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Queen Astrid of the Northern Realms,
stared out at the bleak landscape before her.

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The first snows had come early this
year, blanketing the earth in white

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and turning the Fiords to ice.
To an outsider, her kingdom may have

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seemed cold forbidding, but to Astrid, this rugged land was home. Its

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harsh beauty reflected her own, wild
yet mesmerizing, hard yet magnificent. She

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stood atop the ramparts of her stronghold, built of towering timbers harvested from the

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ancient forests. The regular sound of
stone on stone rang through the brisk air

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as craftsmen worked to fortify and expand
the walls. Things had been peaceful of

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late, but Astrid was no stranger
to violence. Raids from ambitious yarls to

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the south and incursions by the wandering
hill people from the east were all too

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common. Her forty years had been
marked by conflict, but also by growth,

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both of territory and of spirit.
Her realm now stretched from the winding

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Fiords in the west to the golden
plains of the interior, encompassing many tribes

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and villages. Peace had reigned for
over five years, yet to day her

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instincts were on high alert, like
that of a deer catching an unfamiliar scent

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on the wind. She scent something
ominous lurking just out of sight, beyond

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the sheltering eve of the forest.
Every seasoned warrior knew that periods of calm

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rarely lasted for long. Sure enough, a lone rider galloped out of the

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trees, his horse frothing at the
mouth. The sentry called out a warning.

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As Astrid made her way swiftly down
the slick wooden steps to the court

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yard, she recognized the man as
Erik Iceforge, a respected hunter and scout

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from Raven's gulch on the northern border. As Eric dismounted, she saw a

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haunted look in his icy blue eyes. Speak quickly, man, what tidings

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do you bring? Commanded Astrid.
Dark news, my queen, Eric replied

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grimly. Strange sightings in the northern
hills these past months, live stock slaughtered,

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homesteads raised without survivors. We thought
it the work of wolves or a

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roving band of hill people. He
paused, stealing himself. But what I

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witnessed three dawns past was no earthly
creature. Astred felt a chill run down

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her spine that had nothing to do
with the winter wind. Go on,

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she said, I woke to unearthly
screams and emerged from my hut to a

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scene from Helheim itself. Eric recounted. The village of Frosthaven was a smoldering

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ruin, bodies everywhere. Then from
out of the trees, a monstrous shape

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took flight. It was a dragon, my Queen, greater than any I've

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heard tell of in song or story, scales black as pitch, wings that

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blotted out the very stars. It
was headed this way when I lost sight

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of it, beyond the mountains.
Astrid remained as she absorbed this. She

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had heard tales of dragons dwelling far
to the east and south, beyond the

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reach of her tribe, creatures of
fang and flame that laid waste to any

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that crossed their path. Her brow
furrowed as she considered the implications. To

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have one here now did not bode
well. She grasped Eric firmly by the

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shoulders. You have served your queen
well by bringing this to me directly,

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Eric Iceforge, go now take some
rest and meet. She turned to address

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the crowd that had gathered. I
want the garrison, Captain, my champions,

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and my council convened in the Great
Hall at once minutes later, Astred

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sat upon her carved oaken throne as
her inner circle filed in and took their

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places at the vast table. Her
half brother Ivar stood to her right,

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tall and proud and gleaming mail and
wolf fur mantle. To her left sat

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Leylah, the wise woman, runes
and herbs clattering softly in the pouch at

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her waist As she walked down the
table. Veteran warriors like Eric leaned on

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notched axes and spear shafts, while
younger fighters boasted emblazoned shields and jeweled sword

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hilts. Once all were present,
Astrid rose to speak, brave warriors,

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trusted advisers. A dire threat arises
in our lands. Word has come that

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a dragon lays waste to all it
finds north of the mountains. This statement

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was met with muttered disbelief and shock. Sir Bjorn, master at arms,

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was first to chime in, surely
tales to frighten children. Eric must have

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drank too much, mead. Eric
bristled and opened his mouth to object hotly.

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When Astrid raised a hand for order. Would that this were false,

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But in my bones I know it
to be true. Eric does not frighten

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easily, nor would he waste my
time with petty rumors. She swept her

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piercing gaze around the room. Make
no mistake. If this beast is not

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stopped, it will ravage our lands
unchecked, until there is naught but ashes

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left. She stepped forward, displaying
both hands on the pitted oaks surface before

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her. We must destroy this threat, and quickly before it gains in strength,

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and we must do so together.
Setting aside all past grievances between clans,

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the safety of this realm and its
people must come first. Here.

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She locked eyes with Ivar, who
held her stare and gave a single,

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solemn nod. Their relationship had long
been strained, but she knew she could

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count on him when lives were at
stake, So growled, Sir Biorn,

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what's our plan for killing a blasted
fire drake? Then, for long hours,

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debate raged, mead flowed, and
diverse strategies took form. An assault

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team would track the beast to its
lair, while auxiliary units protected vulnerable villages.

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Though initially stunned, Astrid's war chiefs
quickly grasped the danger and reacted with

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customary pragmatism. All knew this foe
was beyond any one hero or clan.

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Only a unified force stood a chance. Finally, as the moon rose,

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a strategy coalesced. At dawn,
Queen Astrid strode toward the mustering fields beyond

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the stronghold's walls. Chainmail gleamed over
hard leather armor and harrow vessel helm.

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Her cloak of rich Crimson swirled like
a rising storm. Strapped across her back.

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The legendary sword Dragon's Bane passed down
from her fore mother's awaited dragon Blood

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once again. Around the camp fires, huddled groups of warriors, checking kit

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and sharing stale rations. Four dozen
in all. Though a mere fraction of

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her military strength, these troops were
the finest her marshals could gather on short

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notice. Astrid would lead the expedition
herself, along with Eric Serbiorn, and

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her youngest champions Arna and Kel.
She located Eric amidst a group of rangers

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stringing you longbows, ready, your
keenest arrows, Eric, something tells me

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we shall have need of them.
Eric thumped a fist to his chest.

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My finest are soaked in milk of
the poppy. My Queen will fell this

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fiend or die in the attempt.
Satisfied, Astrid moved through the ranks,

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dispensing final orders and reassurances as appropriate. By the time she reunited with her

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vanguard at the camp's edge, the
first amber rays of dawn were creeping over

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the pines. She vaulted into the
saddle of grimm. Her ill tempered gerren

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Stallion as her party formed up on
shaggy forest ponies. You have your orders.

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We meet again when the beast is
dead or the sky falls upon our

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heads. Astrid's harsh cry was met
with raucous cheers and hammering weapons on hide

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shields. The hunt was on three
days out from the stronghold. Astrid's band

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was deep in the uncharted old forest. Snow fell relentlessly through the gnarled oaks

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and furs, masking tracks and confusing
navigation. They were relying on Eric's memory

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of the path he'd fled south on
to guide them. Progress was steady but

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arduous. On the fourth morning,
the terrain began sloping upwards into foothills and

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narrow ravines. Scouts returned with news
of a broad swath of ruined forest stretching

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to the north. The company halted
a mile from the devastation, amidst an

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eerie silence, like the calm before
battle. Astrid dismounted and unslung a spyglass

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from her saddle by odin, she
muttered as she surveyed the annihilation through the

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brass lens. Splintered timbers stretched almost
to the horizon. It looked as if

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some vengeful god had swept an axe
across the land, smoking stumps and shredded

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carcasses peppered the ruination. She lowered
the spyglass with a grave expression. If

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any yet doubted our foe, doubt
no longer By unspoken consent. Warriors doubled

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down on weapons checks, Arrows were
pointed, blades sharpened anew on wetted stones.

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Their target's might was now apparent.
Their queen's mien remained cool, but

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inwardly, she sent a prayer to
Freya for courage and guidance. Live Both

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her warriors and her peoples depended on
her decisions. She would not fail them.

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Scouts were sent forth to report on
entry points into the wreckage. They

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returned shortly, confirming a narrow corridor
of surviving trees spanning north and south.

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Eric confirmed it matched his escape route. He led them wordlessly toward this slim

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life line between leafless skeletons. Soldiers
sheathed weapons and mirrored his silence as they

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skirted the deathly wood. Soon,
the foreboding cross hatching of burned timbers surrounded

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them on both sides. Snow continued
falling, slowly, burying evidence of the

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cataclysm. Each exhale came out white, misting on meatal edged helmets and woolen

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shawls. The only sound was the
crunch of boots on fresh powder. All

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knew a predator could be tracking them
even now. Late afternoon of the next

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day found the party approaching the spine
of the mountain range that to marked the

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edge of Astrid's realm. Her ancestors
had built their strongholds below these peaks to

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guard against invasion. Now it seemed
peril had bypassed their fortress gates entirely.

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Bright flashes high on the escarpment through
brakes in the trees held the group riveted.

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Sunset reflected off fresh powder or burnished
armor. Flights of ravens circled the

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heights, cowing loudly, something stirring
rumbled. Sir Biorn could have a nest

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up there. Astard raised her spyglass
to search the mountain side more closely.

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There, along a sharp ridge line, she made out the dark mouth of

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a sizeable cave. Giant scaled tracks
led down the slope from it to a

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debris field of gnawed bones and shredded
hides. Bile rose in her throat as

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she lowered the lens. The serpent
has its lair before us, readierselves,

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she hissed to her cadre. Her
command was echoed down the column. Eric

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slid a black arrow from his quiver. Scouts drew thin stilettos, and warriors

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hefted axes and spears. Veterans pared
off, checking straps and ties, making

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silent peace before their dance with death. So close to its sanctuary, surprise

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was now imperative. Astrid sent kel
ahead to scout their final approach. Minutes

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crawled by before the young fighter crept
back, half bent. The cave mouth

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is a bowshot. Yawned through a
gulch, but no clear way up.

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His clan tattoos contorted as he frowned, there's a ledge below well concealed that

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would hold a few. Maybe,
Bjorn spat thoughtfully, so only one or

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two can get close and spring a
trap. Rest pile in after for the

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real fight. Astrid nodded approvingly.
Pick your best, Eric, one chance

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is all. We'll get soon.
Eric and Kel edged onto the mound,

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overlooking their destination. Bows at hand, other scouts ring the area, bows

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drawn for the assault team poised below. A two fingered signal from Kel set

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Astrid's heart racing. The day of
destiny was upon them. Minutes crawled by.

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Then suddenly Eric loosed his arrow,
and chaos erupted. A deafening screech

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split the sky as enraged roars echoed
down the slope. Warriors poured up the

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rear trail to the cave, just
as an enormous ebbonhead burst forth. Eyes

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aflame arrows hailed down in effectiveness.
The dragon thrashed madly, snapping blindly as

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blood ran. Astrid led her fighter's
wedge straight into that Maelstrom, swinging her

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ruone etched blade. Ivar and his
brother clansmen flanked right, wielding axes and

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mattocks against the fiend's hind quarters,
while Layelah invoked curses and protections. Bjorn's

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hammer blow finally toppled their foe,
tossing warriors skyward as it shuddered in death

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throes. Astrid saw her chance and
leapt with sword upraised. Her stroke severed

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jugular and spine. In one last
defiant bellow, she rode the collapsing carcass

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down, exhilarations surging through her veins. They had won in the ensuing days.

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Exhausted warriors descended the mountain triumphantly,
bearing scales and teeth as trophies.

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Word quickly spread through the villages of
the mighty Queen who defeated the terror from

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the North against all odds. Scalds
far and wide would come to embellish the

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deeds into legend. With the fires
of war now quenched by winter's chill,

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peace would descend across Astrid's realm once
again. In the many years remaining to

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her, queen, Astrid saw her
lands and influence grow vastly. While battles

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continued throughout her reign, none matched
the visceral risks she stared down against the

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Dragon of the North. Tales of
her courage became fireside lore for generations long.

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Ships bearing dignitaries and trade goods arrived
from lands near and far, seeking

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alliance under her even hand and far
sight, fortresses arose and forests regrew.

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Her name would ring as a synonym
for fierce justice in the North until her

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daughter Alva ascended the high seat.
After her passing the two carved dragon heads

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adorning the gates would insure none forgot
where freedom in the Northern Realm was forged

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in the age of Astrid, the
dragon Slayer. First of her name