It had been a long campaign of destruction, Feidlimid's warband had set out almost a month ago to sea. They had left in search of plunder and women, standard viking fare. It wasn't till they had stumbled upon Castle Fortiner that they had met an impasse. Their previous raids to this location had come at little price, the people were meek and untrained. They hadn't a single proper warrior among their ranks, they were slaughtered like dogs three times over. Somehow, this fourth raid had unexpectedly been difficult. Someone had taught them to fight, as well as raise a wall strong enough to keep the warband out.

At least for a while.

It wasn't just the Berserkers, there were several other bands of Vikings along with them. A few of the more sane warriors told them to wait. They saw their garrison and waited until they had taken the drawbridge to take the drug. Slurping down the burning drink they burst through their ranks and slaughtered them in their streets. Burning their homes and dragging of their food and women, a few of the less violent sorts brought their plunder back to the ships while the Berserkers did most of the work.

It was actually impressive how well they had held back the Warbands, though ultimately fruitless. With that acidic poison pumping through their veins, the berserkers strength overwhelmed even the most skilled of fighters. None stronger than Feidlimid, with his tremendous axe he splintered the greatest of shields and crushed their strongest warrior with a single swing. They pleaded and begged, running and screaming. With no care for their well-being or his own, Feidlimid cut them down in swathes.

The raid lasted a day, and when the Berserkers had finally cooled down things started to settle in. Some of the raiders relaxed in the homes of those they had slaughtered, others celebrated in the streets. Drinking and holding revelry, laughing and dancing.

The Raven sat at the gates, unmoving, unblinking. Something compelled him to look eastward, there was something there. He felt it in his gut, it pained him, knowing that there was something out there that he had missed. Someone whose blood hadn't been shed.

His teeth grinding inside his head, a horrible scraping noise escaping his lips. "The East." He muttered. "The E-a-s-t." Dragging the word out, it left his mouth as slowly as sap drips down a tree. It obsessed him.

The thought consumed him.

Now the streets of the city were charred, the fires still crackling in some places. Bedding had been burned and most of the valuables had been looted. The city dead and only drunkards and revelers remained within, a few stragglers from the warband who were locked in thought or simply wanted to relax were still here and there.

The stone streets that once bore carts and children now adorned with the corpses of man and child, anything that wasn't of use was destroyed. It was a ruinous fortress, the walls broken and battered, the homes destroyed and pilfered. It was a shame too.

The land that surrounded the castle was so beautiful. Tall grasses swaying in the winds, slight golden fringes at the top of their stalks. Trees growing high into the air, beautifully adorned with glistening fruit. Smoke from the burning buildings now wafted over the grassland, giving a smokey tinge to all in sight.

It stood atop a seaside cliff, the waters below so crystal and blue. Ropes and ladders from the raiders were still hanging off the cliff, it was how they had gotten in. Waves gently lapping at the heel of the cliff, soft white foam built around its head.

If it weren't for the destruction that had destroyed the castle, it would have been a beautiful sight to behold. Now it was nothing more than another grave.

"Hmm."
"Hm."
"Hmmmmmmmm."
"Perplexing."
"Huh."

The shadow soldier stared at the photograph in his hand, then back at the devastated wasteland around him. A fire burned solitary in the ruins of a house to his right, and what used to be a castle stood ahead of him. The grasses were fertile and green but stained with blood, and some of the trees were off kilter, their trunks broken and torn.

Cho scratched his head and took a look at the photograph again. It described a castle with a relief so ornate, it didn't belong in a place full of wanton destruction like this. His weapons bore the same confused looks on their faces, each trying to figure out if the pile of rubble ahead of them was the right building or not.

"I swear this isn't the place."

"Maybe you shouldn't have taken that left turn at Albuquerque, boss."

He sighed as his weapons, save for his pistol, giggled and chuckled in amusement at the "joke".

"Very funny, Barr."

"Whaaaaat?"

"In any case, I guess we could look for a local or something to ask about this place. If this is the right castle, then we're in luck. If not, then it's another few days of wandering for us."

Saying that, he kept the photo and walked towards the ruined castle. Mayhaps someone there could tell him more about this place.

Kolskegg sat apart from the remaining warband. The haunch of meat lay in a wooden trencher, a flask of the sweetest mead poured with delicate care into the finest goblet he had managed to find. Feet dangling from the cliff, watching the roll and majesty of the sea below, the Gothi savored the lamb.

“All-Father, tell me why have you deemed me come with these raiders? Have I not earned my peace already?”

Taking another savory bite, he exhaled softly, he never expected an answer. Odin, the Gray Wanderer, the One-Eyed, the All-Father rarely answered anyone. Whatever his reason for being here must become evident soon enough, he was growing weary of those he raided with. Raising his eyes from the sea towards the far distant lands, a restlessness stirred in him again. There was more to life than raid and plunder.

After a long moment in quiet solitude, he stood, tossing the bone towards the large hound that had followed him.

“Alright then, since you deem my question beneath you. I swear One-Eye, I shall not follow these raiders another step unless ye kin me an answer to my question.” Kolskegg shouted towards the sky, he had sworn an oath to Odin and he meant to keep it. Not a step further on the raiders trail would he venture until he had his answer.

Hefting his shield, Kolskegg gaped, for the briefest moment he thought he saw two large ravens fly away from the ruins of the castle. Securing his sword and his pouch upon his belt he scowled briefly in contemplation.

“Huginn! Muninn!” he shouted as he ran towards the castle, “Bah, I spied ye, have you come as a warning or to provide the answer I asked?” His voiced carried, deep and rich with a hint of mirth as he crossed the high grasslands to reach the ruins. Behind him, the large hound loped lazily, the bone lolling in his maw.

Spying the ravens as well, something of who he once was tinged inside of him. The sight of a raven always filled him to the brim with dread. Sharing his name, ravens always gave the warrior a phantom feeling of who he once was. Feidlimid hated ravens.

Without some divine calling to tell him what to feel, Feidlimid too felt something pulling at him. Maybe there was some divine calling, something did tug frightfully at his heartstrings. Tugging at his very core, telling him there was something to the East. Perhaps some Great One called to him, pulling him along by his hand towards danger once again. Or maybe it was lunacy. Lunacy that told him that there were going to be plunder and bloodshed to the east. Was the sense of want ever wrong? Does the heart of a man ever tell him to do what he truly thinks is wrong?

Probably, but philosophy is lost on the Undying Raven.

This pull, this drive.

It called to him strongly, like a screaming in his ears. Banging on his head, the Raven clutched at his own forehead and grumbled. Feeling the furs of his strange garb rub between his fingers gave a scarce feeling of comfort, but the calling still drummed his skull. It compelled him to stand, it willed him to grasp the handle of his weapon. Sunken blade dragging from the dirt where it had fallen to rest.
With some strange staggering steps forward from his resting place, Feidlimid lurched forward. The axe dragging its blade deeply through the dirt, a line of torn earth behind his every unsettling step.

As he began walking, his mouth had begun speaking of its own accord. Drawing him forward as he hollered in a maddened tone. "The East! Must go East!" Saliva flecked from the edges of his mouth, every syllable clicking his filed teeth against one another. Repeating his cry with more intensity as he began walking faster and faster.

The other warriors watched him with sad or bemused eyes, the warrior had clearly lost his mind. Most ignored his shouting, others watched him walk off. Whatever he was shouting about was likely nonsense, those most strongly addicted to the Berserker Drug are never sane.

"No one."

The daemon known as Barr leapt deftly down from one of the stone parapets, even as the rest of Cho's arsenal rejoined him outside. Barr was a gangly daemon, roughly two feet in height, a winged creature with gangly limbs and more sharp claws and teeth than one could count. His countenance was more of a bat than anything else, and as he glided down on a gentle breeze he landed on Cho's shoulder and preened a wing.

"Most perplexing. Sieges like these usually yield at least one or two wounded men, sire."

Hek spoke up, his voice piercing the quiet. He was a more traditional looking daemon; roughly seven feet tall, two long crimson horns sprouting from a dragon-looking head, soulless black eyes and a body most weight lifters would envy, together with legs that ended in cloven hooves and a long, whiplike tail with serrated spines. His arms were folded as he contemplated the ruins before them.

"You think?"

"I am positive, sire. This must've been a sacking. Leave no one alive. And it must've been recent. Their blood is still fresh."

"Hm."

Cho stood on the steps to what would have been the grand entrance to the castle; the footbridge was down, and it was littered with fallen swords and shields, arrows jammed into the wood, along with lots of spilled blood, limbs and bodies that were quite fresh. Whatever force had lain waste to this castle certainly had nothing in terms of mercy.

"What do we do now boss? There's nothing here!"

Kris piped up from his chest. The submachine gun was still that, a submachine gun; the daemon within still had not learned nor mastered how to change form to her regular daemon shape and back again yet. The others had, and it infuriated her. Cho looked down at the Vector with her two pairs of eyes and shrugged.

"We wait, I guess. Perhaps someone will come along to salvage what's left."

That being said, he found a particularly large foundation stone and sat upon it, his daemons taking their places next to him.

Kolskegg ran forward when out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. Always a cautious man, he slowed his pace. His voice lowering slightly he instinctively touched the black pouch hanging from his belt. Walking with slow, deliberate steps, he uttered a prayer to the gods.

"Great Aesir, Mighty Vanir,
Gods of eternal power,
Fulfill my greatest needs, O glorious ones.
Teach me the magic I need.
Give me a glimpse of your deep wisdom.
Mighty Aesir, the immortals of Asgard.
Ancient Vanir, protectors of Yggdrasil
You who are the shape shifters, the slayers, the independent ones.
Give me the strength in magic I need."

As he finished a surge of light surrounded him, radiating away in a burst and filling him with a warmth. A grin broke his face as he eyed the ruins, “Well, One-eye, I see you have something afoot. What could it be? Jotans? Have you sent Loki to test me? Perhaps the Dökkálfar or Ljósálfar? Truly, Gray Wanderer, I shall meet thy challenge eagerly.”

Stopping 30 yards from the ruins of the castle, Kolskegg loosened his sword and hefted his shield around so that it covered nearly his frame save for his legs and head. Eyes scanning the ruins he watched for movement. There! In the shadows of the ruined walls he thought he saw something.

“You, Odin’s challenge. Hear me! I am Kolskegg, son of Hrolleif, grandson of the mighty Skallagrim of whom many are the songs and stories! I have come from the fight where I alone slew five, furious in the fell play of wound wands! From Skaggerak to Skye my sword is known, and in Skane and among the Skrit-Finns they sing dirge-songs where I've slain their sons! Greater deeds than these shall I gain, garnering fame like grains of gold! In this test shall my wound-wand strike hard against the steel of byrnies, so all hear them sing their sad, dire song if the fell creature set by Odin is to be my challenge come forth, I await thee!"

With that Kolskegg set his feet apart, weight balanced on the balls of his feet as he eyed the ruins. His hand hovered near the now open-mouthed bag, ready to grasp the first runes his fingers touched.

As he left the gates and crossed the nearest hill, he saw him. Some driving force of nature was pulling the Raven towards the demon, the slight smokey blackness of his eyes made the Berserker's heart pound in his chest. No emotion registered in his mind, but his body was shaking with fear. This was no human, nor was it a kind being. Through and through, whatever this being was, it was demonic in nature. It filled his core with a primal fear, fear of the unknown. The disconnect from his body and his mind was evident when he forced himself forward, he was several paces away from the eastern warrior and his steps were slow and plodding. The leather of his shoes dug into the earth with every step, as though his body was actually trying to resist moving towards the demon.

"Y-o-u." He muttered inaudibly, the word dragged from his lips. Like a nervous child hesitating to speak. Again his lips parted and he roared, the words muffled by his numerous pelts. "You!" Accusingly raising his hand, extending his left index towards him. Something about this horror made him thirst for blood, this demon was drawing him in. Even with his clouded mind, he was aware that this could all be part of the demon's musings. Maybe it was like the angler, with his bait thrown to water to draw in easy prey.

Feidlimid didn't care, he wanted blood. "Explain. Explain to me." As he marched he spoke, the hand that was thrust forward so accusingly was now grasping the neck of his bottle. He had used up nearly half of it in the raid, but half a bottle of juice would be more than enough. "Why? Why!? Why do I want this!? Explain it to me!" The words that passed him were nonsense, or at least, very vague and with much too much room for misinterpretation. The demon would have to figure it out on his own, the berserker wasn't going to explain.

The patience of The Raven had always been thin, and he was already drawing the bottle towards his lips. Even as he was marching towards him, with his blade dragging far behind. There was no playing, there was no respect of standard practice of a duel. Feidlimid was going to kill the demon now, so he could stop feeling again.

To stop feeling the pull.

So he could stop thinking.

"Y-o-u."

"Hm?"

The blonde-haired, muscular Norse warrior strode confidently out of the forest edge and into the clearing. His voice rang clear through the silence, startling Cho to his feet. Tac, Barr and Hek all turned, various claws and teeth bared at the threat, while Kris leaped into his hands, ready and waiting to be fired. Yet, he didn't. This...warrior, was different. In his hand he held a flask of some strange liquid, and the other was raised, an index finger pointed accusingly at him.

This...was strange.

"YOU!"

"Me?"

"Explain. Explain to me. Why? Why!? Why do I want this!? Explain it to me!"

"Why? Why what? I don't understand, what happened here?"

With SMG still pointed at the ground in front of the advancing Norse warrior, he held his ground, a hand held up with palm out. The universal sign to stop.

There were sounds, voices. Angry voices. Yet they sounded familiar. Spotting the two men, Kolskegg halted, his eyes grew large spotting the sorcerer Cho.

“Cho? Cho!” Kolskegg shouted at a distance, his voice carrying perhaps enough, perhaps not. The appearance of Cho was a portent of magic. The last time he had faced Cho he nearly died and, in fact, had killed Cho. But implored Hel to release the spirit of the man back into his body.

Moving slowly as Cho and the Berserker . . . What was his name again? Fóthraðr? Freygeirr? No, that wasn’t it. Freygeirr had been a shield Jarl whom he faced the Jotuns with. Freyviðr? Friðgeirr? No, no, no . . . Friðgeirr owed him a half-dozen sheep and a cask of mead, no two casks. Feidlimid? That sounded right, Feidlimid. Yes, that was it.

Moving with some haste as the Berserker would most likely provoke a fight with the sorcerer, who had travelled to Hel’s lands and come back changed, that much he had noted when he last spoke with the man.

Would he reach them in time? Perhaps, perhaps not. If they came to blows who would he side with? Would he side with Cho? Odin had sent him here, was this then his test? He’d face the metal sorcerer again? Truth be told, he would not mind that. Eying the repaired hole in his shield where the might staff pierced it. It had been a good day, he had killed many of Cho’s company and nearly lost his life.

“Odin you have sent me a worthy challenge then! I swear though your shield maidens will have to wait to cull one of us to your hall. We shall fight and drink, then fight again!”

Shouting behind him and confusion before him, an all too familiar feeling of bloodlust and burning as he downed the blistering beverage. The flesh in his throat, long since ruined, rose again with hot welts of acid burns. Eternal burning was one of the many prices to pay to become one of the fiercest warriors imaginable. Cho's confusion made rage boil in his veins, or perhaps it was the quick work of the drug. There would be no answer to his question either way. Whipping the bottle from his mouth and to the ground, the pouch hit the ground with a slightly hefty slap. There was nothing left in it, it was just a rather heavy container.

Around him, the air began to feel colder and colder on his skin, and his flesh began to burn from within. Slowly his body began to sweat, saliva foamed from the edges of his mouth. "You, why!? I'm drawn to you! Drawn to kill! I don't want to feel anymore! Let me stop feeling!" With a roaring cry he leaned back and dragged his blade from the loose leather strap on his waist, its heft and girth tearing the ground as it was pulled. With no sense left in him, Feidlimid stepped forward at the sorcerer and began a wide swing of his blade. He pulled itself from the dirt and slashed through the air with ease, and could easily slash a man in two.

But his vision had gone near entirely red, and depth perception had gone out of the window. All that would hit Cho would be a gust of wind, as it swung harmlessly a foot or so away from his chest. The demon could misinterpret this as a warning swing, but it was a combination of incompetence and poor vision. Upon realizing his first swing had met with no flesh, he would step forward again and again. Swinging its bulk back and forth towards the same spot on his body. Aiming to cleave him in half and end both Cho's life and his own feeling.

"Kol? Kol! What're you doing here?!"

Cho took a few steps back from the now slowly advancing Viking, the chop swinging harmlessly by as he raised his SMG and placed his finger on the trigger. The crazy-looking warrior just ahead of him was miles away from the friendly bearded face a few feet behind him, but right now he had to make distinctions. Kolskegg posed him no threat, unless he wanted a spar, but this new face...something else entirely.

"Fellas, back in weapon mode, we have a fight."

The three daemons behind Cho reacted immediately, transforming from flesh and blood into plastic and steel, deadly weapons that were caught by tendrils of darkness that extended from his back. Each weapon slapped back into its place; sniper on his back, pistol on his thigh and knife on his waist, and thus his combat form was complete.

He backpedaled a few more steps and, with finger tight round the trigger, sprayed a three round burst at the Viking's legs, aimed at his left knee to incapacitate. Black ink bolts spat forth from the SMG's barrel, and if the warrior took the hits, these bolts would feel like someone took a club and bashed him straight over the knees with each hit.

Kolskegg snarled as he watched the events unfold before him. The Berserker was engaging the human sorcerer, something was amiss. Or was it? Had the All-Father sent Cho here or was this the work of Loki?

Pulling his hand from the rune bag, Kolskegg cast the flaming runes into the air. As he did so he shouted aloud, “Cho it seems once again we are pitted against one another for the amusement of the gods.”

Finishing the statement he took a step forward as the first whorls of snow fell from a once clear sky. Swirling black clouds appeared suddenly as if Ymir himself had breathed upon the trio. Kolskegg had drawn Ymir’s Vex of Frost- This rune when cast surrounds Kolskegg in a persistent snowfall. The snow obscures him and lowers the temperature around Kolskegg in a 50-yard radius to 15 degrees. Kolskegg is immune to the effects of the cold and can create drifts of snow that act as temporary walls within that effect radius. It would take a moment before the full force of the rune’s magic was evident but the falling snow would be enough warning.

Drawing Alyward from it’s sheath, Kolskegg laughed mirthlessly as he advanced upon the other two. “If we are to be visited by the Sheild Maiden let us be worthy of it.”

It was like a strange and violent work of art how quickly the barbarian reacted to the demon's movement. Not even knowing what gunpowder is, let alone a gun, the Raven's reaction to his movement was as fluid as a man who had fought against a gunman time and time again. Immediately as Cho drew back to withdraw his weapon, in that slight pause that was an opening he leapt on even the slightest sliver of weakness or exposure. That red tunnel vision locked tightly on Cho's chest as his weapons materialized. Disarmed is exposed, no matter how short your window is if you're not swinging your weapon.

Feidlimid lunged harshly to the left and his weapon cut a clean swathe through the dirt, tundra grasses were peeled form the earth's surface and flung into the air as he began a second, much fiercer swing. Mid leap, he twisted himself and planted his left foot harshly to the ground and pulled with hsi tremendous might. It slingshot from the near-static position it had started in straight towards the easterner's chest. Just before he could belch fire and slime from his guns, Feidlimid was already leaping straight into real action.

That's what he needed. Quick movements draw his eyes, they're like flames that flicker just in the center of his vision. When everything blurs together you need to learn how to analyze what you can see, even if you're not a terribly analytic mind.

Now the swing itself wasn't a killing blow, as he had just swung his weapon and the blunt of his axe was facing towards the exposed Cho, but whether or not it connected or if Feidlimid was to be shot shortly after moving was up to the reactions of the eastern warrior in response to the sudden and unexpected movement.

"Oh for cryin' out loud! I was just looking for directions! Kol you owe me a drink after this!"

Cho backpedaled some more, opening up the distance between himself and the errant Viking as his swing went wide. Grass and clods of dirt shot into the air and pelted his face and chest as he sidestepped and ran outward into the field, creating a huge open gap between his opponents.

As he ran, he twisted his body and fired at the Viking, squeezing full bore on the trigger as he coated the floor and walls of the ruined castle with shadows. Whether or not any shadow bolts actually hit his first opponent, the chances were highly unlikely since he wasn't even aiming properly, but that was his intention. Still, he needed to open up some space in between the raging Viking and his friend Kol, who had just summoned the ice spell that he'd encountered once before.

After running a few feet away he stopped, his SMG now down on his chest as he drew his sniper rifle. Without caring to aim, he pointed its barrel in Feid's general direction and pulled the trigger. A Shredder round screamed straight for the Viking's right side, though it was fairly easy to dodge.

Each stride took Kolskegg closer to the Berserker and Cho. Each stride caused the swirling snow and dropping temperatures to surge forward towards them. The sword, drawn and ready, the shield set as Kolskegg roared with a lusty howl and defiant cry to Odin.

“All-Father prepare your great hall for the valiant are coming!”

Finding a set of broken stones, once the foundation for another castle, the burly Viking laid foot upon the top and hurled himself towards the two combatants. Swirling snow blasted forward in a cone that rapidly covered the ground in several inches of snow. The fury of Ymir was falling now, as the chill cascaded over the ground, the stone Kolskegg stood upon and all it could reach. Cover them in an icy frost that would cause frostbite and hypothermia in a short time as the gale winds carried with the snow.

Landing several dozen feet from the Berserker, dropping to one knee, and quite a distance from Cho, Kolskegg rose up slowly, “My friend, another fight then, between warriors true!”

Again the sorcerous demon spat its evil spells towards the warrior, a few of its bullets raked across his left arm. Puncturing his bicep before passing through him, its speed barely halted by his mortal flesh. Pain would normally have seared across him, but the strange numbness and burning of the berserker rage was drowning out whatever pain the demon could provide. The chase was on, and the air had somehow grown more frigid.

A problem for the weak.

His body had begun to steam in the cold of the air, through the nostrils and eyeholes of his pelted beasts. His own eyes bloodshot, visible through the eyeholes of a bear, glared down at Cho. Movement, retreat, chase and kill. Though he didn't seem aware of it, Feidlimid was hot on the sorcerer's tail. Dragging behind him, his weapon tore the earth apart more and more as he ran. The noise was tremendous, though not enough to drown out the speach of Kolskegg. A wizard, magic user ilk. Barely noticeable as the Raven chased his prey, though possibly the source of the cold.

With his blade in his left arm, and blood oozing down his sleeve, Feidlimid chose upon an easier method of attack as Cho turned around. Whipping his weapon and firing off another shot, directly into his right kidney and out the back of his torso. Blood stained the ground behind him and the newly fallen sleet from Kol's frost magics.

As Cho spun around to unleash his own attack, Feidlimid had raised his right arm upwards and threw a harsh punch towards the throat of the demon. Even before his opponent had turned to face him, he knew that he was about to turn. A marksman always turns while retreating, an attempt to catch their enemy off guard as they flee. It doesn't work on Berserkers, they're too fast, even in their heavier armor.

A normal human couldn't reply to an attack like this, but the Raven wasn't normal.

He was a beast given the body of a man.

The Shredder tore through the warrior's torso and landed in the dirt.

Cho's speed wasn't bad, but this guy was no joke either. In the time it'd taken him to stop, spin around, shoulder his rifle and take a shot, he'd gotten straight in his face. A fist screamed for his chin as the recoil of the rifle hit his shoulder.

Instead of trying to dodge forward, Cho rolled with the recoil. As Tac's stock impacted his shoulder, he used the momentum to accelerate a backward lean, ensuring his evasion of the incoming uppercut.

The Viking was in close. Just to his advantage.

While the beefy fist screamed by his face, Cho took his left hand off Tac's grip and directed it towards Barr's sheath on his belt. Feid's swing was almost over as his hand came to rest on the combat knife.

This man was fast. But Cho could prove that he was faster.

With Barr in a backhand grip, Cho pulled him out of his sheath and swiped upwards as fast as he could while taking a step backward. The sharp blade was aimed straight for Feid's uppercut arm, hoping to score a cut along its length.