The Winter Lords (Fighter)

Ingvoldr Horseheart

During the long days of Winters Dark, when the heavy hand of Unklar held the world in his cold grasp, few knew the freedom they enjoyed before the world’s fall. Most dwelt under this tyranny and served his purpose. The world itself lay blanketed in snow and ice. But some did not suffer it and they defied him, closing their doors to his wrath. The dwarves were such; some fought and died, others shut their gates and made war from within.

Thus it was the with the dwarves of Norgorad Kam, the Brass Halls. Their King closed the gates to the winter’s wrath and held the dark at bay for a thousand years. On occasion his armies grew restless and they issued from the Brass Halls and waged war upon the Horned God's minions. But they could not overthrow him; indeed, their efforts often went unnoticed by the god himself. And once spent, the dwarves returned to their halls and closed the gates again.

At times warriors would come forth of their accord, to hunt the demons of the Winters Dark. Some returned, others did not. Ingvoldr proved such a warrior. Raised on tales of glory and hard-won gold, Ingvoldr dreamed of living the safety of the halls and trying his axe upon the road. When he reached his beard age, the age where dwarves are considered grown, he announced that he would leave the Brass Halls and plunder the wealth of Unklar’s realm. His father fashioned for him a suit of armor and a short-hafted, double bladed battle axe to carry with it. The All Fathers scribed runes upon the iron of his mail and blade. So it was that Ingvoldr set forth, armed and armored but with no name to speak of.

He came from the  mountains on to the Great Massif, and Lake Orion. There he met Grimeltongue, an Orc Warlord and he slew him and his band of orcs. His travels carried across the lake and into Bald Knobs, and then beyond into the Twilight Wood. He gained and lost companions, fought wild creatures, plundered dungeons and burned castles. His axe became commonplace upon the long slopes of the Fiedweir Mountains and the Bald Knobs. His journey took him to Deephome, an ancient dwarven city and beyond to the lands of the Ulgars.

Rumor of him carried back home and dwarves in the Brass Halls began to speak of Ingvoldr. But his name carried more in the lands where he trod. For there he wages a tireless war upon the Horned God’s minions. He rooted them out, pulled their walls down, and plundered them of gold and life. So the thralls of those lands loved Ingvoldr. Though he didn't aid the helpless, nor house the homeless, he was their vengeance for their suffering.

For 14 years, he plundered the wilds. It was then upon a particularly cold day that he found a field strewn with dead men, knights of some cult fighting the Winter’s dogs. Horse, hounds and men lay heaped with orcs, ungern and giants. Only one creature survived the mayhem.  A pale steed stood over its master. His armor in ruins, the reigns of his master hopelessly tangled in the iron corpse. Ingvoldr set to slay the horse, but something stayed his hand and he cut it loose. He stripped it of its armor and bridle and spoke to it in dwarf (for he knew no other tongue), “Be off now. You are free. Live out your life as you would.”

The horse stared at him for a great while but it did not move. At last Ingvoldr turned to leave the field for other lands and the horse followed him. After some time he said “If you follow me horse, you carry your own weight and not mine.” And the horse followed him.

From that day until their fall, Ingvoldr traveled with the horse. It bore no name, nor did he ride it, or set packs upon its back. He traveled with him as a boon companion, fought at his side when it could, drughim from battles where he fell, and watched over him while he slept. Only when the dwarf went underground did the horse fail to follow, but he waited for his return. When in towns, they drank together, the horse at his side at board or bar. When in the wilderness they stood or sat by the fire.

When at last Ingvoldr came to the Brass Halls, older now, his beard fierce and full, he made to enter the great doors but the guard stayed the horse, for steeds were not permitted in the Brass Halls. “This is no horse, but my companion. You will let me pass, or shun me from home and damn your iron if you do.”

“The beast may not pass, though you are welcome.”

Ingvoldr glowered for a great long while and then turned from home and walked back into the winter wilds. He was never seen in the Brass Halls again. He gave up his home for the horse and for that they called him Ingvoldr Horseheart.

'Tis said that the pair died alone the wild, taken unawares by a dragon with scales as white as snow. It destroyed the horse and made to take flight, but Ingvoldr refused the dragon’s design and fell upon it in a madness of rage. All the long day they fought, iron shield and plate mail against scales hard as stone. Axe against fang and in the end, dagger against claw. Mangled and torn the dragon fled the field to die in the deep snows. But Ingvoldr too breathed his last, laying his head upon the steed's broken back, and the horse suffered it gladly, until he too, passed from the world.

Many men have since seen the dwarf and his boon companion; when the snows are thick or the wolves are clawing at the door, they come to drive the darkness back. All the men of the horse lands, Kareelia, Ceeana, and Kleaves call to Ingvoldr Horseheart and the Horse-withh-no-Name as one of the Winter Lords.