Beorn reached the walls of Banehallow as the twin moons reached the zenith. The mighty walls that once reached higher than the surrounding trees were now reduced to half their original height, fallen into ruin from years of negligence and being exposed to the harsh elements. They still maintained their intimidating bulk with a girth of nearly five paces across. The grand gate which could fit two full-sized wagons simultaneously was bereft of its portcullis, which lay rusting beside it. It looked like the gaping maw of a stone creature ready to swallow whoever dared step into it.

He released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as he reached the crumbling gate. As Beorn put down the straps of his sled and rested with his back against the foundation stones, he looked down onto the forest. While still in the middle of the night, the clear skies and the twin moons provided enough light to Beorn's eyes. The vantage point was perfect, a gentle slope ran all the way to the entrance of the Wolvenrych while the mighty Wyrmfell Mountains gazed down upon him making him feel small and insignificant.

The sickening smell had lessened a bit, Beorn brushed some snow off the corpse and looked it over before deciding to get a move on to Nathaniel's house. The old Captain wouldn't be too happy to be woken up, but Beorn figured he'd change his mind once he saw the corpse. Letting the villagers see the beast would also work in his favour. It was his duty as the lone ranger of Banehallow to take care of any beasts that threatened it, but he wouldn't be paid for it unless people knew it existed and put a bounty on it. As much as he was happy to undertake the job he'd been trained for, you only got so much coin for meat and antlers. And potions cost money,

Which reminds me...

Tugging off his left vambrace, he fingered the holes burnt in it courtesy of those nasty fangs.

What a pity...wait, this could be useful, no ordinary fang could break through the Galanör's enchantment.

Wrenching open the Direwolf's mouth he took out the empty vial from his belt. Taking out his dagger he scraped some of the now frozen saliva into the vial. Glad to see the enchanted material hold without melting, he put it back before cutting out one of the fangs with the knife. After a couple minutes of sawing and tugging he finally managed to pull out the palm sized tooth. Looking at the corpse once again, it hit Beorn how big the beast was and how lucky he'd been in killing it without too many injuries.

The winds of winter blowing from the mountains were announced by the vane atop the crumbling watchtower. The great misshapen lump of metal shaped to an approximation of a Dragon's wing still survived to this day. Its creaking sound broke Beorn out of his reverie. Brushing off his trousers, he made his way into town.

***

Banehallow was a far cry from what the mighty walls would suggest. Built to house thousands and a standing army, now only a few hundred people still lived this far north with farms dotting the landscape stretching away from the forest. Although it was included in the maps of the Empire, no one of any importance cared for the place and the inhabitants were quite thankful for it to stay that way. Descendants of the original pioneers stationed here when Banehallow was Bastion, the northernmost outpost of the Eidunn Empire, three generations had survived in the harsh environment forging them into a proud and hardy folk, that quite liked being left alone.

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Banehallow was also a refuge for less reputable folks on the run from the law of the empire. No Peacekeepers bothered to travel this far north and so they terrorised the road to Ingoldtshold, robbing merchant caravans that made the journey to trade southern produce for rare herbs and precious metals. But even the meanest of the outlaws restrained themselves from killing and raping.

They seldom showed their face in the town proper preferring to brave the dangers of the Wolvenrych instead. They knew the legends of the barbarian blood that ran through the veins of Banehallow's denizens and dared not overstep their boundaries.

For those foolish enough to disregard these boundaries the previous Ranger of Banehallow, Beorn's mentor, had made an example of them with a rapid and brutal efficiency that kept the others in line. Thankfully, no one had disturbed the peace in the two years Beorn had inherited the post from his mentor.

He'd heard the outlaws were now gathered in a single group called the Northern Fangs under a man named Roderik. And Roderik was clever enough to keep his bunch from causing too much trouble for the merchants that braved the road to Banehallow, even providing them with protection from the dangers of the Wolvenrych, for a small fee of course. In response, the townspeople turned a blind eye to their activities even allowing them to trade within the town.

The main town was built in a ring at the base of a massive hill with a fort overlooking it. The fort was named Draigkyn Manor, his family's residence when the Draigkyn were bestowed the title of Guardians of the North by the Atilan the First. Now though, both family and manor had followed Bastion and its mighty walls into disrepair and ruin.

The walls and the fort were a relic of the past, a millenia ago when Bastion was the gateway into the Wolvenrych Forest and the Wyrmfell Mountains where precious herbs and mines of mithril and gold were to be found aplenty. The hostile environment had resisted the Empire's war machine for half a century before the emergence of the Towers. And once the bounty of power and riches available to those who braved the Wolven Spire was known to the Empire, all efforts of foraying further north were abandoned, and Bastion was rendered jnsignificant. It no longer had any need for an army, an army that could be put to better use climbing the divine spire and retrieving the bounty stored within.

Beorn made his way down the main road dragging furrows into the snow-encrusted dirt with his sled. As the wind picked at his cloak, he paused to fasten it tighter around him. All Beorn wished for now was a warm mug of brandy and a fireplace to dry himself. The closed shops and houses absent of any light and the usual sounds of people was unnerving to Beorn especially after his encounter in the woods. Cutting left from the main clearing he entered the abandoned barracks and made for Nathaniel's home. He rapped his knuckles on the wooden door. Waiting for a while, Beorn knocked harder this time rattling the windows before he heard an unintelligible groan come from upstairs. Smiling to himself Beorn waited for Nathaniel to get his old bones down the stairs. His hearing honed from years of training in the forest, heard Nathaniel's steps as he groaned and muttered all the way down the staircase.

Beorn bent down to pick up the corpse from his sled, as the door opened and Nathaniel stepped into the moonlight. He was a thin man of average height, standing at around six feet. He had flinty grey eyes, which remained unyielding beneath bushy brows, and a tanned, lean hatchet face. Beardless, his face displayed a lifetime of battle scars which went all the way under his white hair which was cropped close to the scalp. The lantern cast his face into a gruesome shadow which was quite fitting considering the scowl he was currently wearing. He squinted at Beorn and spoke,

"Who the hell is knocking at this ungodly hour?! What..."

Unfolding his huge frame Beorn shoved the carcass at him, bringing Nathaniel to a sputtering stop. Looking Beorn up and down he spoke,

"Should've known it was you. Nobody else has the balls to wake me up, well... not since Galanör anyways." Nathaniel let out a long sigh as he turned around, "looking at your state you might as well come in."

Bending slightly to fit into the doorway, Beorn pulled the sled and the wolf corpse into the house.