The saga of Rikkard Threadcutter: Part IV: Wolf Guard

Here is fourth and final part of the saga of Rikkard Threadcutter, Jarl of Fyf. The previous parts can be seen here.

Fyf's Skald, Jorn, continues the telling.

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I will continue the account my brothers, but now we must take a darker turn.

Azkadae's return

Rikkard fought bravely at his Jarl's side for too many years to count. Like his lord, he now wore a mighty suit of terminator armour. Always was he at Egberd's side, defending him with axe and shield; the favoured weapons of the Godi from all those years ago. As the years went by, Rikkard's hair grew white like snow and Egberd refered to him as his "white wolf". Fenrisian mythology has many tales of mighty white wolves who would act as implacable guardians against dangerous beasts so the name was apt.

Mighty deeds were performed by these grey and white wolves all across the Imperium. But alas even the most powerful warrior will one day meet his end and noble Egberd was no different.

On the planet of Ealzet, a Tzeentchian cult had infected the government and it's vileness was spreading. Scyrers heard the screams of the dying and the Wolves were unleashed, Egberd at their lead.

An unremarkable campaign was drastically flipped on its head when an up-and-coming Rune Priest by the name of Olaf suddenly collapsed during a briefing, somehow rendered totally unconscious. The Wolf Priests tended to him to no avail, and they feared the worst. Suddenly, Olaf awoke and spake "fetch the Jarl; I have a message for him. Tell him Azkadae has returned."

Now Egberd was a true hunter and no good hunter allows his prey to escape. Enraged that the hated traitor Azkadae had dared to return, the Jarl resolved to finish what he began all those years ago. For his part, Rikkard also pledged he would not rest until the Sorcerer was slain.

Azkadae had made sure that the Rune Priest Olaf knew exactly where he would be found. Patrekr the Sharp-minded councelled that this smelled strongly of a trap, but Egberd would not be swayed. Indeed, Rikkard's insistence that the traitor must be slaughtered only increased Egberd's resolve to track him down.

And track him down they did. Azkadae stood in wait within the throne room of the now corrupted governor of Ealzet. This time he had no warriors to protect him and no daemons to distract the Rout. Egberd ordered his warriors to stand down; he would face the traitor alone. Olaf, visibly pained by the presence of the Sorcerer, pleaded with the Jarl that this foe was something more than mere flesh and blood and he should reconsider.

"You should listen to your shaman, Greywolf," taunted Azkadae. "Wisdom amongst your kind is a rare thing."

"The day I back down from a fight is the day I die," Egberd retorted.

"So naive," the Sorcerer scolded as the great Jarl raised his sword and charged.

What happened next would not have been believed if it had not witnessed by the men of Fyf, and indeed all the men of Fyf wished they had not witnessed it. Azkadae stood unmoving as Egberd ran at him and did not so much as flinch as the Jarl swung his sword down at the traitor's head. But the blade passed clean through the Sorcerer without resistance or drawing so much as a drop of blood. His strike unchecked, Egberd's blade buried itself deep into the ground and a sickening smile crept across Azkadae's face. "Ironic, don't you think, that you made me this way, Greywolf. Now to take my prize."

Azkadae's hand shot out towards the struggling Jarl's chest faster than a normal man could see, and faster than Egberd could react. A strange energy danced across the Sorcerer's gauntlet and it passed through armour, through flesh, and through bone as easily as one might pass their hand through water. Wide-eyed, Egberd jolted as the traitor grasped something, twisted it and yanked it free. There in Azkadae's hand was Egberd's still beating heart.

Rikkard bellowed with grief and rage and hurled himself forward towards the enemy. Never has a man moved so quickly in bulky terminator armour, but it was not quick enough. Azkadae turned and making some foul sigil in the air with his free hand opened a portal to another realm. He smiled at the bereft warriors as he stepped into the world beyond our own and vanished. Wiser men than I say that Azkadae will return one day, but even they cannot fathom his mission, nor what purposes his vile acts serve.

Egberd's body lay before his kin and it was said by Olaf that the Jarl was "more than dead", but he would not be drawn further on his meaning. As befits a Jarl of one of Russ's Great Companies, Egberd's body was carried but his most loyal Wolf Guard, Rikkard amongst them, back to his ship where his account was told for four whole days. Then, placed inside a boarding torpedo, Egberd was launched on one final journey; into Ealzet's sun.

The next day, as is tradition, the Wolf Guard gathered in solitude to elect the new Jarl. They decided unanimously that their new leader would be Rikkard.

----

And so ends my account, or rather, so it ends for now. You see, brothers, there is much more to tell of Rikkard's saga. After all, he has been Jarl of Fyf for many decades and, wyrd willing, will be so for many more. No more will I say today. Best to save the tales for when it matters. For when Rikkard's final account will be told. If you do desire to hear more tales from Rikkard's long saga, you are best served finding his warriors. They all will have tales to tell. Indeed, perhaps the best accounts, the truest accounts, of Rikkard Threadcutter are those told by the men he leads.

I tire now my brothers and desire to rest. Allow me to once again sleep that most deep of sleeps. Wake me again when I am needed.

Until next winter, brothers.