‘North Wind’ Reim drank the Draught of Memory in order to wield the powerful hammer named Troll Bane, but his past proves more painful than the Valkyrie anticipated. Read on for a first look at this legendary Tier III skin and the last chapter of Reim’s ‘North Wind’ story!
CHECK OUT HIS IN-GAME FOOTAGE & 3D MODEL:
- Wields the hammer of thunderbolts: Troll Bane
- Cloak of the mighty wolf of the Kalls
- Black ice and lightning effects
- New mighty horned helm
‘North Wind’ Reim Alternate Fates Lore:
The Valkyrie watched Reim with care as he drank the Draught of Memory. He coughed, bent double and retched. “What is this foul concoction?” he gasped.
“For some, the memories are bitter,” she responded. She laid a hand on the old mage’s arm but he flinched away.
“He laughed… laughed so much,” said Reim with his throat closing. “I always thought, if I’ve done nothing else right, at least I brought that laugh into the world. And it’s gone.”
“Whose laughter is gone?” asked the Valkyrie.
“My son! My son is dead!” cried the mage, his eyes wild and unseeing. “He died … He was killed and I sent him to that fate; I did not believe him and now I will never … My fault, mine …”
Horror froze her in place as The Valkyrie, having little experience with family, watched the mage’s memories return. In all the months they had traveled together she had never seen him complain, or smile, or wince in pain; the draught had poured Reim’s soul back into the shell of his body. She whispered, “Troll Bane is within the tree.”
“Why should I care about some hammer?” His voice had gone deeper, raspier; it boomed through her leg bones and shook the ground.
“The Kalls are full of danger, Magister,” she said. “You will need Troll Bane to defend yourself against the trolls and the Grangor when I leave you.”
Reim glared through his helm at the dark, strange tree that had grown from nowhere, then threw down his staff. A spire erupted from the ground, spearing up through the center of the tree. Where the tree had been, a great hammer laid on a bed of icy splinters.
The mage plucked up the hammer, then turned his gaze to the Nether-woman. “I’m on this peak because of you. I drank the poison because of you.” He stretched out his gnarled fingers toward her and she shrank back, stumbling. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
“No, my friend! Do not imprison me again,” whimpered the Valkyrie, but a chill wind had already fled from the mage’s fingers, and she found she could not run. She cried out but the sound drowned in thunder, and the Valkyrie wavered, ghost-like, reached out in a futile attempt at defense as her spirit spun and poured into the hammer named Troll Bane.
In the silence that followed, Reim stepped beyond the standing-stones and stood with his toes over the summit’s edge. “Are you here?” he asked, but nothing from the Netherworld replied.
CANON REIM LORE: