[gowb]

Aasbjörn stood tall against the setting sun. It had burned brightly today, hotter than the Voice of Sölve usually preferred. But the hills of his home were far behind him, and he stood on this fertile ground that the Lord of Near and Close had demanded become theirs. The blood of the indigenous forces stained the soil beneath his feet, and his human retainers busied themselves with finishing off the wounded and dying around him. The Norna and her apprentice had left to scry for any traces of magic left in this dying world, and his elite warriors were off relaxing in their brief respite. He was alone, his massive form silhouetted against the sky. The giant called to be the Prophet of the World God sighed. Not for the first time did he wonder why he had answered that call.

The one they called the Golden directed his gaze to the north. His scouts had reported that a large army of Atlantians had attacked immediately upon his departure, easily rolling over the paltry defenses he had set up. The giant rested his hands on the sword struck into the ground before him, shifting slightly in his burnished golden armor. He had a decision to make. Stand and trust in the might of the Arcosephalian army, or retreat from the behemoth to the north? His warband was in tune with battle and hungry for more, but they were few in number and he doubted any magical tricks the Hag's daughters could come up with would turn the tide.

Angerboda. The Hag of the Iron Wood was another problem he would have to face. The vile giantess had emerged from hiding several months ago, seemingly subservient and willing to serve Lord Sölve - but Aasbjörn did not trust her. The witch served only herself, and though she would not dare to challenge the Lord of Winter Himself, surely His prophet stood as a potential obstacle to power. He did not feel entirely safe with her roaming the halls of the Coldsteel Palace.

Beseiged by enemies from both within and without. Aasbjörn the Golden sighed once again, no steam issuing with his breath, once again reminding him of the distance between him and his beloved home. With a fatalistic shrug, the stoic giant drew the horned helm of his position over his head. Either way, the respite was over.