[color=000000][b]Villa von Sturmkirk, Schattenwald[/b][/color]

The snow had ceased to fall, but the skies remained an unbroken slate grey. Even the sun could not penetrate such thick clouds, casting a muted light over the land below. Volkimir Sturmkirk looked out upon the gardens of his ancestral home, barren of branch and cloaked in white. Wind whipped through his ghostly hair as it blew past him; such a chill would cut through a lesser man like grim death, but this was no ordinary man. The balcony he stood upon had been equally covered by the recent snowfall, each booted footfall loudly packed more fresh snow underfoot. Volkimir's golden eyes peered out over the wintry lands with steely resolution, his brow furrowed in thought. His hands, for now merely a sickly pale coloration, gripped the balcony railing tightly as he continued this somber meditation.

His solitude was broken by an older voice from behind him. "Out here again, boy? I thought you would have given up by now." Wulfgang Sturmkirk slowly tread through the snow on slippered feet, casually approaching the other vampire. While his face was older, and his body bent by age the strong features of the Sturmkirk bloodline were clear as day on Wulfgang. As were the golden eyes of their cursed lineage. "There's no sense in pondering this any longer. This is the Fimbulwinter, just as in the old legends."

Volkimir did not seem particularly receptive to the "elder" vampire's suggestions. "I am more wondering why I bothered allowing you grounds privileges, if you merely utilize them to pester me."

Wulfgang laughed. "My apologies, [i]milord[/i]." He stressed the term of address to emphasize his contempt. "I suppose I'll just return inside and play the part of the well-behaved noble captive." Wulfgang took a sip from the glass of bloodwine he held, and laughed again.

Volkimir was not in the mood to jest. He turned on his heel, the fur robes cloaking him flaring like flower petals from his forceful movement, and strode back inside. As he stormed past the other vampire, Wulfgang feigned having been shoved, only to laugh again at Volkimir and follow him indoors. Whereas the younger vampire did not bother to shake the snow from his boots, Wulfgang took the time to change from garden slippers back to house slippers, and followed after his captor.

"We'll survive this, though." Wulfgang continued, as though he had never been interrupted. "We've survived worse. That is the reason for our curse. We will endure. Carry on the old ways, even as they are forgotten. It will take more than the end of the world to end us."

Volkimir stopped and looked back at the aged vampire. There was anger in his eyes, but also something else: a certain weariness, wrought with impatience and worry. "Enough with your folktales, old man. The world is ending no more than you are finally dying, as loathe I am to admit it." Wulfgang scoffed at this, and again sipped his wine. "I will find the cause for this, and I will end this unnatural season." Volkimir turned to continue to stalk the halls of the ancient manor, and once more Wulfgang bemusedly followed him.

"If that's the case, I don't understand what upsets you so. Winter is the season of dead things, and we, my boy, are they. It's been ages since I've been able to enjoy strolls through the garden after breakfast. If you forget, surviving famine happens to be our forte."

"If you forget," Volkimir spat, no longer stopping to speak with the other vampire, "Humans do not keep well in the cold. Pray tell, what do you think will happen if they starve to death?"

Wulfgang's brow furrowed, and he rolled his woolen-robed shoulders. "From where does this sudden interest in humans spring? Perhaps my memory is not what it once was, but I do recall you partaking in breakfast just this morning. What was her name? Victoria?"

"Quiet, you old fool! I wouldn't trust you to remember my father's name." Volkimir snapped at him. That struck a nerve. Truly no one knew how to get under his skin better than his family. "Too much dust has settled in your brain, but I would be happy to beat it out of you." Once again, Wulfgang merely laughed and sipped his wine. Volkimir shook his head in frustration. Were truly none of the others capable of seeing the greater good that laid beyond their own endless hunger?

"Master!" A greasy, gurgling voice sounded from a hall away. Volkimir stopped as the voice approached. "Master! The scouts have returned!" Running down the hall as fast as its misshapen legs would carry it was Oglor, a spectacle of ill-fated science left unchecked. A haemonculus crafted by a Schattenwalder alchemist, Oglor was a petulant lump of sweaty flesh, carried about by its undersized limbs. "Master, reports from the scouts have arrived." Oglor said, waddling up to Volkimir to hand him a stack of papers. Volkimir accepted them, and Oglor waited nearby, its single, glassy eye staring on expectantly.

The reports were much of what he expected; this endless winter was much the case for the surrounding lands, which fared no better. If anything the hardly smallfolk of Schattenwald were better prepared for this eventuality. They were a curious and determined folk to continue to work their ancestral fields despite the land's curse, and even a supposed portent of the end of the world did little to deter them. However, two letters attached to the documents piqued his interest. One was essentially a threat; a triad of would-be conquerers held the world at ransom with winter unending. The other called for heroes of the land to meet at a particular location to pool efforts to rid the world of this threat. At last, Volkimir found reason to smile.

"Ah, what's this, then?" Wulfgang asked, and Volkimir passed him both letters. Adjusting his spectacles, Wulfgang read over the letters. "These are both addressed to Sir Guffrey. Doesn't he live in the keep beyond the Estwald? I suppose we were below notice. More's the pity."

"Bring my scribes, Oglor. And send word to the stablemasters; I will be leaving within the fortnight." Volkimir began barking orders to the creature as he began to account for the supplies needed for this expedition.

"You're answering this summons, Vova?" The elder vampire asked. "After so much effort in taking this land back from me, from the rest of your kind, you're just going to abandon it?" He seemed incredulous, yet also guarded.

Now Volkimir scoffed. "The land will still be here when I return. I haven't left you enough allies to take it back. And even should you manage to regain some paltry political control, upon my return I shall be the triumphant hero, heralded by angels and followed by spring. You will still be a tyrant. Who will the people of Schattenwald side with once more?"

Wulfgang laughed. "Well said. I nearly regret having raised you to be so clever. You are a formidable enemy, my grandson."

[hr]

A blizzard roared, and the land became a ceaseless ocean of white. Even so, black shapes on the horizon stood out as strongly as ravens on an overcast sky. Numbering no more than a dozen, they raced ahead on a buried road, the blinding snow scarcely a hindrance. As they came closer to their destination, it was clear that these were riders on ebon steeds. Black cloaks and black horses, their breakneck gallop continued toward the tower of white and gold, their mounts sure-footed in the mounting snowdrift. As they neared the moat of the tower, they pulled back on the horses' reins, causing the mounts to rear up and shriek in unearthly tones.

A lead rider deployed a banner, a black eagle on a red field, and sounded a horn to gain the attention of whatever gatesman manned the drawbridge. The horses stamped impatiently, grinding their fangs together. Red eyes and midnight-black coats, no mist erupted from the nostrils of these steeds, as they did not breathe at all. Knights in ebony armor surrounded a central figure, robed in heavy furs of black, golden eyes shining out from the shadows of its hood.