Part I.

Hear me now, brothers and sisters, for here, in the glow of the soft moonlight, I bring forth another tale of our great hero: Gudmundr! Already you have heard tales of iron and splinter, of rain and thunder, of foul monsters and fouler men. You know the story of how sword and shield were plucked from Asgard, taken from the gods by mere man.

But I say to you those stories are shadows of the truth. What I tell you tonight, I know to be the truth. Gudmundr’s weapons beggar reason, for never were they meant to be wielded by the likes of mere mortals. What metal and wood they were cast from is not of this realm. For this is a story that takes us far into the beyond, into a land of death and darkness.

Aye, you gasp in fright, and with good reason! Gather round the fires, as tight as can be. For though this story may take place in a landscape of fire and ash, it will leave you cold. Let the warmth of the fire be a comfort to you, for that is not what it did for our brave Gudmundr…

Years and years ago, when Gudmundr was but a young pup, the title of Warlord not yet bestowed, he was cast far away by means unknown. While exploring distant mountains he fell, tumbling down and down and down! Until – finally! – he crashed into barren wastelands of black sand and rock. The sky was an eternal mist of washed out yellow. Rivers of lava flowed freely, melting anything that dared stand in their path. The heat proved unbearable, even if a sunless sky hung above. Gudmundr knew not where he was, but he knew, beyond a doubt, that he had to escape if he would survive.

Green lightning cracked thrice in the sky – KRAK! KRAK! KRAK! – as Gudmundr got to his feet. No weapon in his hand, no shield to protect him. Fear threatened to consume him. He was alone. Abandoned.

He looked upon the horizon, where sky split earth, and there gathered a great darkness. It swirled and thickened as it rolled towards him. From its shadowy depths screeched a cacophony of laughter. The noise shook Gudmundr to his marrow. Inside the smoke, there was a sea of embers, growing bigger with every second. Worse still, all was accompanied by the sound of footsteps. Whatever was inside was coming for him!

Gudmundr was frozen in place, but he willed his feet to move. The black cloud followed. Eventually, he reached the ruins of a village, one that must have been bustling with life not long before. It was now but ash, bone and burnt wood. He found refuge behind a pile of moldy, splintered ruins big enough to conceal him. Sweat-drenched and smeared with soot, Gudmundr slid down and sat in the warm dirt, hugging his knees.

Whatever was pursuing him was not something meant to be faced by humans. It was the construct of nightmare, best left to the appendices of legend. He was but a man. What hope did he have in the face of abject fear?

Part II.

But then, he heard something else. Not the cackling threat of his fiendish pursuers, but the wails of the frightened.

There, at his feet, Gudmundr saw them: three wolf pups, no bigger than his own arms.

Their beady eyes were large, round and frightened. They curled up to him, helpless and hapless, squeezing as tight as they could against his legs. They trembled and whimpered, sensing the approaching menace. Gudmundr did not need to speak wolftongue to know it was the same menace that must have left them without a mother.

The little furry wolves were weak and frail, but capable of so much. The living embodiment of potential. All they needed was a chance. A chance to survive. To grow strong. To rise and claim what was rightfully theirs! Yes, Gudmundr was frightened. But he was now all that they had. They needed a guardian. And Gudmundr would be Hel-bound before he let anything happen to them.

There, in flame, ruin and death, where all that is good withers, a young Gudmundr found bravery.

He stood, fists clenched, in very defiance of all that surrounded him. He walked towards the ever-approaching cloud of darkness. The wolves followed, stumbling over one another as they ran around him. But there was one who remained behind. He yelped softly, as loud as his young, barely developed muzzle allowed him, calling to Gudmundr.

He led the Viking further into the heart of the ruins. There, at its center, was a pile of weapons. The remnants of a people long ago annihilated. Yet somehow, inside the pile of iron, burned a fiery glow. Continuous. Eternal.

Gudmundr reached into the rubble and took hold of the prize. He withdrew a sword that shone like fire and a shield that bore the likeness of Odin. Fire and Brimstone reflected in the Viking’s eyes. His hands should have burned to their touch, but they did not even smoke. It was as though the weapons had waited all this time for Gudmundr the Great to find them.

The young wolf sat next to him, head tilted questioningly.

“Thank you little one,” Gudmundr told him, patting him on the head.

Gudmundr knew what he was fighting for – and he now had the means to do it. He rose, both weapons held to his sides. The storm was here.

“Come on then!” he screamed to whatever lurked inside.

With a gust of hot wind, the storm vanished. All that was left in its wake was an army of Viking bodies, standing lifeless but somehow alive, still and waiting. Their faces were decayed, eyes burning with flame. Gudmundr quickly understood what he was facing: the undead. All those who had died here, the very place where he was standing. And more. So many more.

In unison, the army let out a blood-curdling screech. The battle cry of the dead.
And they ran straight for Gudmundr.

Part III.

What happened next was a battle that would inspire a thousand songs. Wielding Fire and Brimstone, Gudmundr yelled back and charged. He cut and cleaved everything in his path, lopping off arms and heads. With his shield, he plowed through three undead Raiders at once – WHAM! – before turning and smashing a Berserker to bits – SLAM! He kept on moving, cleaving and slicing. All the while, the wolves stood behind him, barking in defiance of their attackers.

No longer were the pups afraid, for Gudmundr had shown them there was strength to be found even in the bleakest and most hopeless of times. They leapt to Gudmundr’s defense, sinking their fangs into the undead and tearing open their rotten, steaming bowels. Gudmundr whistled and they answered. He pointed and they struck.

On and on they fought, the pillars of defiance.

Gudmundr kept on blocking attacks with Brimstone, holding his ground and pushing through. With Fire he sliced and sliced – SLASH! – and the black blood of the undead kept on spilling. Finally, when there was but one enemy left – a distorted Valkyrie with a missing arm – Gudmundr sliced through her and flipped the body over his shoulder before ending the battle with a final stab.

Out of breath and muscles aching, Gudmundr fell to his knees. The pups ran to him. One had trouble walking from his battle wounds. But he would recover. They nuzzled and licked Gudmundr’s face, and the Viking allowed himself a faint laugh.

He grabbed them all in a tight embrace and said, “Let’s go home.”

And thankfully, the gods gracefully showed him the way back to us.

In Valkenheim, the wolves would grow strong, and they would remain at Gudmundr’s side, no matter what. For a lifetime, they would answer his call, and would inspire others to do the same. Together, they would know the strength of the Wolf Clan.

And that is what we must do, my dear brothers and sisters. Be we allies or enemies, we are all Vikings. In our veins flows the very essence of strength. We mustn’t let outsiders let us forget that. We are at war, yes. Our bonds have been tested, perhaps well beyond their limits. I know not all of you will listen to me, of course, for it is not my place to tell each of you what you should do, how you should fight, or who you should fight for. But I would impress upon you all the lessons of Gudmundr’s triumph. Like the wolves he found, the pups he protected, we too have potential. The potential to stand together! To win! Let not Apollyon or her followers dictate what is best for us. We decide! We get to choose!

The time of the Vikings will come, if we take it. With sword and shield. With Fire and Brimstone!