Beorn reached the walls of Banehallow as the twin moons reached the zenith. 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 moons provided enough light to Beorn's excellent 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.

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 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 cloak, he made his way into the village.

***

Banehallow was a fry 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.

The main town was built in a ring at the base of a massive hill with a fort overlooking it. The fort was infact Draigkyn Manor, his family's residence when the Draigkyn were Guardians of the North. Now though, both family and the 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. 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 insignificant. 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, picking up his steps.

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 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 showing. Squinting he 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. 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.