Guul'Zaroth Ch.1 The Wolfsguard

Rolf Ziegel, a boy of 16 years, found himself staring at the Wolfsguard banners on the wall. The soft slate blue and bright silver contrasted against the grey stone of the wall. He found that after his senses were rattled, a good focus point for his vision helped reduce all the spinning and wobbling. Groaning aloud as he sat up, his face scrunched up at the familiar taste of blood in his mouth. He ran his tongue along the back of his teeth; performing a quick headcount and affirming that there were no more missing than usual.

"You've lost boy, go home," said a gruff voice from the other side of the room.

Rolf wiped a smear of blood from his cheek, noting that he'd probably have a new scar to go with the old one on his jawline. He flexed his hands and tried to shake the numbness from his bruised and bloodied knuckles. "Not a chance old man," he said in a growl of voice. When the boy got to a standing base, he stood at over six feet with athletic, muscular limbs. Scraggly black hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and hung nearly to his broad shoulders.

The man across from Rolf stood even taller and broader than the youth. He was a dark haired, bearded man of middling years. In contrast to Rolf's simple black civilian garb, the older man wore fine but battered metal armour. Light grey plate layered over a suit of chain. He frowned grimly at Rolf, the hard lines around his eyes and mouth growing deeper. "What are you doing?" he asked, shaking his head and drumming his fingers on the hilt of his broadsword. "This is the seventh time this month I've had to put you in your place. What are you trying to prove?"

"Don't play dumb Edwin," said Rolf. He kneeled down and collected his own weapon, a clumsy, chipped and ill-crafted cleaver. It could barely be called a sword, its balance was terrible and it appeared far too heavy to be wielded with any degree of skill. "You won't let me join the Wolfsguard and you won't give me Wulfsever. I'm going to beat you and prove that I belong in the order, so I can protect the village!"

"We both know this isn't just about protecting the village, Rolf. If you can't let go and learn some damn self control, you're too much of a risk to send out into the field."

Rolf anxiously strapped his blade to his belt while he grumbled out a retort. "The wolves have taken too many of our friends and family. They took your brothers, my parents, countless others. You think I can just forget about all that? My anger makes me strong!"

Edwin stepped in close to Rolf, casting an intense stare into his eyes. "No, it makes you stupid. So long as you remain stupid, you will never join the guard and you'll never get your hands on Wulfsever. I promised your father I'd look out for you if anything ever happened to him and that means I won't let you die because of an obsession with revenge against a horde of savage beasts! You don't swear revenge on a river because someone drowned in it. The wolves are nature, they

are a threat and we abate that threat. The moment you make it personal is the moment you resign yourself to death!"

Rolf's steely grey eyes matched Edwin's own intensity before looking away with a snarl and marching past him. Muscles still aching and small droplets of blood falling from his hands, Rolf navigated the halls of the barracks for a short time. The other members of the Wolfsguard eyed him as he passed, many breathing a sigh of relief when he was gone, grateful that he wasn't in the mood to start any more fights tonight.

The heavy metal gates of the fort came open with a squeal, making way for an old cobblestone path that lead toward the centre of the village. It wasn't but a few steps outside the gate that a quiet squeak of a voice caught the young man's attention.

"Rolf?” It was a soft, almost inaudible and broken sound. The young man titled his head toward the sound, seeing a familiar figure. It was a girl, around his age with a slight build and wearing a strange, stitched red mask that covered her face. She was dressed in a plain, cream coloured dress and a deep, dusty cloak with a billowing hood. Not an inch of her skin was visible, hidden behind long gloves, heavy boots and tightly wound scarves. Her face mask covered everything from her neck to her hairline, leaving little holes for her eyes and allowing her fluffy black hair to frame the mask. In her hands she held a woven basket filled with bound herbs and little bottles.

"Oh, Lavinia," he muttered dismissively. "What do you want?"

Her amber eyes peeked out from behind the mask, lingering on his bloody hands. She moved closer, walking with an awkward stumble and reaching for him. "You were fighting with my father again, weren't you?" she said, seemingly unable to raise her voice above a whisper.

Rolf avoided eye contact, pulling his hands out of her reach and starting off down the road. "Yeah, so what if I was? The old bastard has it in for me. If I don't prove I'm good enough to join the Wolfsguard by beating him, I'll be stuck working as a smith's assistant my whole life."

Lavinia hurried along behind him, keeping pace with the taller individual by taking two strides to his one. "You know that's not going to help. Besides, I don't like you two hurting each other."

"Well what other choice do I have?" he said, shaking his head and letting out a long sigh. "It's not like I'm going to get in any other way."

"At least let me clean you up," said Lavinia. She hurried ahead and moved into Rolf's path.

Rolf remained silent, staring at his boots as he walked. Lavinia took this as compliance and after a cursory look around, she spotted a ragged stump and fallen tree near the side of the road. She took him by the arm, pulled him over and sat him down on the stump. Lavinia kneeled down and

pulled a clean cloth and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from her basket. Quietly, she began cleaning off Rolf's hands.

"So Lavinia, we're alone. Why are you still wearing the mask?" he asked, concealing a wince as she dabbed his cuts and a sharp sting shot through his hand. "It's been over a year since the incident with old Viktor."

Lavinia continued to work, despite becoming visibly unnerved when the question was posed. Her voice squeaked from behind the mask and she squirmed uncomfortably. "P-please don't," she murmured, pausing briefly. "I don't want to talk about my mask."

Rolf closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. "I haven't seen your face in what, fourteen or fifteen months?"

Putting away the alcohol, Lavinia drew out a small tin filled with a milky coloured cream and gently applied it to his hands. "I'm sorry Rolf," she murmured. "I just... I don't want to talk about the mask."

"Fine, whatever you say. You almost done?"

Lavinia responded with a little nod, wrapping a bandage around his hand and binding it in place. "Done."

"Then let's go, it's too cold a night to be standing around outside." Pushing himself to his feet, Rolf offered Lavinia his hand and pulled her up gently.

They were in the village after only a few minutes of walking, coming to a small wooden bridge that ran over a gushing river and signaled the entrance to the town. It was a small, quaint village, with a humble wooden sign at the end of the bridge, the name 'Ulfenmoor' etched into the surface. The town consisted mostly of a closely knit market district and then a sparse smattering of homes that radiated out from the centre. The houses ranged from humble hobbles to elegant manors and mostly pleasant, moderately size cottages in between.

The path wound its way through the market and up into the nearby hills where what was once the most desirable property in the town sat nestled away from the rest of the village. It was a broad and sturdy two story manor with a large garden and a tall, black iron fence surrounding the premises. However it was in a state of terrible disrepair. There was peeling paint on the walls, gardens full of weeds and an overgrown yard that looked more like a forest than anything anything else. A great Wolf's head crest adorned the front gate and a scrawl beneath it read 'Silvercoat Hall.'


Rolf stopped at the gate and turned to Lavinia, leaning back against the old fence and crossing his arms over his chest. "It's late and it's cold Lavi, you shouldn't be out here. Go home. I've got stuff I need to do anyway," he said, making a shooing motion.

"I-I know, but... Could you just close your eyes for a moment?" she asked, head bowed low.

"Do we have to do this? You can just take off the mask for a second."

Lavinia shook her head and whimpered at the thought.

He grumbled as usual but then sighed with resignation. "Fine." Rolf closed his eyes and stood in wait. A moment later, her right hand clasped around his and squeezed tight, the fingertips of her left grazing his cheek. Her lips pressed against his for a long moment and then with a soft breath from both, she drew away. "Okay, you can open your eyes," she murmured.

By the time his eyelids had parted her face was again obscured by the mask, which she fussed with momentarily. "Good night Rolf."

"Yeah, you too," he said, turning toward the door and smiling despite himself.

The inside of the manor fared no better than the exterior. It was almost entirely dark, lit only only by moonlight pouring in through the windows. Papers and dinnerware along with a variety of discarded trash were strewn across the floor. Ruined furniture decorated the halls and paintings hung crooked or lay face down on the floor. One unfortunate portrait styled 'Adolphus Ziegel' had a hole in the centre that continued on through the wall behind it.

The moment the door closed behind him, Rolf seethed, muscles tensing up and hands clenching into fists. "Grraaaghhh!" he roared, letting out his frustration. Whirling around he pulled his arm back and attempted to unleash his temper on the window behind him, however he came to an abrupt stop as he realized this particular pane of glass had already been shattered. "Dammit! Now what am I supposed to punch!?"

It was then that he felt something crumple under his boot. Taking a knee he examined the object, finding it to be a letter that had been slipped in through the mail slot. It lay face down on the floor and so Rolf took it up and flipped it over, sighing at the name scrawled across the envelope. 'Mathilda Schnyder.'

"The hell does she want?" Letter in hand, Rolf made his way down the halls. He was quick to tear open the envelope and draw it out, eyes scanning the parchment curiously.

"Dearest Hrodwulf Von Ziegel

In the years since your father's passing, you have inherited his estate. I have watched for a time as you presided over our family home, Silvercoat Hall. Your care for the manor has been unacceptable and it's state is simply abhorrent. I can only imagine the disappointment your father would feel were he to see how you've treated it.

As such, I have written this letter to alert you that I will be coming to begin negotiations for the ownership of Silvercoat Hall. You have made it abundantly clear that you do not care much for the property, so I assume that the matter is open to discussion. This letter will reach you a day ahead of my arrival so I ask that your prepare to receive my company.

Sincerely Mathilda Schnyder, Bifrous 03, 9183E

Letter in one hand and a newly lit candle in the other, Rolf eyed the text with growing anxiousness. He had made his way to the wine cellar whilst reading the notice. Rolf held the corner of the letter over the candle's flame and scorched the parchment, tossing it to the stone floor and letting it wither into ash.

Rolf ascended the stairs with a glass bottle in hand and marched toward the manor's study. The door came open with a swift boot and he found himself in an elegant and exceedingly well stocked study. In stark contrast to the rest of the house, this room was merely untidy rather than looking like it had been ransacked. A large oak desk sat in the middle of the chamber with a big, roomy armchair behind it. At its back was a set of wide, nigh ceiling high windows that offered a lovely view of the moon, peeking out from behind inky black clouds. Shelves stocked with countless books lined the wall and opposite the desk was a grandiose portrait of a middle aged man.

Rolf strode across the room and carelessly vaulted over the desk, dropping into the chair. "Hey dad, I'm home," he said, looking up at the portrait. The painting depicted a man very similiar to Rolf. He was tall and broad shouldered with dark, neatly combed hair and an impressive moustache. He was dressed in the colours of the Wolfsguard, a slate blue coat with silver detail and white fur lining on the collar and cuffs.

"So, I got a letter from your sister," he said, words slightly muffled as he bit down on the bottle's cork and pulled it out with his teeth. "She's got a mind to sink her claws into this house, ya know? Can you believe that woman?" Head tilted back, Rolf took a deep swig from his bottle and let himself relax for the first time that night. "Well, maybe she's right. Maybe I haven't been taking care of this place. But on the other hand, where was she this whole time? You've been dead for more than five years and I haven't received a visit from her unless it was business related. Guess I'll have to deal with this tomorrow then, huh?"

Rolf finished off his bottle in short order and it wasn't long after that he stretched out and slept it off in his chair. The night passed quickly and come dawn, sunlight streamed in through the windows and there came a persistent rapping at the door.

"Rolf! Rolf Ziegel!" a shrill voice cried out to accompany the knocking. "I know you're home so let me in! We have much to discuss!"

Rolf heard her quite clearly but decided he was in no hurry. He let her knock for about ten minutes before deciding to make his way out of the study.

The door came ajar to reveal a couple on the doorstep. A small, brunette women in rectangular spectacles, dressed in a noblewoman's finery stood before him with a large man at her back, evidently her husband. The woman appeared to be masking severe distaste and not particularly well either. The man however seemed largely apathetic, eyes drooping and mouth locked in a straight line. He was tall and had a great pot belly, though his physique was broad and muscular. He had once been a warrior of some skill and renown but retirement had taken its toll on him. The hair on his head was shorn, but his grey streaked, faded goatee remained full and bushy.

"Aunt Mathilda, Uncle Karl," Rolf said, greeting them without even feigning interest. "I want to make this quick and painless so get in here and let's get this over with, I have a job to get to."

"Very well, if you insist on being brusque I will accommodate you." The middle aged couple entered, Mathilda leading.

Karl offered a hand to his nephew and a faint but genuine smile.

Rolf took his hand and returned the gesture. "Good to see you again Karl."

For a brief moment, Karl stood in the hall, eyes scanning the manor with a great measure of hesitance. "So..." he said in a deep baritone, “It looks nice in here. Cleaned up to receive guests, huh?”

"Yeah, I think the holes I punched in the wall really open up the room," Rolf replied, offering a wry smile.

Karl let out a chuckle only to receive a sharp glare from his wife and instantly the expression was cut short.

"Karl, that wasn't funny."

"Of course dear," he said with a sigh.

"Karl, wait out here while Rolf and I discuss business."

"Of course dear."

Mathilda marched forward and pushed past Rolf, making her way to the study and leaving her husband behind.

A few minutes later, Rolf joined her, another bottle in hand. "I hope you don't mind if I have a drink," Rolf said, uncorking the bottle.

"Of course not."

"Thanks Auntie. I'd offer you a glass but as it turns out, I hate you."

Mathilda rolled her eyes at her nephew. "Oh you are charming, aren't you? Shall we get down to business?"

"You talk, I'll just listen," Rolf replied, leaning back against a nearby shelf and taking a swig off his bottle.

"Silvercoat Hall is our family estate, it's been in the Ziegel house for three generations. It is the home that your father and I were raised in. It goes without saying that it pains me to see it in this condition."

"So what, you just want me to hand it over?" Rolf replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Of course not, Rolf. I'm willing to be reasonable. I only want the property. All of your father's belongings and his wealth, you're welcome to keep, I have my own. On top of that, I'll buy it off of you for a generous price."

Rolf tilted his gaze toward his father's portrait and then back to Mathilda. "Really? How much?"

"4,000lox, a fair price for this estate, considering all the renovations that will need to be done. With that you could buy yourself a comfortable home in the village. A fair deal."

Rolf lowered his gaze to his boots and took a deep breath. "Yeah, that is a fair deal," he repeated. "But this house is..." Rolf paused, eyes fixed on his Aunt's face. "It's important to me."

"Well you have an odd way of showing it. I honestly don't know how my brother raised such an irresponsible boy."

Rolf found his hand involuntarily tightening into a fist. "I'll consider your offer, but for now you can show yourself out. Do it quickly," he said through clenched teeth.

Mathilda raised a brow at the request. "Oh? I was considering staying for a time and appraising the property."

"Let me put it another way, if you don't leave right now I will set fire to the house on my way out."

Mathilda narrowed her eyes to slits, glaring at her nephew. "You wouldn't be so petty, would you?"

"Try me."