Queen Astrid of the Northern Realms, stared out at the bleak landscape before her. The first snows had come early this year, blanketing the earth in white and turning the Fiords to ice. To an outsider, her kingdom may have seemed cold forbidding, but to Astrid, this rugged land was home. Its harsh beauty reflected her own, wild yet mesmerizing, hard yet magnificent. She stood atop the ramparts of her stronghold, built of towering timbers harvested from the
ancient forests. The regular sound of stone on stone rang through the brisk air as craftsmen worked to fortify and expand the walls. Things had been peaceful of late, but Astrid was no stranger to violence. Raids from ambitious yarls to the south and incursions by the wandering hill people from the east were all too common. Her forty years had been marked by conflict, but also by growth,
both of territory and of spirit. Her realm now stretched from the winding Fiords in the west to the golden plains of the interior, encompassing many tribes and villages. Peace had reigned for over five years, yet to day her instincts were on high alert, like that of a deer catching an unfamiliar scent on the wind. She scent something ominous lurking just out of sight, beyond the sheltering eve of the forest. Every seasoned warrior knew that periods of calm
rarely lasted for long. Sure enough, a lone rider galloped out of the trees, his horse frothing at the mouth. The sentry called out a warning. As Astrid made her way swiftly down the slick wooden steps to the court yard, she recognized the man as Erik Iceforge, a respected hunter and scout from Raven's gulch on the northern border. As Eric dismounted, she saw a haunted look in his icy blue eyes. Speak quickly, man, what tidings do you bring? Commanded Astrid. Dark news, my queen, Eric replied
grimly. Strange sightings in the northern hills these past months, live stock slaughtered, homesteads raised without survivors. We thought it the work of wolves or a roving band of hill people. He paused, stealing himself. But what I witnessed three dawns past was no earthly creature. Astred felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the winter wind. Go on, she said, I woke to unearthly screams and emerged from my hut to a
scene from Helheim itself. Eric recounted. The village of Frosthaven was a smoldering ruin, bodies everywhere. Then from out of the trees, a monstrous shape took flight. It was a dragon, my Queen, greater than any I've heard tell of in song or story, scales black as pitch, wings that blotted out the very stars. It was headed this way when I lost sight
of it, beyond the mountains. Astrid remained as she absorbed this. She had heard tales of dragons dwelling far to the east and south, beyond the reach of her tribe, creatures of fang and flame that laid waste to any that crossed their path. Her brow furrowed as she considered the implications. To have one here now did not bode well. She grasped Eric firmly by the shoulders. You have served your queen well by bringing this to me directly,
Eric Iceforge, go now take some rest and meet. She turned to address the crowd that had gathered. I want the garrison, Captain, my champions, and my council convened in the Great Hall at once minutes later, Astred sat upon her carved oaken throne as her inner circle filed in and took their places at the vast table. Her half brother Ivar stood to her right,
tall and proud and gleaming mail and wolf fur mantle. To her left sat Leylah, the wise woman, runes and herbs clattering softly in the pouch at her waist As she walked down the table. Veteran warriors like Eric leaned on notched axes and spear shafts, while younger fighters boasted emblazoned shields and jeweled sword hilts. Once all were present, Astrid rose to speak, brave warriors, trusted advisers. A dire threat arises in our lands. Word has come that
a dragon lays waste to all it finds north of the mountains. This statement was met with muttered disbelief and shock. Sir Bjorn, master at arms, was first to chime in, surely tales to frighten children. Eric must have drank too much, mead. Eric bristled and opened his mouth to object hotly. When Astrid raised a hand for order. Would that this were false, But in my bones I know it to be true. Eric does not frighten easily, nor would he waste my time with petty rumors. She swept her
piercing gaze around the room. Make no mistake. If this beast is not stopped, it will ravage our lands unchecked, until there is naught but ashes left. She stepped forward, displaying both hands on the pitted oaks surface before her. We must destroy this threat, and quickly before it gains in strength, and we must do so together. Setting aside all past grievances between clans, the safety of this realm and its people must come first. Here.
She locked eyes with Ivar, who held her stare and gave a single, solemn nod. Their relationship had long been strained, but she knew she could count on him when lives were at stake, So growled, Sir Biorn, what's our plan for killing a blasted fire drake? Then, for long hours, debate raged, mead flowed, and diverse strategies took form. An assault team would track the beast to its lair, while auxiliary units protected vulnerable villages.
Though initially stunned, Astrid's war chiefs quickly grasped the danger and reacted with customary pragmatism. All knew this foe was beyond any one hero or clan. Only a unified force stood a chance. Finally, as the moon rose, a strategy coalesced. At dawn, Queen Astrid strode toward the mustering fields beyond the stronghold's walls. Chainmail gleamed over hard leather armor and harrow vessel helm. Her cloak of rich Crimson swirled like a rising storm. Strapped across her back.
The legendary sword Dragon's Bane passed down from her fore mother's awaited dragon Blood once again. Around the camp fires, huddled groups of warriors, checking kit and sharing stale rations. Four dozen in all. Though a mere fraction of her military strength, these troops were the finest her marshals could gather on short
notice. Astrid would lead the expedition herself, along with Eric Serbiorn, and her youngest champions Arna and Kel. She located Eric amidst a group of rangers stringing you longbows, ready, your keenest arrows, Eric, something tells me we shall have need of them. Eric thumped a fist to his chest. My finest are soaked in milk of the poppy. My Queen will fell this fiend or die in the attempt. Satisfied, Astrid moved through the ranks,
dispensing final orders and reassurances as appropriate. By the time she reunited with her vanguard at the camp's edge, the first amber rays of dawn were creeping over the pines. She vaulted into the saddle of grimm. Her ill tempered gerren Stallion as her party formed up on shaggy forest ponies. You have your orders. We meet again when the beast is dead or the sky falls upon our heads. Astrid's harsh cry was met with raucous cheers and hammering weapons on hide
shields. The hunt was on three days out from the stronghold. Astrid's band was deep in the uncharted old forest. Snow fell relentlessly through the gnarled oaks and furs, masking tracks and confusing navigation. They were relying on Eric's memory of the path he'd fled south on to guide them. Progress was steady but arduous. On the fourth morning, the terrain began sloping upwards into foothills and narrow ravines. Scouts returned with news of a broad swath of ruined forest stretching
to the north. The company halted a mile from the devastation, amidst an eerie silence, like the calm before battle. Astrid dismounted and unslung a spyglass from her saddle by odin, she muttered as she surveyed the annihilation through the brass lens. Splintered timbers stretched almost to the horizon. It looked as if some vengeful god had swept an axe across the land, smoking stumps and shredded carcasses peppered the ruination. She lowered the spyglass with a grave expression. If
any yet doubted our foe, doubt no longer By unspoken consent. Warriors doubled down on weapons checks, Arrows were pointed, blades sharpened anew on wetted stones. Their target's might was now apparent. Their queen's mien remained cool, but inwardly, she sent a prayer to Freya for courage and guidance. Live Both her warriors and her peoples depended on her decisions. She would not fail them.
Scouts were sent forth to report on entry points into the wreckage. They returned shortly, confirming a narrow corridor of surviving trees spanning north and south. Eric confirmed it matched his escape route. He led them wordlessly toward this slim life line between leafless skeletons. Soldiers sheathed weapons and mirrored his silence as they skirted the deathly wood. Soon, the foreboding cross hatching of burned timbers surrounded
them on both sides. Snow continued falling, slowly, burying evidence of the cataclysm. Each exhale came out white, misting on meatal edged helmets and woolen shawls. The only sound was the crunch of boots on fresh powder. All knew a predator could be tracking them even now. Late afternoon of the next day found the party approaching the spine of the mountain range that to marked the edge of Astrid's realm. Her ancestors had built their strongholds below these peaks to
guard against invasion. Now it seemed peril had bypassed their fortress gates entirely. Bright flashes high on the escarpment through brakes in the trees held the group riveted. Sunset reflected off fresh powder or burnished armor. Flights of ravens circled the heights, cowing loudly, something stirring rumbled. Sir Biorn could have a nest up there. Astard raised her spyglass to search the mountain side more closely. There, along a sharp ridge line, she made out the dark mouth of
a sizeable cave. Giant scaled tracks led down the slope from it to a debris field of gnawed bones and shredded hides. Bile rose in her throat as she lowered the lens. The serpent has its lair before us, readierselves, she hissed to her cadre. Her command was echoed down the column. Eric slid a black arrow from his quiver. Scouts drew thin stilettos, and warriors hefted axes and spears. Veterans pared off, checking straps and ties, making
silent peace before their dance with death. So close to its sanctuary, surprise was now imperative. Astrid sent kel ahead to scout their final approach. Minutes crawled by before the young fighter crept back, half bent. The cave mouth is a bowshot. Yawned through a gulch, but no clear way up. His clan tattoos contorted as he frowned, there's a ledge below well concealed that would hold a few. Maybe, Bjorn spat thoughtfully, so only one or
two can get close and spring a trap. Rest pile in after for the real fight. Astrid nodded approvingly. Pick your best, Eric, one chance is all. We'll get soon. Eric and Kel edged onto the mound, overlooking their destination. Bows at hand, other scouts ring the area, bows drawn for the assault team poised below. A two fingered signal from Kel set Astrid's heart racing. The day of destiny was upon them. Minutes crawled by.
Then suddenly Eric loosed his arrow, and chaos erupted. A deafening screech split the sky as enraged roars echoed down the slope. Warriors poured up the rear trail to the cave, just as an enormous ebbonhead burst forth. Eyes aflame arrows hailed down in effectiveness. The dragon thrashed madly, snapping blindly as blood ran. Astrid led her fighter's wedge straight into that Maelstrom, swinging her ruone etched blade. Ivar and his brother clansmen flanked right, wielding axes and
mattocks against the fiend's hind quarters, while Layelah invoked curses and protections. Bjorn's hammer blow finally toppled their foe, tossing warriors skyward as it shuddered in death throes. Astrid saw her chance and leapt with sword upraised. Her stroke severed jugular and spine. In one last defiant bellow, she rode the collapsing carcass down, exhilarations surging through her veins. They had won in the ensuing days.
Exhausted warriors descended the mountain triumphantly, bearing scales and teeth as trophies. Word quickly spread through the villages of the mighty Queen who defeated the terror from the North against all odds. Scalds far and wide would come to embellish the deeds into legend. With the fires of war now quenched by winter's chill, peace would descend across Astrid's realm once again. In the many years remaining to
her, queen, Astrid saw her lands and influence grow vastly. While battles continued throughout her reign, none matched the visceral risks she stared down against the Dragon of the North. Tales of her courage became fireside lore for generations long. Ships bearing dignitaries and trade goods arrived from lands near and far, seeking alliance under her even hand and far sight, fortresses arose and forests regrew. Her name would ring as a synonym for fierce justice in the North until her
daughter Alva ascended the high seat. After her passing the two carved dragon heads adorning the gates would insure none forgot where freedom in the Northern Realm was forged in the age of Astrid, the dragon Slayer. First of her name