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Branimir Déorhidh held his broadsword aloft, stoic and grim faced against the overwhelming foes before him. These creatures not seen in any great numbers for generations. The Gundarogs. Perhaps they had hidden in caverns even further underground than their homes his ancestors had sacked years before. Perhaps they had found a forested home above ground in the dense leaves of Thangor. It mattered little to the warrior Thane. This small boar hunt was to be the last hunt he would go on before his son Wulfric came of age. Now he knew this would be his last hunt in this life. But what Thangor would not want to die this way? To fall upon the blood of his enemies, sword cracked from use and a roar on his lips. 

For some reason now, however, he was silent. It was a quiet, inner rage that simmered in his broad chest. The heat of his righteous fury even dulled the two black arrows embedded in his torso. He had only donned light armor this day, but his chain mail hauberk was sturdy iron. Three arrows would be stuck within him if not for the strong iron, leaving the last arrow a mere glancing blow. 

His entourage was dead now. Slain in an ambush, and as the Dragon Gods would have it, he was the last still breathing. Three he had cloven and felled, but more were approaching. Apparitions of death within the forest. Out of all of the unknown horrors this wood could produce, it would be a long forgotten foe that was to challenge Branimir. Now his life would end, he told himself. His dark eyes narrowed, and he breathed in through his nostrils. Not without a fight. 

In the distance, a wolf howled. "No," he whispered, and smiled grimly. "Not without a fight." 
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Ragex the Drabarian stood before the High Thane of all Thangoradrim, Beolfric Dormgrad. Both were dressed ornately. The Drabarian was brown scaled and towered over the tall man, wearing heavy plate armor of Baldr, with a red cape flowing behind him. In truth, they were both old friends from Beolfric's youth. The High Thane, whom other nations would most likely refer to as King, stood tall and powerful, despite the years that had turned a bit of hair grey. He wore a long coat of bear hide with his casual leather armor of fine make, his bronze crown atop Beolfric's golden head. Today would not be like the casual meetings that he and the Drabarian representative often had. Today was the day of judgement. 

"So...after three centuries, it comes?" Beolfric asked his trusted friend. The huge Dragon warrior nodded, massive scaled arms crossed before his trunk-like chest. "It does, old friend. The Druids, and our Doomsayers, have all begun to agree. It is the time of war. The time of return." In the corner, next to the lit brazier, was Fenrir, Beolfric's Storm Wolf. He lay curled, lazing by the fire as the meeting commenced. As large as a draft horse and covered in violet fur, he'd been Beolfric's companion and mount for nearly three decades, and only now was he beginning to show a bit of grey, just as his master. As the talk of the End Times began, he lifted his big head, ears up attentatively. He yawned, large jaws opening up. The other two payed him no heed, other than a brief smile from the High Thane. 

"It seems to have come at the right time. Dark have my been my dreams, of late." Beolfric said, sitting down upon his throne. "We have sent ships north to this forbidden Kingdom of the dead, as well as to distant lands we know of. Raids upon our home have become more frequent. Our Druids have told of dark whispers in the forest. A long forgotten enemy returning. And if Felgenhalst truly returns soon..." he could not quite finish the thought. He had hoped that trade would commence soon with new nations. Perhaps bring prosperity to his people. Perhaps some of the Druids like Valya were correct, and the End of Time was merely a new beginning for his people? Still, he let his words linger. Ragex let out a large breath, a sound like an engine revving. "We will face these times with bravery and strength, my friend. And to help you in leading your people, I have a gift from the Three Mountains." 

Reaching into his pack, he produced something long wrapped in cloth. Beolfric looked to his old friend, and then to the item in his clawed hands. He held out his own hands, awaiting it. Ragex unwound the cloth to reveal a Great sword made of Baldr, WROUGHT with incredible craftsmanship, with a wyrdwood and bronze hilt. "I present you with Ekrundir, High Thane." Ragex spoke, formally.

"Ekrundir" Beolfric breathed. The word was from his old tongue. It meant 'Venerable Dragon.' He gripped the hilt, and held the weapon aloft, admiring the supreme craftsmanship. New strength began to flow into his old bones, and he suddenly could not help but stand up. Blue eyes held upon the blade for many moments, before he spoke again. "Thank you, old friend. With this sword, I will lead our people into the undoing of the world."