the strange activity at the bottom stair and the few yards before the tables and their occupants was Katwulf, the commander in red. And he barely flinched, nor did he react to the frightening sounds and gyrations emanating from the body and shape of the Viscount, his lord.

Suddenly Radagastius turned around to face the crowd, and this time he seemed taller than his previous bulk. A foot slipped onto the main floor, but it was not finely-shod as before; now it was hairier, extremely so, and the nails on every toe were longer than natural and turning a dark yellow. Through much growling and yipping, through frightful barks and snapping teeth, the Viscount shivered and shook, and now the villagers broke out in sobs of horror and shrieks of fear. Many had gotten up out of their seats and some suggested a charge out of the great hall to safety away from the maddened Viscount and his forces. At the sounds of the confusion and the displeased elements among the crowd, Katwulf who had been watching as solemnly and quietly as his lord had spoken, let out a single loud and resonating bark; the entire hall except for the convulsing nobleman froze, their hearts skipping to their throats as the more primal instinct in them warned them not to move so much as a hair.

Then the spell was broken as the bell-tower of the keep resounded in the knelling for the mid-night hour, and as the bells rang out, villagers broke out and openly ran for the great doors at the far end of the hall, hysterical in fear. A great howl echoed from behind the fleeing masses, a howl so deep and guttural that the creature itself must have been somewhere in the hall to produce acoustics so original and convincing. Suddenly the fleeing slowed down in their tracks and the frantic felt their heart rates decrease; there was no rationale behind the abrupt reversals of roles in the hall, and deep in their minds the villagers knew that their instincts to flee were justified and the inclinations to return and relax were erroneous. But return they did, many turning in their steps to look back towards the stepped-dais and its flags and statue of the wolf-man. And standing where the Viscount had been, in his black armor and rich cape, stood a wolf-headed man, some eight-and-a-half to near nine foot tall; it stood on its hind-legs like a man would, but those legs were longer than twice the length of the feet of a man of the same height. From behind the wolf-man swung a great and shaggy wolf-tail and on its face, rows of sharp teeth, glistening with saliva, adorned a snarl. The wolf-man growled low and long, and in the heads of all in the great hall swam no thoughts of impending harm or any danger, but a curious notion to stand as still as possible.

*