For many years the Stormwolves have trod the lands of Midgard. Many times, when Norsca suffering was at it's greatest, they appeared and stood fast by their people.
This time, they walked amongst us to destroy the Nything and then the Greenskin threat. Or so we thought. The skein of the Wyrd is not always clear and the ways of the Gods not obvious to mortal men.
The bravest of Norse men stood their ground and their fury was terrible to behold. They gave their blood with no fear or favour and brought down those that sought to tear us apart. Damon Deer fell to Stormwolf steel and the cry of victory was raised. And only 5 voices joined it. As the survivors viewed the field, only 6 Stormwolves still drew breath.
Word reached their Wolf Brethren and we came running, too late. A great victory, a terrible price. So we carried our friends home and laid them to rest. The joy of Valhalla's calling was dim within us then as our all too human souls shuddered at the scale of loss. So we laid our friends and battle gear in state and said goodbyes. Some spoke. Some sang. Some watched. Some prayed. Some praised. Then Gunn revealed a more terrible truth. It was time for them to return, their work done. So to say goodbye to our friends we made plans.
With no boats upon which to send them, we took them to the sacred place and under Ull's watchful eye, we offered the fallen. Fifteen Valkyrie blessed us with their presence. With no eye for the living, they lifted our fallen heroes and took them to Valhalla. May they dine well at Thor's table. Then Ciak came and the last of the Stormwolves departed save two. One, to keep the balance with Hel, so hard won. One, who had chosen to stay, although he did not know it, by taking a wife.
And so it was we said goodbye. Joyful at their lives. Mournful at our loss, that their light no longer shone amongst us.
Thus the page turns and now we write a new story. May it be as bold, loyal and true as that which went before.


Praise be to Odin.