A single howl breaks the silence of the sleeping Stirland Expanse, Ludwig stirring inside his lean-to. The seasoned veteran draws closer his
woolen great-coat, proof against the frigid winds of winter. Accustomed to the
mournful wails of wolves, a chill still runs down his spine as he roses abruptly
from his fitful slumber. Leagues away from the sheltering walls of Bevrorenhaven,
leagues away from strong drink and stronger women, leagues away from safety….
Exhausted and starving, Ludwig had collapsed,
barely enough strength left in his body to erect the crude wooden shelter and
snuggle inside before fresh snow began to fall. All traces of his passage through
the canyon now gone, as if he never existed. In the pink of the full moon
above, he waited, clutching at his oaken pistol, one of the few possessions he
carried after the War of Ostermark Succession had run its ruinous course.
A deserter, Ludwig had seen enough death at the
hands of foppish leaders playing at war, their glory, his death. His rucksack held
the soddened remains of his Stirland colors, yellow and emerald, hidden from view.
His frozen feet ached at this point; he could only imagine the now forming
blackness of frostbite taking hold. He would need a leech once he reached Bevrorenhaven,
of this, he was sure.
And then he sees it, a monstrous black dot emerging
from the wood line of the canyon, lopping towards the ex-Imperial soldier with
purpose and malice.
Numb fingers shaking from the cold, Ludwig
steadies his had as best he can, and slowly cocks back the trigger on his
pistol, his one shot, his one chance. His mind numbly acknowledges the approaching
monster, even as his body fights to move. Shaking his violently, Ludwig forces
his body to obey, the fetid breath of the beast reaching the lean-too,
increasing its speed to a slavering charge as it bore down on its prey. Standing
and aiming, Ludwig pulls the trigger.
The report of the pistol shatters the silence, its
discharge roaring in his ears. As he looks beyond the lean-too, he sees the
beast sprawled in the snow, blood pumping from a going wound in its now ruined
face. He had done it! The years of practice paying off as his shot was true. Soon
the beast fell silent, and Ludwig dropped to his knees in the snow, his arms
crossed in suppressed gratitude that Sigmar had guided his hand. He cried out
the Nordland Expanse with screams of joy, which suddenly caught in his throat.
More than a half dozen more black shapes have emerged from the wood line,
moving towards the lean-too.
Ludwig had forgotten, wolves travel in packs…
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