Call of The Lost

Shadows Calling: Rave

After three weeks hard riding through these frozen mountains my beard is caked with hoarfrost. Cresting one final mountain, I can see Castle Blackfang. It's walls carved into the frozen peaks of the Dragon's Spine mountains, It has stood for more than a thousand years. Once it was known as the graveyard of armies, now it is little more than a tomb for the last remnants of my clan to fight over. Spurring my horse forward I cover the distance to the gate in minutes. A dozen banners hang from the walls of various branch clans all arriving to push for their leadership. There's the crossed swords of the Bloodfangs. The flayed skull of the Warborn, and the bloody mace of the Longclaws. Grimacing, I see the fanged maw of the Goretooth clan, Butchers, they've always been the worst of us. A pair of guards block the gate Bloodfangs with their pair of red handled shortswords.

"State your name and your purpose!" Reaching for my back I show them Ravenheart, both stepping out of my way quickly. I lean down to one, "Is my brother dead?" Shaking his head quickly he replies "No sir, but I'd hurry he has perhaps a few hours left before he joins the halls of our ancestors. Riding quickly I entered the courtyard, and leapt off my horse, sprinting up the stairs to the keep. I throw open my brother's door. There he is, slumped in his bed a withered husk of what he once was. He dies as grandfather dies, the wasting disease has nearly claimed him. He's thin, the muscle that once bound his powerful frame replaced by gaunt skin and thin bone. His eyes make contact with my own.

He addresses me first "Brother?" his voice a hoarse whisper, he extends his hand out to me and clasp his arm with my own. "Do it, the wolf hungers. We were born of these mountains, now it is your duty to return me to them." Weeping I pick him up as gently as I can and carry him out the courtyard. Grabbing a horse we ride North for hours my brother wheezing behind me. As the sun begins to set, I halt and dismount. Easing my brother from the saddle I lay him in the snow. I begin to dig with my hands shoveling a pit out the deep snow. Finding earth I burn a ring into the ground and lay my brother in it. Grasping his hand he whispers the lament our grandfather taught us upon his deathbed.

"The darkness grips my frozen heart, whispers wake me with a start. My mind is left in burning pain, an agony that drives me insane. Let me rest in frozen earth in the lands of my birth. Reaching down I cradle his head in my hands, and snap his neck. I take care to build a mound of snow around him using my flames to shape them into an icy visage of a wolf. Mounting my steed I return to Castle Blackfang. I return late into the night, the castle quiet, the guards merely nod sadly and open the gates. I climb the stairs into the barracks and find an empty bunk to rest. In the morning the whole clan eats breakfast in the feast hall and the castle's steward steps forward.

"It is time to select the new leader of The House of Blackfang, all those who would see themselves as our lord enter the courtyard." Turning abruptly I enter the courtyard and find a corner. Stopping, I look back to see my challengers, there are seven of them. Two Bloodfangs stand shoulder to shoulder twirling their swords slowly twins by the look of them. There's three of the Warborn faces scarred and pitted from years of hard fighting. Two Goretooth clansmen step into the courtyard, the fanged maw tattooed across their face, their faces twitching in barely suppressed rage. The steward steps into the ring grinning, "I reckon I'll have a go as well, it's been awhile since a Longfang has led the clan." flexing his fist long black claws extend from his hands, hooked to tear out a man's innards. Sneering he looks at me, "Ah look, Sir Rave I thought you'd be happier serving some oaf in the lowlands, then again you always figured out a way to be an embarrassment." Hissing at him I shout "Get on with it scum I plan to split your skull in half!" A servant climbs the ramparts and slams his fist against a shield, four times for the four great clans.

We charge each other and the twins seek me out and we clash hard. Bowling over the twin on the left I slam Ravenheart hard into his chin watching him crumple to the ground. Pain slices across my right leg as the other twin catches me with the tip of his sword. Turning swiftly I trap his sword behind my shield and pull him toward me, throwing him to the ground, I kick him in the back of the head. He does not move, turning to survey the other fights. I see the Warborn pressed hard by the Goreteeth, barely able to hold back the hail of blows from the enraged berserkers.