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Post by trondheim on Jul 19, 2014 14:46:20 GMT
Hello one and all! After having joined this fantastic forum of roleplaying & such, I decided to post some of my own rambelings. The story takes place in a unnamed world. And will follow the adventures of the woman whom this story is named after, as always C&C is more than welcome. Happy reading
To the far north there lays a land so inhospitable, and wracked by cold weather and the lack of any friendly place to rest, in these rugged foothills and vast rolling tundra plains those who are shunned by the world or driven here by either fear or a need to vanish come. Some find shelter in the few lonely fortified towns that hug the valley floors. Or some live alone, forever wandering those cold marches in search of solitude or perhaps some company to ward of evil dreams. Known o traveller. In these lands there is but one law, and that is the law layed down by the biting cold north wind and the harsh land itself. Only the strong or lucky can hope to eke out a living here. So let us begin our story, and let us discover who or what will unfold in it. Snow drifted across the frozen tundra as a lone figure walked under the shimmering light cast down upon the frozen land below by the stars. Over ridges and across frozen rivers the tracks left by the wanderer. Here in the far north none of the trappings of civilization would aid a traveller. Only what that soul could hope to carry with him or her alongside what they wore upon their bodies to ward of the cold.
The biting cold had coloured her eyebrows and hair white with frost. Her breathing was laboured and she felt so very tired. But yet she pressed on, her large form clad in thick bearskin and wool cloths while a heavy cloak was secured to her back. In her free hand she clutched a long spear that ended in a spear tip provided with two solid barbs. Long had she walked and now she was unsure if she could go on, her legs throbbed with pain for each step she took trough the deep snow. Pausing for a moment upon a small ridge she looked down into the valley below, she saw a small cluster of trees and a large rock in the middle of the thicket. Setting one foot in front of the other she trudged down the hill and walked in amongst them. As she did, he snapped of loose ranches and with a strong grip on one almost dead tree she ripped in down sending a shower of snow drifting down towards the ground. Satisfied with the amount of fire wood she had gathered she pulled out a large broad bladed knife from her sleeve and struck it with a piece of flint. It took several tries but at last the embers caught hold of the tinder. And smoke begun to rise as she carefully blew air into the smouldering embers. The flames licked the branches she piled up on them greedily and soon a roaring fire spread its warm hands out to her. In the firelight her face was illuminated, her sharp nose. The hard and predatory eyes and the mouth that partially revealed sharp teeth behind red lips. For anyone observing her she would look something apart. And there was a reason for that, she was of mixed blood. In her veins ran the blood of both troll and human. Her mother had been a serving girl in one of the small towns to the south. While her father had been a towering warrior who had stolen her mother while taking part in a raid that had seen the town plundered and set ablaze. From these opposite ends she had been born, a half breed not accepted by anyone let alone tolerated by her fathers kin. Her mother had died during child birth and her father had never taken any interest in her, raised more or less by a childless member of the tribe she had been a outcast and a stranger for all her life.
But she was far from weak, standing head and shoulders above any human she had inherited her fathers build and dourness. Broad shoulders and a rock hard frame made her more than a match for any other troll or half breed. She was also grazed with long brown hair and somewhat fair skin. But it had been marked by the weather and the general harsh life she lived. Cast out from her tribe for rejecting a suitor who wanted to see her undressed ad sweating upon a hide before his fire place she now had to survive alone, and her would be suitor lay dead in the cold earth. When he had made her move she had rammed her hunting knife into his guts and twisted the blade while clawing his eyes out. Having sworn to never lie on her back for the pleasure of others. In addition to her size and strength she had inherited her fathers temperament it seemed. As she sat there in the light of the fire, and with the stars overhead she began to sing, with a low almost mournful voice she sang the only song she had ever heard as a child. The song was for small kids with trouble sleeping, but for this lonely woman it did work just as well. As the temperature fell, and the cracking of trees in the cold mixed with the howls of distant wolves she began to feel sleep call to her. Wrapping the bearskin around herself and putting more wood on the fire she began to doze of. Her dreams uneasy and filled with images of the lands to the south she had heard rumours about. She was done with freezing alone, and walking under the cold gaze of the northern stars. In her chest a urge to wander to far of places had awoken and could not be put out. She would see the souther lands and wander under new. The last thoughts that passed trough the mind of Ashild as she was about to drift of was that she hoped the souther lands was prepared for her coming. With a smile she fell asleep.
As she woke up, and stretched her limbs she felt stiff and sore. Her butt was numb and her hair in a mess courtesy of the strong wind that had blown all trough the night. throwing of her cloak she rose to her feet and took the new day in. it looked like the clear weather would keep up, and the sings of more snow was not to be seen yet. For that she praised the forefathers. She had noticed the small river free of ice last night. Making sure the fire was piled high with wood she took her cloak and walked down to its barren banks. Ramming the spear into the ground she hung her cloak upon it, and begun to shed her other cloths until she was nude as a new day. Jumping head first into the river she took several long strokes under the water before emerging with mist rising from her body. For any other it would be madness to bade during the winter in such waters , but she had the blood of trolls running in her veins and she needed the wash. She had smelled like a old dead male bear thanks to the unwashed cloths she wore. Hurrying back to the fire she wrapped her still wet form in the heavy fur cloak and nestled close to the fire, the heat. Its warming rays seeping into her body and driving the feeling of cold out. While she lay there on the edge of sleep a smile found its way to her lips. As the sun finally cleared the horizon she was on the move, her nose pointed south and with a slight spring in her step she made good speed. Days passed by, some nights she did not rest. Just kept on walking with noting more than the stars to guide her and the wind at her back as company. In this lonely manner her journey south unfolded for just over a week. But one day she picked up the scent of something different on the wind. She had been forced to cross fast flowing rivers, and to walk in the shadows of great snowdrifts, that seemed to wait for the perfect moment to come thundering down towards her. And bury her under their enormous weight. She had seen the tell tale signs that let her know she was getting closer to her goal. When had had made her way across the frozen north she had not once crossed a road, at most there where poorly marked trails for those who knew where to find them. But here further south well marked roads crossed the land, and connected the few small farming community’s that dotted some of the valleys. These hamlets she made a point to pass by, or making her stops in them as short as possible. She was not afraid of them but still, caution was never a bad thing for someone from the far north.
Climbing a steep hill she looked down, and felt a hint of uncertainty grip her hearth. Down there lay the town that marked the border between the lands she had called home and the civilized lands of men to the south. She saw great wagons roll past on the stone covered road below, and a myriad of people walk both towards the south and some who seemed to be on their way north. As she stood motionless as a statue there and looked down upon Tuffria, as the town was called by all who passed trough it the last of her doubts died within her bosom. She made her way down the rocky mountain side and stood with both feet on the great road that lead south. She remembered what the old trader she had talked with in the small nameless hamlet to the far north had said about the south. The old man had warmed up and almost become outright excited when the tall woman had undone a pair of the buttons in her shirt, she was by no means a woman who loved to flaunt her attributes. Nor did she care for attention from men in general, but the old man had deserved that much she had mused. Beside he had been well mannered and done noting to ask about her heritage. Beside as he put it, seldom did a old man like him get a visits from a goddess from the cold wilds of the north. He had slipped her a bag of copper and told to use it on something she felt she needed when she reached Tuffria, she would need new cloths in the south he had said, bear skins and fur booths was not the best ting to wear according to him.
Spear in one hand and the other free by her side she walked towards the town that filled her nostrils with a thousand different smells. Many of the ones she passed on the road threw long looks after her as she walked past them. In her mind it was due to her size and outlandish looks, but had she been more well versed in how some men and for that mater some women react to a tall brown haired woman clad in fur cloths she might have chosen to wait until later that day before setting foot for the first time in Tuffria.
As she walked trough the city gates and cast her hungry eyes upon the bustling market for the first time she felt something awake inside her. For far too long had she wandered the frozen north alone and as a pariah, shunned by those who claimed to be her kin. But here she was free to start a new life, no one knew her nor why she had come south. As she strode fourth the crowds parted to le this towering creature from the high nort pass. The words about new cloths begun to ring in her mind as she felt the heat and dust make her feel hot and uncomfortable. She kept her eyes open for someone who could sell her the new outfit she needed. As the half troll walked the market squares she stumbled upon a merchant who had heaps of cloth and fur works both in front of his shop, and inside it. Knowing she would need to part with her copper she felt for the heavy bag of coin that rested inside her shirt. Feeling its weight she smiled, if something remained after the purchases she intended to do, she would seek a tavern to wash the feeling of thirt away with wine. The gods knew she liked a cup of good wine, “Southerner! I wish to rid myself of these rags. Have anything that fits me” she said and looked down on the slumbering merchant who suddenly snapped awake, awoken by this giant of a woman. He blinked and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. If he where shocked to see her standing there he said not a word about it. “Why yes my fair lady! I believe I have many things that could dress your elegant frame, and make men drool. Unless you want something more practical that is?” he said and bowed to her. Clapping his hands he summoned one of his shop assistants and begun instructing the scrawny youth to find something that could fit their customer. “Have a seat my dear, while my assistant locates what I believe what would fit you.”
Nodding she sat down on a pile of skins, the man seemed honest enough. If a bit greedy with his eyes as he looked at her when he thought she did not see it. But then again he was not unlike any other man she had meet, they all for the most part seemed only interested in one thing.
“Ah here we are! Come on, feel free to try them on.” the man said when the young lad appeared weighted down by a pile of cloths and other things for the woman who had stepped into their shop. Indicating for the lad to follow the merchant stepped out of the shop and drew the curtains firmly closed behind him, as Ashild begun to shed her old cloths. A new shirt of wool she slipped into, the soft cloth was leagues apart from the rough buck skin shirt she had worn before. She slid her mail shirt on and felt dressed once more, now for the rest she thought. After the new shirt she dropped her hot wolf skin pants and put on the new set of pants. They where adorned with fine patterns of yellow thread set against the dark green cloth. Last she put on the new boots made of though ox hide and with solid laces of cord. The only thing that now remained was to adorn her new cloak made of sheep wool and trimmed with rabbit fur. Stepping out of the shop she pulled her bag of coins out and turned to the merchant. “How much coin” she said in a flat tone and awaited a reply.
“Well.....since its seldom I have a customer as you I believe you own me some sixty copper pieces.” upon hearing the cost she smiled and revealed her sharp teeth. “I was thinking more along the lines of fifty copper. Unless you can beat me in a arm wrestling match” she replied and flexed her overarms who would have put most pure breed humans to shame. Throwing his hands up in defeat the said. “You drive a hard bargain young lady, okay fifty copper pieces it is then. May the gods smile upon you”
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Castiel
Rising Legend
Lord of the West
Forth Eorlingas!
Posts: 644
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Ashild
Jul 20, 2014 23:30:55 GMT
Post by Castiel on Jul 20, 2014 23:30:55 GMT
Its a good read mate, I'm interested to see where this goes. Might I suggest running it through a spell checker before you post though, there's a few wee spelling errors and such that it might highlight for you. I know English probably isn't your first language though, so its really good quality writing!
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Ashild
Jul 21, 2014 12:54:14 GMT
Post by trondheim on Jul 21, 2014 12:54:14 GMT
Many thanks for the feedback Castiel, I used Open-office for this story, and I always use the spell checker, but it has to be changed over to English so it may miss a few things. But I will do it none the less.
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Ashild
Jul 23, 2014 20:04:36 GMT
Post by trondheim on Jul 23, 2014 20:04:36 GMT
Outside the shop the weather had changed, the sun had been blotted out by dark looming skies and a promise of thunder and rain hung heavily in the air. The busy streets of Tuffria was not phased by this, the hustle and bustle of trade kept on flowing. But as they did a rumbling sound filled the skies, and the rain that had been promised poured down Ashild payed the merchant the coppers they had agreed on and walked out into the day dressed in her new cloths. For the first time in her until now harsh existent she did not feel the need to spend every waking hour looking for the next meal or shelter for the coming storm. But she still needed to eat and drink, even if she had reached the edge of civilization and the southern lands. She set of down the street where she stood out like a lion amongst sheep, even her way of walking sat her apart from the common folk of this place. But that was noting she payed heed to, nor intended to do. Let them stare she mused and smiled when she saw a tavern nestled in between two larger buildings. Making sure she still had her purse of coins safely tucked in between her shirt and undergarments she made her way trough the crowded street. As she pushed the heavy oak door that was marked by what looked like ax marks a myriad of sounds and smells washed over her. The smell of beer mixed with sweat, dust from the road and the lingering smell of burning wood on the great hearth in the center of the room made her feel relaxed but not of guard. There was also the smell of fear, unwashed bodies and other less pleasant smells. She walked in and looked about, the common room was filled with folk of all manners, from of duty city guard to weary travelers drinking their worries away. Several pairs of eyes noticed her and took a somewhat keen interest in the young woman clad in mail and fur. Approaching the counter she pulled her coins out. “Beer and whatever passes as food in your inn.” she said and waited for the mug to be placed in front of her. The obese inn keeper poured the foaming beer from a great keg and placed in front of her with a pair of greedy eyes that devoured her curves as she walked of to find a place to sit. Seeing a free table near the wall at the end of the common room she made her way there, passing tables and dodging a pair of customers who had resolved to settle their arguments with their fists she sat down and placed her feet on a free chair. Her face revealed noting of the myriad of thoughts and ideas that swirled around in her head. She sat in silence and layed plans when the food arrived. Bringing the meal was a scrawny boy with wild hair and freckles on his face, he placed a plate heaped with a steaming pile of mutton and newly baked bread heavily ladded with butter. “Here you go my lady” he muttered and stood awaiting her judgement of the meal in front of her.
“It looks good enough, but before you go. Tell me if the beds are any good here” she said and casually broke the massive leg bone laying on her plate with a flick of her hands and fixing him with her ice blue eyes. “Err yes, they are good enough, well if you don’t mind the noise from the common room at late nights though.” he finished. Nodding she tossed the lad a few coins for his opinions and advice. The meal passed without incident, she saw a steady influx of new customers pour in as the rain increased outside and dampened everyone’s lust for trade and banter. Downing what remains of her beer she gets up to get another tankard for herself, she feels the pleasant effect of the strong beer buzzing in her body as she crosses the now crowded floor. At the counter she hands the same boy who served her a few copper coins and gets her new foaming mug of beer. Sitting back down she takes a deep sip from it and enjoys the sensation of the cool liquid flowing down her throat. Across the room the buzz of voices has now reached a almost deafening roar as more and more guests flood into the tavern. Feeling the need for rest seep into her road weary bones she dozes of, her strong fingers relaxing their grip on both beer mug and dagger hilt. But her moment reverie dose not last not, as sits there she can hear the sounds of feet drawing near. Opening her eyes she sees a man clad in decent cloth stand before her looking somewhat at a loss for what to do, and how to address this seemingly slumbering woman. “I hate to disturb you, but if you would listen to what I have to say I would be more than willing to compensate you for it.” he says. Ashild runs her eyes up and down the man and sizes him up, he is not city born but have a air of fine culture about that makes her more savage side snarl in disgust. But if he offers glittering coin just to speak with her she is more than interested in indulging his wish. “Spill your words then southern” she says and eyes him with a hint of interest. The man grabs a nearby chair that has become free after its previous occupant has slummed under the table drunk, and where at this moment snoring away like a bear. Speaking with a calm tone in his voice the man presents himself to her. “My name is Thule and I am the master of a caravan that is heading south with goods in a few days time, as you perhaps can imagine that means wealth and lots of. So without wasting your time I would like to hire you on a guard until we reach Nemedia. I pay ten silver pieces a day plus food and wine.” to this rather bold suggestion she simply nods and downs the almost full drinking horn in front of her in one deep gulp. Whipping the foam from her red lips she thinks about it for a moment. While the man is looking at her face she leans over the table, and feels the edge of it press against her breasts as she dose. The man notices this too and seem to struggle to keep a cool head.
“Twenty silver, new weapons and wine then we have a deal” she says and flashes him with a set of white teeth. “I see well I suppose that is a fair price then” he says and extends his hand to her. “ Meet me outside the southern gate in two days time, or sooner if you wish. We leave at dawn!” he says and leaves her to her own company. Deciding that she has had her fill of both food and beer she gets up and heads for the stairs leading up to the room she has rented for the night. All she has in her mind is shedding her cloths and sleeping the remainder of the night away under soft sheets. But as her boots lead the way she felt a pair of strong hands grip her hips and a slurry voice fill her ears. A drunken sell sword clad in worn armour deep in his cups beside his comrades in arms has been casting long looks at her all night, now with his mind dulled by beer and hard liquor he makes his move. However his romantic advances are not meet with lust or any other warm feelings. His comrades cheers him on as he pulls his would be prize closer, but it is at that moment he should have fled the scene or ended his own life. A low bestial growl could be heard from her chest as she grabs the hands that has seized hold of her, and with a violent heave of her upper body sends the man skidding across the floor with a thud, his comrades howl in surprise as the towering woman strides after their downed friend. She waits for him t get back up, in the mean time the other patrons of the tavern makes sure to get out of her way, none wish to tempt fate with the snarling half troll. “Il bleed you, you northern whore!” the man snarls and pulls a knife from his belt and began to close the gap between them. She eyes the gleaming blade and hear the sea of voices from all around, deciding that the drunk fool needs not die she decide to make a example of him.
He lunges at her, his reflexes revealing a skilled fighter when not under the influences, she sidesteps a jab and hammers his ribs with a blow that knocks the breath out of him. While he reels from the blow she draws back, awaiting the next move from her opponent. He breaths heavily now and seems unsure on how to proceed but still he comes on. When he tries to ram the blade into her guts she decide the show has gone on long enough, she grabs the man and violently rains blows upon him. With blood flowing from his ruined face a he sags down and stays still. Breathing heavily now she looks down upon him and spits out a speck of blood and wipes sweat from her brow. Turing to his stunned comrades she tells them to have a healer see to him, and make sure he is well cared for. None of them seem willing to continue the quarrel just now but their eyes radiates promises of future retribution should the chance present itself.
Upon entering her rented room she feels weariness take hold, she is not used to such things as what has just unfolded. “Curse men and curse me for being so daft” she says to no in particular and falls down on the bed with noting more than the bed sheets embracing her sweaty form. As sleep is about to overcome her she feels a tingle in her body, the sense of a new dawn of adventure is about to unfold.
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Ashild
Jul 23, 2014 20:09:50 GMT
Post by trondheim on Jul 23, 2014 20:09:50 GMT
rapierankseeng broke and with it came the sounds of a city awakening to a new day filled with hopes and aspirations, however for Ashild it was a morning that begun with a throbbing headache and being forced to listen to the couple in the room next door. She felt horrid as she put her cloths on and fumbled with the laces for her boots. But she decided that a mere headache and a sense that the world was somewhat blurry would keep her from seeking out the merchant named Thule. With red eyes and a throat that felt like dust she walked down the stairs and into the common room, in there was nobody than the boy who had served her the night before, he stood behind the bar counter polishing drinking horns and seemed lost in the task at hand.
Muttering a somewhat untrue good morning to the lad she walked out into the day, the streets where already starting to be filled with people. And she decided that the sooner she was out of this ant hill the better it would be for her throbbing head. Her feet carried her down muddy streets and back alleys where she saw that not of the inhabitants of the great city dwelled in comfort, beggars shuffled out of her way and orphans watched her stride by with dead eyes and emaciated bodies. As she saw their suffering she felt disgusted by the Southerners and their disregard for the ones down on their luck. Most northern tribes would never let a child go uncared for, nor turn away those in need. This was indeed a strange place she found herself in, to her barbaric mind the city was a throbbing hive filled with vermin that could use a good beating to teach them some respect for their kin. Rounding a corner she saw the massive gate that the man named Thule had told her to walk trough if she wanted to find him and his caravan. She passed it and its guards who looked at her with barely hidden lust in their eyes, but none of them said a word. Or made a move to halt her, the fear of their captain or the whip most likely kept them in line. Pausing to look around she saw the man she was looking for, he was busy arguing with a pair of merchants about something she did not care about, and it was clear by the look of his face that he was not enjoying himself either. When the two men left she approached and gently tapped his left shoulder. “By the devils of the eternal fire! I already told you two vultures to go show that offer up your rear end!” the man cursed and turned about with a angry scowl on his face, that however faded fast when he saw who it was that had interrupted his fuming. “Oh pardons my lady, I did not mean to expose your fair self to such language. But in my mind I was sure it was those two swine’s again.” he said and finished securing a pair of large sacks onto the wagon he was standing beside.
“Oh I can handle such things, after all I am of Northern breeding” she said and smiled a crooked smile that revealed her white teeth. To this he simply nodded and fumbled about for something on his person, when he found it he tossed her a small pouch. “Consider this your first payment, as for weapons go see Charsi over there” “My thanks” Ashild said and walked of to find this Charsi who would provide her with new weapons and whatever else she would have need of on the road. The sounds of a heavy hammer ringing on a anvil lead her in the right way, when she reached the tent she became stricken with awe. There stood a woman clad in a leather apron and with bare arms as she pounded a glowing piece of metal into shape with a massive hammer. Her arms was marked by sparks and hot pieces of metal, her dark hair tied up in a pony tail and her face hard with concentration. Walking up to her, but standing back a safe distance she spoke to the blacksmith. “I was told you where the one to see about my equipment.” The dark haired smith did not reply at once, she wiped sweat from her face with a dirty rag and drank deep of a water skin after she had stuck the unfinished piece back into the coals. “Yes that would be, and I suppose your the one the whole camp has been talking about. You caused quite the stir when you beat the daylights out of that sell sword you know” “Nice to meet you” Charsi said and smiled to her.
She looked up and down Ashild and nodded, as if in her mind going over what would suit her and what would need modifications to serve her best come battle. “Tell me what is your preferreamouroamourarmour? I reckon you are not the one to string a bow or dance around with a rapier” she carried on in a cheerful tone. Ashild did not take long to answer these questions from the eager smith. “I prefer to wear either mail or mail reinforced with leather. As for the other things, well I would prefaxa steel axe and shield or a two handed one if you have that.”
“Well... That sounds manageable, I’ll see what I have laying around here and come get you when its all ready!” she said and with that she climbed onto a immense wagon and started to search trough all the different things stored there. Ashild stood below and watched the smith sift trough all manner of things, from silk undergarments to reinforced sets amourther armour reinforced with mail. After a hour or so the smith climbed down and placed the last items her new customer had asked for on the ground. She helped Ashild on wiamour new armour she had been given, and showed her how to adjust the straps and how to undo the buckles that kept the armour on. Lastly she handed her a weapon that spoke of a very skilled metal worker and that seemed to sing as she took a few practice swings with the ax handed axe. The axe head was decorated with two snarling wolf heads on each side, the front of the axe hammer was engraved with a grinning skull. The half troll grinned and turned to the smith who had forged this fine axe. “By the howling beasts of the wastes! This is a weapon fit for a king! And you made this?”
“I am glad you like it, I forged it myself. Spent a month making the axe head and the runes you see, the hilt is of hardened oak so it wont break any time soon.” the smith said, but as she spoke a sad look gripped her smiling features, and her shoulders seemed pressed down by a great burden. She seemed to be fighting hard to keep the tears at bay as she looked at Ashild. “I intended to give it to my father, but he passed away before I could finish it.” the now weeping woman said and turned away as tears begun to stream down her soothed face and leaving behind what seemed rivers carved out of a piece of darked wood. Ashild was not used to handling weeping women, much less a woman like Charsi that she had just meet, but deep within her body a tiny voice reminded her of how it felt to be alone with ones sorrow and mourning. As the dark skies above once more rumbled and opened their gates she walked after the mournful smith. As the rain pounded the land Ashild sat in the cramped tent belonging to Charsi and listen to her stories, on how she became a blacksmith, her father and the other dead members of her once big and thriving family. On how she had been found amongst the burnt out remains of the farmstead by Thule and his caravan and of the woad painted wild men from beyond the great marsh that had set it ablaze. When the storm broke the half troll left the smith to her own thoughts and needs and went in search of caravan master Thule. She found the man restinsmolderingsmouldering fire and a pipe in hand. The strong smell of pictish tobacco irritated her nostrils as she sat down beside him. “I take it you are satisfied with your new belongings then, and may I congratulate you on making a new friend in Charsi. The gods knows she needs to get her head out of the forge more often.”
“I heard about the Picts.....I never thought those painted devils where this far south. I thought you Southerners made a point of killing them to the last man when they appeared in your lands?” “ She told you did she? Well yes somehow those bastards found a way across the great marsh and settled in the hinterlands. They breed like rats, thankfully they kill each other as often as they raid outside their own territories.”
“Hmm well I will make sure to let none of them live if I meet them.” she said and was about to get up when the man spoke.
“If we should encounter Picts, show them your teeth! They fear trolls above all else. That and Thessalonian steel!” Nodding she thanked him for the advice Days passed and the caravan had left Tuffria behind, ahead of them now lay the road southwards. As they went they passed great estates and smaller farming towns where the people toiled away harvesting wheat, fruits and tending to cattle. They also passed several large cavalry formations with men clad in dark steel plate and gripping long slender lances in their mailed fists. These where the road wardens, the ones who kept Picts, bandits and wild beasts away from the trade road and farmsteads. None of those men payed the passing caravan any heed beyond the normal glare they gave to anyone they met on the road. As they reached the river Sarin Thule called a halt to announce where their final goal lay for those who had joined their following the last time they had stopped in a small hamlet.
“Okay you lot, as some of the more keen minded of you may have realized we are not heading straight to Thessalonia but making a detour trough the Black Mountains to save time instead of following the trade road all the way out to Kels!” this announcement made several people mutter nervously, the Black Mountains was a name that was synonyms with hardship and foul weather in addition to the danger of bandits, and if one was extremely unlucky Picts. In the end two wagons and several people who walked decided they did not want to risk the mountains and rather follow the road out to Kels. As the long wagon train rolled on they waved to the ones taking on the mountains, some of them whispered prayers to their gods just for extra measure. As they came ever closer to the foot hills of the mountains they saw less, and less of the civilized lands of Thessalonia and more of the wilds that awaited them in the weeks to come.
Roaming ahead as a scout of sorts Ashild felt however very much alive and pleased to be nearing mountains once more. A new spring in her steps drove her fourth trough the bleak lands. But she was not alone however, several times she had sensed being watched from afar.. she had also found remains of kills, a broken arrow laying on the ground where the hunter had pulled it out from the slain animal. As she knelt down by a creek to refill her water skin the sense of being watched went from a mere suspicion to knowing what or more precisely who had watched her. As she rose to her full height she barely avoided catching a arrow to the neck, having dodged the shot she drew the long hilted axe from her back and meet her first foe of the day.
The first one to emerge from the brush was a fur clad man armed with a long spear, his wild hair giving him a mad look. He screamed at her in some language she did not understand nor did she care to do so. As he came at her she blocked his first jab and punched him directly in the face sending him reeling with blood gushing down his dirty face. As she did several more men came into view, wasting no time presented with a distracted foe she raised her axe with one hand and brought it down hard on his left shoulder. The heavy axe head crushed bone, ripped apart meat and tore tendons as it cleaved trough his upper body and came out at his hip. The man had been cut in two and the two pieces fell down while blood pooled into the water at her feet. His companions howled when their saw their friend cut down by the woman armed with the now bloodied axe. They swarmed towards her in a mob, some where armed noting more than daggers while some carried long well used swords and shields. She dodged a swipe from a sword and threw herself to the side when a spear came at her hard and fast. Rolling back onto her feet she growled and barred her predatory teeth, her muscles flexed and her eyes flared with fury divine. Coming up hard and fast she spun the axe in a wide arch and caught one man in the leg, he dropped screaming but was ignored by those fighting around him. A dagger cut bloody gash along her leg and a sword slash bounced of the hilt of her axe. The deadly swirling dance continued for several agonizing long minutes. She felt the rush of blood in her veins as she rammed the axe head into the groin of one man, sending him reeling and whimpering in pain. However his pains where short-lived, a new blow bit into his guts and ended his life.
The two remaining men realized that their would be prey was not worth dying for, and turned to run. As they so did one of them heard a loud whistling sound and a wet thud. Then he realized he was alone, behind he heard his comrade scream in pain, the heavy foot steps of that devil with the fangs and then silence. She stood by the last man to die, he had whimpered and prayed for death before she bit his throat out. His blood tasted like salty wine, she licked her bloody lips and ripped the axe free. Looking around to see if there where any spectators to this little dance of death she saw none. Good she thought, the Southerners do not need to know everything about her ways. But she needed to inform them of the bandits however.
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Post by trondheim on Aug 11, 2014 21:57:34 GMT
She was meet with wide eyes and low voices as she walked back into the camp bloodied and weary from the fight. Thule followed closely by several other men who came towards her with worry on their faces. “ By the gods woman! You look like you wrestled with a wild bear! What and who did you meet out there?” the bearded man said and handed Ashild a cloak to wrap herself in. waving it of with one hand and spitting blood she replied. “ Bandits was what I meet, they tried to stick a arrow in my neck when I paused to sate my thirst from a creek. I killed a few of them but at least one got away.” she finished
“Bandits you say? Did you manage to get a look at them before you killed them?” he continued, evidently not satisfied with the answers he had gotten from her. “I did actually, they where all clad in fur and looked like they had been down on luck of late, they where all skinny and desperate.”
“Hm well then, get that gore washed of, and then have someone look at that cut on your leg.” he finished and walked of back into camp while calming down some of the worried individuals that where shadowing him. As the warrior woman sat down by the smoldering fire she did not realize a raven haired woman with sooth stained hands and amber colored eyes. Charsi stood in the opening to her tent and watched Ashild slip back into camp, the saw the bloody cuts and she could almost feel the sting those cuts and gashes most likely where emitting into her body. She was intrigued by her and yet still she felt afraid when the half troll was within arms reach of her, but she was not sure how she stood out in the eyes of the warrior. But in spite of this she decided for the first time in a very, very long time to grab the bull by the horns, picking up a heavy wool cloak and wrapping it around herself she picked up the wine skin and walked out into the rapidly cooling evening. She walked by camp fires and an a assortment of traveler's and pack animals tethered to the wagons until she reached her destination. “Um hi there! You mind company for a bit?” she said in a nervous tone.
A pair of ice blue eyes meet her amber eyes, and it took a few nervous heartbeats before a reply was given. “Sit down if you want, and is that wine I smell from that skin?” Ashild said and a cautious smile found her lips. She sat down beside the one she had come to see and noticed that her wounds where wrapped in linen bandages. She did not ask who had tended to her wounds but guessed at the old healer who traveled with them. “So I guess you did not come to see just for the sake of finishing of the wine? I wont bite girl so just spill it” Ashild said and took a deep gulp of wine and handing the skin back to Charsi.
“Well I just wanted to talk that’s all but I guess I have one thing to ask you about.... would you mind teaching me how to fight? Seeing how we are soon in the Black Mountains and all.”
“If you foster dreams about adventure and sword fights I hate to disappoint you. Your more than likely to die alone and afraid! Far from friends & kin folk. No the road holds no comfort for those falls.”
“But you seem to have got along fine? I mean your the stuff of fairy tales! But I suppose being raised by trolls helps quite a bit.”
“It dose, but heed my words girl! The world is a hostile place, you better be ready when the beasts reveal their fangs! But to answer your question, if you are determined to learn to handle yourself in a fight I suppose I can learn you a few things.” Charsi did not answer that, instead she just smiled and moved closer. She folded her cloak around her new found friend and together they sat in the cold hours of the night.
The next day was grey and miserable, rain pounded the land as the train of wagons rolled along the road. Around the caravan outriders and guards kept a careful watch for any sign of trouble. But no bands of howling mountain men appeared, nor did the Pictish tribes make an appearance. The men grumbled and pulled the hoods of their cloaks over their heads and pressed on, inside the wagons people whispered about the foul weather and the fear they had for the unknown outside in the rain. In this manner several days passed, over the nights that followed the wet days Ashild & Charsi sparred in the gloomy light of the camp fire, their sessions where marked by pain, bruises and the occasional spilling of blood. But the student was learning albeit a somewhat bloody lesson from her seasoned master. But there was something far more important growing between the pair as they spent the days together. And that was friendship and trust in equal portions.
On the second week in the Black Mountains that bordered the wild marches of the lands in the south they did however gain a shadow, from high above steel grey eyes monitored their journey and blue painted shadows watched them from the woods and cops of rock along the way. These where the hunters of the howling wolf clan, and they never suffered trespassers in their lands. As they watched the folks below it became clear to their leader that there where more than weak blooded Thessalonians down there but what or who that was not seen by his dark eyes. The savages watched the civilized weaklings with hungry eyes and layed fell plans for the ambush to come. But not all of the ones being watched by pictish warriors where unaware of the dangers ahead of them. Ashild had for days felt uneasy and now knew something foul was afoot, she had told Thule so and he had told his guards to keep a extra eye out for anything strange, or abnormal. As the caravan came to a halt when the shadows began to grow once more few could have imagined the horror that would be unleashed upon them this night of reckoning. Charsi awoke after a gruesome nightmare, she had seen the whole wagon train put to the sword. And the flames reaching for the skies and the howls of the blood crazed pitcs mingling with that of those dying on the bloodied ground. Reaching for her boots in a haze of sleepiness and fatigue from her dream it took her several moments to realize it had not been a dream. As she stumbled out from her tent and into the awaiting dawn she saw what had happened. All around was the sounds of violence and the screams of the dying, the frightened and the ones crossing steel.
Then she saw her....Surrounded by a swarm of howling picts Ashild was the very avatar of the blood thirst Troll kin where known for, she was marked by both teeth and blade and a long red gash was visible on her forehead. In her hands she wielded the great axe she had been given. And at her feet lay heaps of the slain. Her fair pale skin stood out as a stark opposite to the blue painted woad of her foes, and their bronze coloured skin. Her long hair was caked with gore and blood, anyone of her Troll kindred who would have seen her this day would have been proud to call her their own. As she cleaved one from skull to groin she howled and barred her long teeth at the foes who dared oppose her. Whipping her axe back into a guard she blocked a spear, and killed the wielder at the return stroke. His headless corps fell back and added its ichor to the gore below their feet’s. “TO THE NINE HELLS WITH YOU WHORE SON!” she screamed and grabbed the manhood of one warrior and ripped with all her strength, the unlucky warrior howled and fell but not before a gleaming axe took his foot. The man had tried to pull her down onto the ground. If she was to die today she would die on her feet, and not down and surrounded by her foes! Let them see how a daughter of the North dies.
Ashild stood in the woods just before the crack of dawn, listening for anything out of place. The problem was that the woods was eerily quiet, as if all the woodland beasts and birds had run for cover from the coming storm. Not a bird sang nor did the deer call to each other. This was definitely a foul omen for the day to come she decided. She started to make for camp when she heard the shrill of a distinct call sounding trough out the woods around her, then as if conjured by magic the storm broke. A unison war cry rang up and down as the war band from the howling wolf clan rose from their hiding places and rushed the still waking camp. The guards realized what was happening, and to their credit they did well, short bows hummed and crossbow bolts zipped trough the air. With a intent to take as many of the screaming savages with them they meet their deaths beneath those cold and remorseless mountains. Cold Thessalonian steel and Kels forged shields clashed with bronze axes, spears and daggers in a orgy of violence. But the guards where hopeless outnumbered, and even though they claimed a bloody toll they fell one by one. A band of Picts who was busy looting and raping happened to look up when a shadow fell across one of them, a high pitched howl sounded followed by the sound of a man being hurled head over heels into a tree. Then she was upon them, screaming in her own guttural language, she called down the wrath of the jotuns, she called out to the mother of the earth and she vowed to claim their hearths for the world wolf. Before this tempest of rage the surprised warriors did not last, but they did not flee. The blood lust still boiled in their guts as they threw themselves at her.
Charsi was awoken from her trance by the sight that had greeted her. Knowing she might face death or worse she grabbed her heavy smith hammer and a discarded shield and ran towards her friend ho was sorely pressed by the foes that still swarmed around her. Her first opponent came at her with a bloodied tomahawk and with fresh spoils of plunder around his neck. He swung at her and missed by mere inches. She snapped her shield up and put all her weight and strength behind the blow that followed it up, the heavy hammer who smashed into the warriors guts with a sicking sound. He doubled over and looked with surprised eyes at the maul who rose again and fell on his stained face. She looked down with a mixture of horror and realization at her first kill, but in the time it takes a man to blink her mind was already awash with adrenaline and the thrill of battle. She pressed on and saw the horrors that had been inflicted upon some of the travellers, some where gutted and their still steaming guts wrapped around their necks. While the women had been raped and mutilated with blades before death took them.
The now bloodied smith ran trough the ruined camp site, all around she saw the devastation wrought by the blue painted devils from the mountains. How many lives she took with her heavy maul or with her own iron hard hands she did not know. All her remaing strength and will power was put towards one single goal, to stand and if need be die by Ashild. When she came around one wagon a brutal backhanded blow sent her tumbling along the ground, her head felt like a horse had kicked her and she felt the warm drizzle of blood running down her face. Through the fog that now blotted her view of the world she saw her new foe, a towering brute of a Pict. Clad in a wolf pelt and holding a great axe in his hands. Tribal tattoos and countless scars marred his body. He bent his head backwards and howled at the now rising sun, it was clear he intended to claim her head or worse. She desperately looked for her hammer but she could not see it, instead she grabbed hold of a morning star that had belonged to a now dead caravan guard, the cold metal felt somewhat reassuring in her trembling hands. She knew she was hopelessly outmatched but by the gods if she was willing lay down her life without a fight. “Come on then you bastard! Let us see if your as hard as you look” she snarled and spat blood onto the ground. The Pict warrior did something that made Charsi shiver with fear, he barred his teeth and laughed as he came at her.
She threw herself flat to avoid a swipe and rolled away to avoid the second that followed. She spun her weapon and sprang back up to her feet, the warrior howled as he brought his axe down in a overhead strike. But he was not the only one who struck, Charsi hammered her shield directly into his face as she barely avoided the blow that would have killed had it connected, she was rewarded by a howl of anger and pain. As the brute staggered backwards gripping his ruined face she spun the morning star up high and slammed it down with great force on his exposed shoulder, the heavy spiked weapon crushed bone, tore sinew and pulped flesh. He howled in horrendous pain as the raven haired woman crushed his shoulder, he sagged down with terrible waves of pain embracing him. Charsi putt all her strength behind the next blow with her weapon and with one fell stroke she buried it in the skull of her foe with a sickening sound. The eyes of the dead warrior rolled back and his great body trembled as life left him then he lay still as a rock. She took a few steps away from the gory scene behind her, and suddenly she felt o so very tired. Refusing to lay down at first she was soon overcome with the wash of nothingness that rose up and embraced her in its painless embrace, she slumped down onto the ground and lay there amongst the dead and the burning remains of her life. As she did rain once more began to fall and seemed intent on washing away the horror that had unfolded below the battleship grey skies that released its cargo of water.
As the smith lay there someone else was staggering to her feet with axe in hands and countless bruises and cuts all over her body. She vomited blood and bile as she felt the effects of the horrendous battle announce its effects on her. Forcing herself back up she hefted the axe in one hand and took the time to look around, none of the scum who had fought her lived. Either had fear driven them back into whatever muddy hut they called home or failing that they lay dead at her feet. How many she had cut down she did not know, nor did she care for that mater. “By the earth mother!” she muttered as she began to stagger away from the slain and looking for anyone who could have survived. She dared not hope for it though, by the looks of things but her hearth hoped that Charsi or that old fool Thule had gotten away.
Then she found her, she lay there in the mud. With not a hint of movement and looked for all purposes like a dead woman, but the steady rise and fall of her chest and the way she gripped a bloodied morning star told Ashild that she still lived. The half troll knelled down and picked up the smaller woman in her arms and held her as if comforting her. She tried to get the blood of her face and to wake her up, but the girl was out cold. “Don’t you leave me! I promised you to show you things” she said as tears fell down from her face, this was the first time she had felt so afraid. Over the days and weeks she had spent in her company Charsi had thawed the icy demeanour of Ashild and made her somewhat sociable. Suddenly all feelings of aching wounds and pain was gone from her, she rose up with Charsi in her strong arms and began to walk away from the now quiet and ruined caravan. She set a course for the woods where she could find shelter from the pounding rain and to watch over her comrade until she woke once more. Picking up a cloak from a dead guard and drinking deep of a wine skin she left it all behind with her comrade. She walked for hours until she came upon a small cave, by now even her formidable strength was spent and she knew she had to rest and sleep. But before she could do such things there where things she needed to tend to, breaking of branches and collecting fallen pieces of wood she built a fire and when the flames reached for the glimmering roof of the cave she finally allowed herself to sink down onto the floor. As she lay there she reflected upon the confusing feelings she felt well up inside her chest, and as the rain once more returned outside and blanketed the misty woods she wept in painful sobs for the first time since was a small child in the far north.
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Ashild
Aug 20, 2014 18:57:47 GMT
Post by trondheim on Aug 20, 2014 18:57:47 GMT
Charsi woke to a distinct feeling of pain, utter pain running amok in her bruised body. She forced herself to not panic, she did not recognize her surroundings at first, but then broken memories started to flow back to her. She remembered the fight with the Picts, the chieftain who had tried to lay her low and claim her as her own. And she remembered Ashild.... the warrior woman who had struck terror into the Picts as she killed them one by one, Ashild who had carried her to safety. As she turned her head to look for her rescuer she was meet with a sight she would always carry with her. There in the light from the cave opening sat Ashild naked from the waist down and tending to her wounds, her hands trembled slightly as she used a needle made from deer antler to stitch her wounds up. She was clearly not having much success since the stitches was somewhat uneven and irregular. But most of what haunted Charsi in her mind later was the utter look of sadness upon the woman’s face.
Wrapping the wool cloak better around herself she took the chance at speaking “Perhaps you would like a hand with those?” she said and waited for a reply from her wounded friend. It came in a flat tone from the now shivering woman. “Glad to see you awake, and I suppose you are better with a needle than me!” those words was all Charsi needed, she got to her feet somewhat unsteady at first and walked over to her companion. “You can do this! You have done it before, she needs your damned help girl” she thought to herself as Ashild handed her the needle and tread. “Just do it fast, and don’t worry about leaving a scar behind!” Ashild said as she tried to relax as the needle touched her skin. Swallowing hard Charsi began to do the unpleasant task that lay before her. She stitched several deep cuts shut and then washed the blood away with rags torn from a shirt that Ashild had taken with her. When she was her hands where shaking and she felt a need to wash herself, the stench of blood on her hands seemed to not go away nor did the feeling of having someone’s life on her conscious. She washed herself in a nearby creek and tried her best to rinse out the blood of her cloths, when she was done she walked back feeling cold and miserable to the cave. When she sat down by the fire that had been fuelled into a great pyre by now she realized that she was now utterly alone in the world, beside Ashild she did not have anything to rely on. “So what now Ashild? Where do we go. We cant go back the way we came can we? Those blue painted devils will be waiting for us wont they!” Looking up from the embers of the fire Ashild did not reply at first, it seemed she was somewhere far, far away at first. When she did it was with a hollow voice. “Aye even if their balls has shrunk but they wont let us go back that way. Even if they did we would be walking back north without any supplies and proper equipment. The best way therefore is to push on and try to get out of these damned mountains at least.” To this rather dour outlook on things the smith had no real reply, instead she too sat there and gazed into the fire as night drew near once more outside in the woods. She fell asleep soon after eating the hare that had been roasting on the fire, but her sleep was plagued by dreams and unrest. Ashild sat awake by the fire and watched Charsi sleep, to her barbarian mindset the woman was somewhat of a mystery, she seemed to be both a warrior born but also a timid young woman who feared the darkness at the edges of the camp fire. But there was no doubt in her own mind, anyone who wished to do the raven haired beauty harm would die by her own hands. It was in the darkness of the night that she swore to be her guardian, to shelter her from the cruel schemes of the world around them and to see her safely to the south. As the moon rose she cut the palm of her hand with her knife and spilled five drops of blood upon the soil in the darkness to make sure her oath lasted into the afterlife if need be.
When dawn broke and the mist still hung over the land the pair set of, wearing tattered cloths and with very little in the way of provisions it was clear the coming days would be anything than a pleasant stroll in the mountains. The day was a cold and miserable affair as they walked across the moors while avoid the main road. Mud clinged to their feet’s and cloths and rain pounded them. Ashild cursed a foul oath as she took a moment to catch her breath as she waited for Charsi to wade the stream behind her. Seldom did she let bad weather get on her nerves but this was one of those times, looking around all she saw was waste tracts of wild land and woodland seldom if ever seen by anyone else than pictish hunters or mountain men.
“Bloody rain! I suppose it would be too much to hope for sunshine?” she heard Charsi curse as she waded across the ice cold stream. “ Do not begin to whine about something we can do noting with” Ashild snapped and looked rather gloomy as she stood there wet to her skin. The sharp tongued response from her companion made the girl send her a rather questionable look. She had discarded the tattered shirt she had worn and replaced it with a buck skin shirt, that was ill fitting and made her skin crawl. Deciding a change of conversation subject was needed she forced a smile. “Do you think we are destined for a another night under a pine tree? Or should I fantasize about a warm cave of sorts?” she said. “Well lets hope for the cave, and not yet another drippy and mouldy old pine tree” Ashild said and begun to walk again with her axe slung over her shoulder. They spent the night as they had feared under a tree but it was some small comfort that the rain had stopped. They huddled side by side near the fire, the night was cold and miserable and they woke to a dawn that greeted them with cold sky and a howling wind that swept along the moors.
When the sun who had breached the skies overhead stood at its tallest did they reach their goal, the road they reached was a far cry from the paved road of the south. Instead it was a muddy path that was wide enough for four horses to walk side by side or a heavy wagon to crawl along its muddy surface. As they walked on in silence they passed solid stone fences that hemmed in pastures for the long haired cattle that watched them with dull eyes as they passed by. This mixed with other signs told the two that they where drawing near to some sort of town or hamlet of a unknown size. As dusk begun to settle they finally set eyes upon the tiny hamlet that lay nestled in between the hills, the houses was made of earth and stone with few windows. From the chimneys pale smoke rose and carried with it a smell of burning peat and other smells that informed anyone with a strong nose that people lived here.
“Lets see if there a inn down there, I am willing to pay every coin I have to sleep under a roof to night.” Ashild said and stretched her sore limbs as they walked down what could be described as the main street of the hamlet. Down the street they spotted a sign flapping in the wind, it showed them where to find the inn they had been looking for. “Well Ashild lets see if they have a bed or two for us to rent! And I would not mind some wine” said Charsi and pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the common room of the inn. When they both stepped in they were greeted with silence, there where only two people present in the room, the inn keeper and a lone man who sat at a table puffing away at a pipe.
The stocky bar keeper cleared his throat and spoke “Come on in girls, you both look like you need a rest from the road. I have rooms free and food on the fire if you need something to full your guts with.”
“Two rooms and food plus wine if you have it.” said Charsi and slumped down on a chair, utterly spent from the road and ready to crawl under soft sheets as soon as she had eaten.
Ashild too sat down and let out a heavy sigh as she took her boots of and took a deep sip of her wine. The drink was a sour and hard hitting brew was not to her liking. “ Damn this drink is harsh!” she said and turned to Charsi who seemed to like the wine much more than she did however. Having downed one glass already she was pouring herself another one when the food came. They ate in silence and cleaned their plates of the stew that had been served them. Afterwards they sat for a few moments in silence until Ashild got up, payed what the food and drink had cost and begun climbing up the stairs to their rooms with her boots in hand. As she had vanished from sight the until now silent innkeeper spoke up. “If you don’t mind me saying miss, you keep strange company! Id never imagine I would see a half troll in these parts of the world. “
“So I? I find noting strange about my companion, but I do see what you hint at. And why did you not expect to see someone with troll blood in their veins in these lands?” the black haired smith replied.
“Well troll kin ain’t exactly the types to wander aimlessly around in the black mountains, and stumble half dead into a hamlet in the middle of no where. Nor do they keep someone like you around for the mere joy of company.” the man said and started to blow out the candles that threw ghostly shadows on the walls. “Well then, good night miss. If you leave before I’m up help yourself to bread and drink, leave the pay on the counter if you don’t mind.” he said as he opened the door that lead into his own quarters. When the door closed behind him Charsi stood there in the dark for a short moment before she began to walk up the stairs. As she did she could barely hear the howling wind outside mix with the creaking of the stairs and the sounds of a sleeping house. She found the room they had rented and opened the door while trying to make as little sound as possible. She stepped in and threw a weary look at the dimly light room, it was furnished with a large bed, two heavy chairs plus a small table. In addition there stood a heavy chest at the far end of the room, no doubt for guests to store things that needed to be secured under lock & key. Pulling her worn and somewhat ragged shirt over head and undoing the buttons on her under shirt she mused at her needs for new cloths. The heavens knew it would be divine to dress in something that did not reek of sweat for once come morning. When the last garment was removed she fell into the waiting bed, the soft linen sheet seemed to embrace her. And lure her into sleep with promises of keeping her warm and sheltered. Suddenly she felt a warm hand wrap itself around her waist.
“So......afraid to sleep alone?” a very familiar voice whispered in her ear. It was then Charsi realized something that sent a wave of unexpected feelings up and down her body, the thought of having Ashild so close to her when she was undressed made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. “Oh heavens! I’m so sorry Ashild, I did not mean to wake you up.” She said and felt a blush creep up on her face, she felt grateful for the fact that the room was poorly lit, but at the same time she felt a buzz of emotions well up inside her. Feelings she never realized she could have for anyone, let alone a woman! But she did not get up and leave as her mind told her to do. Instead her hearth told her to stay. She could see Ashild smile in the gloom as if she was amused by the odd reaction from the naked woman beside her. Her voice was however did not carry the iron hard tone she had come to know, instead it was a trembling and unsure tone that carried her next few words. “Don’t go I have spent far to many nights alone, and I would not bear to to see you go” she finished as a lone tear streaked down her chin. “Shhh you don’t need to beg me for anything, if anything I should thank you” Charsi said and wiped the tear away with a trembling hand. She leaned in and kissed Ashild on her chin, then as the wind howled by outside and the rain returned. Two women found safety and reassurance in each others arms.
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Ashild
Sept 4, 2014 20:58:33 GMT
Post by trondheim on Sept 4, 2014 20:58:33 GMT
In the driving rain and the howling wind upon the barren moorland a large formation of massive horses carried their riders fourth, their iron shod hooves kicked up dirt while hot hair rose from their nostrils, their riders where all clad in solid steel and armed with long lances and spiked war hammers. Their heads where concealed beneath helmets and facial masks that gave them a almost inhumane appearance. They had passed the site of the horrid ambush and the following bloodbath, the sight of the rotting corpses did not make them pause for a second. Instead they had passed the site by as if the vile crime was something they did not see fit to waste time on. Their shields hat hung on their saddles where adorned with a simple yet very terror inducing symbol, it was in the form of the gaping maw of a great beast. As they crossed a stone bridge and could sense the land around them change their pace increased as if spurred on by a unseen force. A lone farmer returning home from a neighbour walked along the road with his trusty dog at his side, in his hands he held a lantern to illuminate the road for him. As he walked there in the horrid weather he became aware of the sound of approaching thunder, or so it seemed. His hound began to snarl and barred its yellow teeth at whatever was coming down the road, as lighting light up the night he saw them come as if nightmares from a horrible dream. All those who dwelled on the road that lead to Kels knew these wraiths. As they drew nearer he considered throwing the lantern away and jumping into the hedge for safety or the illusion of it at least. But his feet where as nailed to the wet road beneath them.
The massive horses came to a halt around him, and the riders lowered their lances and formed a circle of cold steel around him. The one who was their lord it seemed dismounted and approached him. The rider was a towering wraith like figure who spoke with a voice that offered no doubt about his demands. “ Kneel peasant! Have you seen any strangers on the road of late?” he or maybe it said and rested one gauntleted hand on the hilt of the war hammer that hung on his waist. “Well no sire! I have not seen a living soul except for you and my neighbours!” the terrified man said and seemed to gasp for air, while his hound growled by his side and looked with hate filled eyes upon the one who treated his master. “Not even a half troll in the company of a black haired woman?” the farmer shook his head and fought the urge to piss himself with fear as the other riders looked down upon him from behind their mounts. The wraith before him seemed to think this over and turned to him. “Run along to whatever hole in the ground you call home!” grabbing the reins of his horse he mounted up and took his lance from one of the others who had held it for him. Speaking not a word he spurred his horse and within a few heartbeats the riders had once more taken up the lonely road once more.
Meanwhile in far more pleasant surroundings a dark haired woman sighed in satisfaction, she lay under linen sheets with her hair in a great mess. Beside her slept the one who had dared to step outside of the castle she had erected around her own hearth and feelings. She sat up and draped the blanket around here naked frame, the chill in the air made her nipples firm and goosebumps to form on her arms and legs. Outside the window she saw that the sun was about to begin to rise once more, cloths where needed she decided and picked up her undergarments and slipped them on. As she sat there getting dressed she could hear the slow and steady breathing from Ashild who slept like a stone. A grin found her lips as she noticed the marks the feisty woman had left on her neck and other parts of her body.
She walked over to the table where she had left her coin purse and belt. Strapping on her boots she decided food was needed alongside a wash. She felt satisfied as she walked down the creaking stairs to the small common room below. Up from the room rose a mix of smells, burning wood. Warm food and drink was amongst the things that tickled her nose. As she sat down and was about to start attacking her breakfast she overheard a pair of townsfolk talking. “So did you hear? Anton who has that farm up by the trade road came home white as snow. He stumbled in trough his door and fell down shivering with fear! His wife had to get her sons to help him to bed, when he came to he said he had been stopped and interrogated by the Draconian Guard”
“The heavens have mercy on us if that be true! What could have brought those wraiths up here?? I don’t like that at all.”
”Aye I agree, those foul bastards only bring misery and suffering for us common folks!” The men drank up and left their table, but however their audience who consisted of Charsi was left without much of an appetite. She sat there and felt fear grip her hearth, if what the peasants had talked about where true, and not the drunk ramblings of a frighted farmer. If the Drake guard where roaming the lands there where indeed reason to be worried. They where the mailed fist and the unspoken blade in the dark that the king of Kels used to enforce his will across the lands, they where utterly devoid of mercy and answered to no on except their king. But it was rumoured they also heeded the call of the kings marshal. She had seen them once when she was a youth, the riders clad in dark steel and with silvery face masks had come thundering on their great horses and in the gloom they had butchered a group of travelling folk. She remembered the screams and the horrid sounds of the wanton slaughter filling the night. The ones who died never stood a chance, against the faceless daemons they had been hacked down and their wagons burnt. The only one left alive was a man that suffered a far worse faith, he was taken as a prisoner and as the riders left the burning scene behind the man wailed and begged for mercy, he apparently knew what awaited him when the riders returned to Kels with their prize.
As she sat there and contemplated the meaning of this a familiar hand placed a mug of beer on the table, sitting down opposite her Ashild looked somewhat awake but not ready to face the world just yet it seemed. “So awake so early eh? Something wrong” she asked and took a sip of her beer.
“Well I think there may be problems looming for us, I overheard two townsfolk talking about something less than positive.”
“I see, well care to share what these problems are” her lover said and put her feet up on a free chair while she started to braid her hair.
“Have you ever heard about the Draconian guard Ashild?
The half troll shock her head in response and turned to listen better to what her more knowledgeable comrade had to say. Her eyes glimmered with interest and her strong hands gripped the beer mug she was holding firmly. Taking this as her signal to begin she lowered her voice to avoid drawing attention to what they where talking about. “Well I do not know much, not more than what I have heard other say and what a few old men that used to travel with the caravan told me. They are the ones who are closest to the king of Kels. No one is allowed to enter the royal quarter of the city unless they have permission from the marshal of the realm. They where formed after one of the old kings where almost laid low by a disloyal nobleman serving in the kings guard. ” she paused for air and to look around with a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “In addition to being the ones who guard the royal court they are also the ones who carry out and enforce his will when needed. They answer only him and no one else! Even the lowest ranking member of their order can kill, butchered and rape until come judgement day. They are without mercy and without compassion! In addition to guard the king they also reside of the ruined fortress at Kurn” she said and took a sip the the wine that stood in front of her.
Taking in these things Ashild looked less than amused. “So you tell me the king of Kels has mad dogs as his personal guard? And how in the name of all evils do anyone recognize these hounds anyway? I assume they have uniforms or a particular look about them? Or do they simply jump from shadow to shadow!” she said and looked less than impressed with what she had heard so far.
“Well I was just getting to that you see, they wear black robes and hoods to conceal themselves. They wear death masks that hides their faces from the world. When they leave Kels they always ride massive black horses.”
“hmm sounds like a amusing lot they do!” the half troll said and pulled a long slender pipe from her belt. She stuffed the pipe with strong tobacco from the west and lit it. She did not look impressed but behind the brave face she felt a knot of worry grip at her, if these pale riders where indeed what she suspected them to be things could go sour very fast indeed. They sat in a somewhat awkward silence for a long time as people slowly began to fill the inn, and the choir of voices made listening in on what was being said at the tables hard for anyone with long ears. “Go up and pack our things, we will need to leave as soon as possible! I think we may have overstayed our welcome” Ashild said and undid the leather strap that secured her axe while she did not use it. “What? Why do you say that” Charsi said and seemed puzzled by these words. “GO now you hear me! If you wish to see another day!” The look in her eyes did not leave any room for doubt, she had seen or picked up something that Charsi had not. And after what they had been trough did the former smith doubt her sharp eyes and mind. Walking fast upstairs she packed all their belongings and made sure to check the room over for anything she could have forgotten while doing so.
When she came down with the two leather bags she saw Ashild waiting for her with one hand on the hilt of her axe. Joining her Charsi handed her one bag and was about to speak when the heavy oak door was opened and as if someone had thrown a spell over the room all became dead quiet. In trough the door walked several figures clad in midnight black robes and with silvery death masks where their faces should have been. The wraith like figures parted and a figure who stood heads above his comrades came into view, if they where terrifying he was the very avatar of cold fear incarnated. His mask where made to display a face displaying rage and hatred, his ornate black robes seemed to drain the very warmth from the air. The common folk in the room stood as nailed to the floor as he strode across the floor and looked down upon the trembling and deathly pale inn keeper who tried to make himself invisible behind his bar desk. “Innkeeper I have questions for you, and you will answer them” the Draconian lord said with a deep voice that rang with the passing of countless years and mistrust. The man despite having knees that treated to give out under him managed to get up and looked the knight in the eyes. “Aye my lord!” he said with a voice that revealed he had more than likely been a soldier in his youth. “What dose the kings men ask of me?”
“The king only desires one thing you mongrel!” the knight said and with a fluid move he pulled his weapon, and with one fell strike crushed the skull of the old man with the steel point of his hammer. The dead man sagged to the floor where his ruined head slowly pooled blood onto the wood. “Kill everyone here, then burn it all down! I do intend to send a signal to anyone who has dreams of freedom!” he said and walked out the door with two knights close behind. At the back of the room where they had been silent witnesses until now Ashild and Charsi where awoken by the screams of the dying and wounded as the first blows fell. The assembled peasantry where shocked for a instance but the panic erupted as the knights who had until now only watched their lord go about his business. The avalanche of cold steel tore into the unarmed men and women like a hot blade may pass trough butter, the room quickly turned into a abattoir as the faceless ones cut down anyone in their path.
Outside the other knights under his command where already busy sowing the earth red with the blood of the townsfolk. As the slaughter unfolded and the screams of the dying filled the air in the small hamlet two figures where running like whipped horses across the nearby fields and pastures. They had managed to get back up the narrow stairs of the inn, and slip out the window on the room they had slept in. Now they where running for their life’s, even if the sounds of the gruesome act playing out behind them haunted their minds. As they ran and the day grew it could be seen a great plume of smoke rising up on the horizon.
“My lord, not a soul beside us draw breath here now. We did not find the girl and the half troll. They must have slipped out of this place either before we came here or under the act itself.” a blood stained knight said and wiped the blood of his hammer as he informed his master. Pausing only to sheath his weapon he continued. “However it is more than likely they have fled across the fields, do you wish us to give chase? We can run them down before nightfall!” The Draconian lord threw a long gaze across the green fields, before answering his underling. “Bring them to me alive or dead I care not! But find them and find them fast!” he said and gripped the reins of his horse and swung himself up into the saddle. And with those last few words the Draconian guard left the burning hamlet and the slain behind them, smoke billowed up and as if to foreshadow a coming event the sky seemed coloured by the innocent blood shed that day.
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Ashild
Sept 18, 2014 18:08:41 GMT
Post by trondheim on Sept 18, 2014 18:08:41 GMT
“Come on! Keep up or else we are good as dead!” Ashild said and spat as she jogged on in front of Charsi, who barely managed to keep up with her trough the rough ground they had reached. Behind them rolling farm lands dotted with copses of trees could be seen. And further beyond that the slowly climbing plumes of smoke from the burning hamlet and the surrounding farms and home stead’s. While waiting for her companion to catch up she took the chance to let herself catch her breath again. But in her mind the scenes that without a doubt had unfolded in the town they had left behind never ceased to repeat themselves. But she knew that to take on so many foes of such battle prowess was noting short of suicidal. No the gods would not greet her soul just yet she decided and pulled her cloak around her with one hand. As the younger woman caught up with her she was clearly all but done for, her breath was ragged and she almost bent over double when a wave of sickness made her vomit bile and spit out her breakfast. She trembled with a mixture of exhaustion and something else that she could not describe. “Here drink this and rinse your mouth out, it will help the taste go away.” She did not get a reply instead she only got a sour look and then two smaller hands than hers took the offered drink.
Her pale blue eyes searched the landscape below them for any signs of any pursuers but none could be seen, but she could shake the feeling that they had not escaped unnoticed, those mask wearing fiends where not that dumb she felt sure of. Her hands unintentionally came to rest on the hilt of her axe, she knew that at one point she would cross steel with those hounds. And when she did there would be a bloody reckoning for those bloody handed riders. “Do you wish to stand there and look all stormy? Or should we get going” Charsi said and broke the moment of silence and consideration. “No, the storm clouds are already brewing in my head” was the answer that was given to her. “Well where do we go? We can’t just wander around in the woods until old age or a early death claims us can we?”
“No that we can not, however there is one place where even the wraiths that will undoubtedly be on our heels will hesitate to journey! I talked to several individuals back in Tuffria who spoke of a land where men worship living gods and gold flows. Also it seems the rulers of that place have very little love for the king of Kels......” pausing to let these words settle in the mind of her lover she continued.
“ I suppose one raised in a caravan has heard about Stygia?” Ashild said and waited for the reply she knew would come.
“Have you gone stark raving mad? You wish to go to that serpent lair! Why in the name of all that is still good in this world would you suggest anything like that!”
“No I simply wish to have the chance to repay the inbred whore son who slaughter his own subject for no reason and allows rabid dogs to run amok when they should be guarding the realm.” the half troll said with a dark look upon her worried face. “So unless you have a better idea, or wish to remain here and hope that the moral high ground will save you that is fine by me! But do not expect me to do so too.”
“But you suggest we go there almost naked! We have almost no coin, although we have what equipment we need for the journey that will take us at least one to two weeks depending on the weather, and what paths we take. And what do we have that would even make them consider aiding us if they where in a mood to do it?”
“I do not intend to walk to the borders of Stygia my dear! I had imagined a more enjoyable way of getting there. You told me one evening when the caravan had just left Tuffria that there is a great river that runs out of the mountains around here, and that its used to haul good down to the realms that lies downstream. Nor do I plan to rely on charm alone to find some way to get them to aid us.”
Meanwhile they discussed, and the dark riders of the Draconian guard searched for tracks a lone hawk soared high up above them. Its golden feathers reflected the sunlight and its ruby red eyes scoured the landscape beneath its self. It studied the two women with its sharp gaze and with several strong strokes of its wings it turned back the way it had come with news for the one who awaited its return. For two days and nights it flew without pause, its body did not require rest as it was cast from gold and imbued with very potent witch craft. As it swooped low over the marshland below it a sharp shriek emitted from its throat and it slowed its speed as it spread its great wings and finally landed on a glowed hand. A tall wiry man stroked his prized bird and offered it a small pearl that that his pet crushed with its beak. The man was clad in fine silk and sported long dark hair well kept and had it secured with a hair pin stylized to resemble the hawk he now had resting on one hand. He seemed lost in thoughts as he stood there alone but a low rustle in the brushes told him that his other servant had come fourth. The man that appeared out of the bush was clad in ornate but very well forged armoured crafted to resemble the scales of a snake, he had a curved sabre resting on his hip while a long slender bow made from some dark wood rested in his calloused hands. The man had skin like copper and had a head shaved clean of hair. He knelled and payed respect to his master. “What is thy bidding master” he said in a neutral voice. The man with the hawk now perched on his shoulder seemed to debate something with himself before answering his underling. “The pair seen in the prophecy was seen by by my winged companion. They are running for their life’s with the servants of the throne usurper closely behind, but for now they are unaware of the axe that looms over their heads.”
“What dose this require the sons of Stygia to preform?” the soldier said and seemed to shiver with a eagerness to serve and aid his master. His master let out a deep breath and began to instruct his minion in the things that needed to be done. While he did so a crude smile found its way onto his ruined face that where criss crossed with scars and the evidence of torture done onto him in times past. “Journey into the lands ruled by the dog of Kels, there you will seek out a pair of women currently attempting to make their way to Stygia itself! However do not let them reach our lands! You will lead them to the great river where I will greet them. Only then can the prophecy be fulfilled and the reign of madness that has gripped the north end.”
The kneeling warrior bowed and rose to his feet, with his new quest given to him he did not waste a moment. When the sun reached the top of the sky he was already making good speed across the flood plains of the river, his horse thunder across the wet ground and signalled the coming of the son of Stygia for all to see. He was not a man with a whole lot of interest in the ramblings of priests at the best of times but his master was something else. He had actually set foot outside of a temple, and he had felt the cold bite of steel many, many times. That alone made him a man to follow and obey. And if a result of that was that he where going to shed the blood of a few barbarians so be it, it was something he gladly would do. He was by no means a cruel man, but anyone who served one who would murder his father to claim something as simple as a throne was noting more than mindless cut throats. As his horse cleared the flood plains and reached firm ground where its hoofs found better grip he could sense the animal calming down, failing into the know rhythm horse hoofs gripping firm soil. He turned the horse onto the road and set a steady course northwards.
While the lone rider made his way north Ashild and Charsi came to the realization that they where being followed, while climbing a particular stony hill. It was when she bent down to do the laces on her boots that she saw them cross the river in the bottom of the valley. “Oh no heavens say we don’t need to deal with them too!” she yelped and caught the attention of Ashild. The warrior woman turned and look, and her face said it all. They had expected the pale riders to come or perhaps the soldiers of the armies of Kels but not the men clad in fur and armed with copper and obsidian weapons. Down there in the strong currents of the water a large party of Picts could be seen wading across to the other side. “I almost hoped for those damned riders, and not damned Picts! But it seems they ar not aware or interested in us.” she said but still begun to move at a considerable pace up the slopes ahead of them. If the hunters below where aware of them they did not show it, they crossed the ford and disappeared into the woods like they ghosts the legends told by the civilized man made them to be. But as they did the ones the duo had feared drew near, the lead rider surveyed the lands around them with cold eyes. His hands gripped the reins of his horse and his breath formed a cloud of mist around his head as he waited for his comrades to draw up beside him.
“Damned these untamed lands, they are only filled with savages and rebel scum!” he snarled and turned to his second in command who was familiar with the lay of the land. “Where is the most likely point our prey will surface, and are there any possible routes they may take to avoid detection by anyone trailing them.” he finished.
“They mus have crossed around here, further upstream there is too dangerous to go across the river and downstream...well if you care to flow down the river with a pictish tomahawk in your head I suppose it would be fine. “
“I see well let us not spend another idle moment in these forsaken lands. I feel the very filth of the land stain my mood.” the leader said and kicked his horse onwards. They reached the crossing and thundered across without any attention payed to camouflage their coming.
Ashild felt as she was floating in a sea coloured red and looked down upon by a burning sky, her limbs felt numb but yet responsive, and her mind swirled with the weight of the ages and possibilities of fate. As she felt the warm water caress her form and gently carrying her towards whatever goal lay ahead a thought found her mind. Was this the afterlife? Had she fallen to the swords and arrows of her enemies, or had the elements extinguished her spark in a blaze of natural fury? She did not know nor did she in fact care she realized. Just as she was coming to grips with these strange and new found thoughts a voice broke the silence that reigned in the realm. Looking around she saw that the waves had carried her onto firm ground, and that she was in fact resting on sand baked white by the sun. in front of her stood a very tall man, thin as a branch but yet with a almost unnatural aura around his person. He wore a simple yet elegant cut set of silk cloth and held in one hand a staff that portrayed a hooded snake with red ruby eyes. “Greetings hallowed one, you must excuse these humble surroundings and lack of ceremony. I am no believer in such frolics. I see you have questions and many more things swirling in your mind.” he finished and extended a hand to help her to her feet, his grip was like that of a bear and it came to her attention it was more to this man than met the eye.
“Where am I? Have my life come to an end and if so are you my finale judge?” she said and took a moment to look around. The sand dunes reached for as far as her eyes could see with the burning sky pierced by glimmering stars mixed in. “Do I look like the one who would be fit to judge you? No that much I can assure you I am not. However I did not bring you here to discus the matters of what awaits us all after we cross the river Styx after we take our last breath of air.”
Pausing he rested both of his copper skinned hands on his ornate staff and looked into her ice blue eyes with his own yellow pupils. “But I forget my manners, when graced by a flower of such beauty one must introduce oneself. My name is Thoth Amon. Servant of the eternal realm of Stygia” With formalities out of the way the man continued the one sided dialogue
“I brought you here to let you be made aware of what is transpiring in the realms we call home!” Slamming his staff down and muttering several obscure words in a tongue she could not hope to grasp the man summoned a swirling vortex of sand and mist. She coughed and spat sand as the now storm like wind blew fiercely around them both, whatever foul witch craft this was she felt her bloody bones shiver with fear and despair. But trough the storm came the voice of the man who had brought her to this....place or dimension. “Calm your self child! And behold the coming of war!” he said and with those words the sand and mist fell away and she could see unhindered once more. At first she was not sure what she saw down there, but then as if the strings holding her aloft int eh air where cut she plunged downwards and jerked to a halt. “What you will see now may or may not happen. The schisms of fate are fickle and do not always unfold in that way one may wish or pray for.” the man said and seemed to await her response to what was to come. Then it began she realized, she could hear the blaring of horns, the thunder of drums and the sharp and rage fuelled cries of the assembled hosts.
Below her a truly immense battle raged outside the walls of a great city, ranks upon ranks of heavily armoured spear men clashed with swordsmen, and regiment of cavalry dressed with all the panoply of war thundered across the blood soaked fields laying each other low with cold steel and burning hate. The very city itself burnt and in the shadow of the pyre it formed she could see horrid acts of unspeakable cruelty being preformed. This was indeed the coming of war, and a war unlike the north had or would ever seen. “What’s this madness! Do you find it amusing to tease me with the images of the north being torn asunder? Why have you brought me here? To be your muse or for other nefarious scheme” she growled and felt for her axe.
These words she realized just after speaking them had bit hard but not unexpected on her host. His eyes simmered with witch fire and his voice was like that of a angry and wrathful god. “SILENCE MORTAL! You think I care to meddle in the affairs of unwashed cut throats and throne robbers just for the sake of amusement and sport! If I wanted to I could snuff your life out like a child pulling the legs of a insect. You journey with the one who will bring an end to the plans set in motion by the lurking evil at hand!” The man seemed on the verge of calling down the wrath of the very gods upon her, but he seemed to recover his self control. At least parts of it anyway.
But Ashild felt she had glimpsed something that did not think, act or plan like a mortal. She felt a unnerving sensation tingle up her spine and she gained a somewhat unsure feel for the man. To her superstitious mind he was akin to something that walked the border between the gods and man. In short something to handle with extreme care. Picking her words carefully she spoke in a steely tone. “You tell me that the one who is supposed to bring about peace and all are the Charsi I know? If you speak the truth and the gods help you if you lie to me I may be persuaded to help. But make no mistake! Curl a hair on her head and there will be no abyss deep enough for you or anyone who have helped you to hide in” These words seemed to be expected, perhaps counted on to come from her red lips. But if the man had been awaiting them he did not reveal his satisfaction. Instead he flicked his hand and the battle below became replaced with the white sand.
“Have no fear, if I intend to do you harm I would not summon you here woman! Look for the falcon when the pale ones draw near, know you will not stand alone.” Thot Amon said with a weary tone finding its way into his voice. And with a gesture of his hands the dream became a swirling configuration of sand, mist and the vast marches of time and space.
She awoke drenched in sweat and with a hammering hearth, her mouth felt dry and she could have sworn she felt sand gnawing at her skin beneath her cloths. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and tried to orient herself, she could see the outlines of a sleeping form on the other side of the fire and the pale morning sky behind the hills. Cursing in troll tongue she grabbed the water skin an drank deep of it, and washed her face afterwards. But then it dawned on her, the morning was too quiet. No bird song could be heard or any of the other normal sounds and smells. Instead there hung a unpleasant reeking smell in the air, it reminded her of the smell that normally hung over battlefields and such bloodstained places. “The northern whore finally decided to wake brothers. Let us make her last moments painful shall we!” a cruel voice said, and the speaker emerged from the fleeing shadows. Clad in dark steel armour, an with weapon in hand the masked ones emerged from the woods around the camp. Ashild felt noting but pure and unfiltered anger simmering in her veins. The pale bastard could brag all he wanted to, he would discover that she was no unarmed and defenceless peasant running from the blades that awaited her. Moving to stand such that she blocked them from getting at Charsi who was now waking up to the cold realization that her nightmare had come true.
“Brave words from a coward who hides behind a mask, and who makes sport of killing women and children. I don t fear you nor your masked cronies!”She said and gripped her axe with her left hand. The circle of black clad riders begun to close the half circle they had formed around the resting pair of women. In silence the knights came on, each one a statue of fighting prowess and unmatched cruelty. In their minds there could be no doubt about who would lay slain on the ground when the last blow was struck.
The first to try and shed her lifeblood was armed with the signature weapon of the Draconian guard, the spiked war hammer. A blow from it could shatter bone, crush meat and pierce armour. This she knew and as the blow came she parried it and then using her upper body strength she pushed away and kicked at her opponent knees, hoping to of set his balance and give her a opening. But as she did the rider accepted the blow and returned the favour by punching her square in the face with a mailed fist. She tumbled backwards and almost landed on top of Charsi who was struggling with another rider who tried to break her guard down by a steady rain of blows and jabs. Getting back up with blow running down her lips from her ruined nose she felt the familiar berserker rage welling up in her, it threatened to overwhelm and consume her mind. She could not see the face of her foe but she knew he must be smiling under that silvery death mask. Launching a rapid series of side long swipes and underhanded blows aimed at his waistline and groin she pressed him hard. Then the pale rider was betrayed by his feet, he slipped and thus left himself vulnerable to a blow. The broad axe head caught him square in the neck and carried on downwards into his torso, the man fell without a sound. Only the steady trickle of blood and a faint gurgling sound coming from a ruined windpipe signalled he was dying. Pulling hard on the axe to rip it free she realized she could not yank it free fast enough, now several enemies where advancing on her and she was weapon less until she saw the war hammer her now dead opponent had dropped. Then she was lost in a swirling battle for her life, the rain of blows seemed endless and when she struck she connected as often as her blows where blocked, parried or dodged. Several times she felt steel kiss her body as the foes nicked and cut her, then one fell away with her hammer embedded in his stomach, he wailed in pain as she ripped it free. The grey ropes that spilled out of his torn stomach made her think of rotten sausages or massive greyish worms. Intercepting a mailed hand that reached for her hair she swung the hammer down and caused the owner of the hand to cry out in pain as the steel head ruined bone and flesh. Daring to cast a look at Charsi she saw the woman wrestling with a knight who sat on top of her pouring down blows and attempting to bring his knife to bear. Know her companion was hopelessly outclassed she attempted to break free and come to her aid. But to no avail the circle of steel and rage around her had closed and she was too busy keeping her own opponents at bay. Charsi felt the crushing grip of the rider pinning her down and knew she was soon dead or out of the fight if she could not get free. Determined not to die on her backside in some misbegotten part of the world she made a finale effort and put all her strength into a desperate move, she threw her feet up and managed to snag her foe and thus bringing him of balance for a split second. Capitalizing on this she lunged upwards and wrapped her arms around his neck. With a grip fuelled by panic and desperation she yanked his head sharply to one side, and was rewarded with a sickening crunch of bone. As if someone had taken a sledge hammer to his head the rider fell over her and pinned her down under his substantial weight. Pinned down she realized that the man reeked of blood, sweat and something else that she could not put words on. She heaved and lifted to get the now dead rider of her and with a determined howl she tossed him of her. Getting up winded and somewhat dizzy she picked up the weapon she had dropped and grabbed the shield. Almost by chance she happened to look up to the sky where she saw a glimmering speck of light descend. High above the unfolding drama the hawk soared on strong winds. It saw the ones its master had sent it to watch-over fighting for their lives, and by the look of things it would not be long before it was over, one way or the other. Its eyes glimmered as if by witch craft, telling its master what it saw. And the master took stock of these sights and ordered his winged minion to make haste and find the one who had been sent north. With a high pitched screech the bird dove down at speeds unreachable by any other winged predator as it skimmed over the tree tops while its ruby red eyes scanned the land below. Soon enough it found what it had been searching for, riding a pale horse came the warrior sent north to guide the pair to his master. He rode his massive war horse hard, and the animal snorted as its iron shod hooves kicked up earth. The bird swooped down low and flew beside the man with little effort. Its shimmering feathers reflecting the morning light on it's silvered form. The lone hunters face was as set in stone as he cast a look at the bird while steering his mount around a cops of rocks in the path he was taking. But it was clear he understood what it wanted, for as the bird altered course, he did so too. Over moss covered forest floor and across ice cold streams he rode, knowing time was all but spent.
Looking behind him he saw the sons of the wild, running like wolves to keep up with the hard pace he had set. Their blue painted bodies seemed to blend with the woodlands, giving them a look of almost unearthly graze. But he knew there was no graze or anything unnatural about them. They looked to wreck havoc upon those who had stirred their ancestral tribal rivals to the north into a blood and booze filled fury. Then suddenly the forest opened up and he saw them for the first time since that fateful day on the fields of woe. They looked to him like black clad carrion waiting to devour their now fallen prey, but by the gods they would die before he would allow anyone to fall into their bloodstained hands. Notching a arrow, he pulled back the string on his recurved bow, and then he let the arrow fly with a piercing shriek.
Ashild lay on her back, blood seeping out from a large gash on her left leg, and her left arm hurt like it was on fire. She tried and tried to muster the strength to rise, but her body could or would not obey her commands. Around here lay several dead or dying knights who had been felled by her hammer like blows, or died when her hands had snapped bone and crushed the life from them. Watching the light die from their eyes with satisfaction. But in the end their blows had laid her low. Leaving her feeling the life force had sustained though the years she had wandered the world slowly ebb from her her broken form. As she lay there, she felt tears well down her face and trickle down her bloodied and bruised face. Her hand that still worked feebly reached for Charsi, who lay face down in the moss. The girl had fought like a devil, taking more than her fair share of the bastards with her before overwhelming her guard and striking her down. She lived still, but seemed to have a hard time focusing. The once beautiful face was now a hideous mixture of blood, open cuts and large black bruises that was starting to form below the skin. With blood and spit running down her cheeks as she feebly reached for her hand, gripping it like she was afraid she would fade away.
“Lets be done with this, defile them both and leave them for the vultures when your done! Make it a horrid experience for their part though” he said and snorted with laughter.
As the other riders begun to close ranks around the prone women one of them suddenly jerked as if hit by a unseen hand. Then he began to gurgle blood and with a pained rasp as he fell backwards. Jutting out of his armoured chest a long barbed arrow with a wickedly barbed arrow head could be seen. Then in rapid succession two more fell to the unseen foe, both men screaming in pain as the barbed arrows cut them down. “Come out you damned cowards!” their leader yelled while he gripped the reins of his own horse. But the man would regret those words, for just as he had spoken a eerie war cry sounded, and out of the woods came a man mounted on a pale horse at the head of a screaming and hooting band of Picts painted with their characteristic woad lead by a giant of their own kind.
To the riders it must have seen like a Stygian reborn as an avenging spirit had summoned these new foes into the fray. But if they where afraid it did not show, they closed ranks and lowered their long slender lances and awaited their foes charge. Leading this band of warriors came a bear like Pict stepping fourth and raising his gore stained copper axe, Clearly the leader of this band of woodland warriors, pointing to the enemy and beating his chest with one ham sized fist while howling like the animal he resembled and thus the war band begun to sprint forwards. The riders who could not reach their horses in time to mount up and mount a charge of their own closed ranks, with shields and cold steel raised they awaited the frothing woods men. The Stygian ran beside the howling Picts with his curved sword drawn. It felt heavy but yet familiar in his hands. He scanned the enemy line for the one he had set his eyes on. Then with great force the two bands of men crashed together in a symphony of ringing steel, the screams of the wild men and the utter silence save for the rise and fall of the steel the Draconian guard wielded.
He saw a Pict get split from head to groin by a sword blow from a knight, and one dark clad man get mobbed by several Picts who tore him literary limb from limb. Then he found himself face to face with one of the death mask wearing devils, he swung hard and low hoping to make his enemy loose his footing as much attempting to take his legs clean of. But the rider was not phased by this, he blocked with his shield and slammed his hammer down hard and forced the Stygian to jump clear with only a inch to spare as the hammerhead slammed into the ground. They traded blows like mad, each one of them hoping to end it fast and then move on to the next in line to die. The end came when he rider has to dodge a spear that flew trough the air, and thus lost his focus for a split second. But that was all his opponent needed, the shimmering curved blade flashed in a downward arch and bit deep into his neck with a wet smack. He staggered for a moment then fell down with deep crimson blood pooling out from the ugly wound that gaped where the blade had bitten him. His killer did not spend a moment to watch him die, instead the man was busy trading blows with a sword wielding rider who had cut down several Picts in the span of a few moments.
He recognized this one, it was clear he was the leader of this band of cut-throat and wanton murders! “Stand and face your doom pale one” he yelled and swung at the man with his blade, the swipe went wide as the rider parried and swung back with his own gore splattered blade. Raising his sword to block the warrior was awestruck by the sheer force behind the blow, it made his arm tingle with pain and the speed it also came at was another thing to mind. As the moments flew past him he found himself being pushed backwards and the rain of blows treated to overwhelm him. Desperately dodging and weaving he launched a series of swooping slashes and downward strikes aimed at buying him time as much as hopefully doping harm to his foe who steadily gained ground on him. But then his luck ran out, the shield if his foe slammed into him and sent him reeling to the bloodstained grass, his foe raised his sword to end him when a enormous shadow fell over him. Towering above the rider as a bear might loom over a lone foolish hunter the Pictish chieftain snarled as the wild beast he looked like. The rider looked positively unsettled by this and seemed to forget the winded and stunned Stygian warrior who he had been a mere thought away from killing with his own blade. Before the surprised rider could react the bear like man delivered a blow that sent him flying, hefting his weapon the Pict stalked over to the now prone rider and his steel grey eyes seemed to pierce him and bind him to the ground. Speaking with a low rumbling tone he spoke. “You bring noting but death and suffering pale devil! These are our lands and our woods.” bending down he gripped the rider with one massive fist and hauled him up so he was levelled with the face of the chieftain. The rider attempted to bring his dagger to bear but his left wrist was broken like a twig by the brute holding him in a crushing grip. “You will all die for this! No where will be able to shelter you, mark my words heathen!” the rider said with hate dripping from every word. “Growl all you want child murder!” was the response he got.
The Stygian who now was on his feet looked at the scene unfolding before him. A thin smile revealed that he was far from unsettled by he knew what was coming for the rider, around him the fighting had died down and the ruined and mangled corpses of both Picts and Draconian Guards lay all around him. The stench of death and ruined guts hung heavy in the misty morning air that was rapidly being heated by the sun that was climbing a partially cloudy sky.
The Pict chief still gripping the now disabled rider in his hands called out to his still standing clansmen. “Fetch the hounds and feed this whore son to them!” he said and grinned a fiendish grimace as the sound of baying hounds could be heard in the distance.
As these events unfolded Charsi awoke with dots of white dots obscuring her vision s she fumbled about for something to support herself on. She knew she was hurt although not how bad she was wounded in that savage and frightening encounter. Somehow finding the strength to push herself up so she stood on her knees her eyes drank in the grim scene that meet her. Ashild lay beside her with a ugly gash in her leg and countless minor cuts and bruises, her dark brown hair stained with blood and her axe buried in the skull of a man that lay at her feet face down. She fumbled to reach her and felt to her relief that her lover was still breathing albeit it with some effort. Then her blood and hearth froze at the sight that meet her eyes when she looked up from the still woman at her side. A band of Picts covered in gore and with the blue woad covering her body was drawing near lead by a giant of a man. Fearing they had come trough the fire only to die by the hands of these savages she cursed, and felt tears tingle down her cheeks. But just before despair set in a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. “Calm yourself my lady, they mean you no harm.” Turning around she saw the man who had spoken, clad in glittering golden armour and with copper toned skin he was definitely from the north she decided. Not did he have any weapons in his hands on his person. “ I can see you do not trust me, I will not blame you for it either.” he said and called out to the approaching Picts and raising one bloodstained hand. The tribesmen where brought to a stop by one raised hand from their chief. Kneeling by Ashild he looked at the wounds she had received and a worried look took hold on his face. It was clear to her then, for the moment she had no choice than to trust this strange individual who kept somewhat questionable company. She hoped the man was trained in the arts of healing as she stumbled down when her strength failed her, for they both would need it should they hope to live to see another day to rise with the sun.
Their unexpected saviour set about tending to their wounds with a practised hand, although he did not do it completely by himself. The Picts brought fire wood and left several roughly sewn but good enough cloaks for the two wounded women to lay on. But they kept their distance and not one of them threw hungry looks on the naked female forms that where visible in the light from the fire that roared as the Stygian tended to their batherd forms. When the day drew to an end he layed down the remedies he had been applying to mend the two now sleeping women. He cursed the foul mongrels who had given them these wounds, those men should praise whatever primitive and pelt clad god they prayed to that their where dead by now. And when it came to the captain well......the memories of the man who had wailed like a infant when the hounds had ripped him apart and devoured his guts while he still lived. Well they where more than enough to motivate him to keep going, even if his body was screaming for rest.
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