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 traveler. 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 traveler. 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 colored her eyebrows and hair white with frost. Her breathing was labored 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 rumors 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 southern 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 southern 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”

That's a nice opening, Trondheim. I could hear a Conan-esque voiceover in my head as I read the first part! What does the future hold for our fair heroine?

Well then I reached my goal then! I was inspired to do this story after a long session of reading Conan actually. But wo knows what will follow

As I said over the PM's, very nicely done.

I agree! You've done a great job characterising your towering heroine.

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 rumbeling 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 souther 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 axe 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 southron” 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 armor 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 and almost broken 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.

Its nicely written, as per usual. Just, the tense changes half way through it. Right after Thule starts speaking to Ashild, it switches from past to present tense, which is a little disjointing.

 LoneLictor wrote:
the tense changes half way through it. ... which is a little disjointing.

Heh, that's happened to me so many times.

Enjoyed the next part, Trondheim. Please tell me Ashild's going to punch out a camel ...

Hey, I know this! A very nice read and the new bit was good to. I see trolls on the horizon.

A great start to what will, hopefully, be an enticing plot.

I liked that distinct sense of displacement between Ashild and the southerners, that kind of thing always makes for great humour later on.
Put it to good use!

Change in tense isn't so bad, just justify it a little more; there are some parts of a story that make it necessary to change tense.

 Necroagogo wrote:

 LoneLictor wrote:
the tense changes half way through it. ... which is a little disjointing.

Heh, that's happened to me so many times.

Enjoyed the next part, Trondheim. Please tell me Ashild's going to punch out a camel ...

Yes...you can expect a hefty dose of punching, although I can not guarantee camel.

Morning 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 preferred weapon and armour? 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 prefer a 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 tough 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 of leather amour 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 with the 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 two 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 resting beside a smouldering 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 head about the Picts.....I never thought those painted devils where this far south. I thought you Southrons 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 Southrons do not need to know everything about her ways. But she needed to inform them of the bandits however.

Very gripping I must say, and the drinking of her foes blood was a fine touch. Now bring on the Pics.

What does her name mean again?

Well Ashild is a variation of the Norwegian name Åshild, as far as I know it has no special meaning but I can be wrong on this point. Further investigation will be launched

Damn, that fight was well written. It had a nice feel of tension and urgency to it, like it was a real fight.

Nice man

I particularly like how well you get the groggy wake-up done!

Pretty cool, at first I was wondering where the other merchants and southerners were, then I realized she was alone, so it makes sense . You inspire me to want to continue my own original fiction, but I am completely stuck on that !

LoneLictor wrote:Damn, that fight was well written. It had a nice feel of tension and urgency to it, like it was a real fight.

Yes I think it came out rather nice myself too, although it was bloody frustrating to writte though.

Mithami wrote:Pretty cool, at first I was wondering where the other merchants and southerners were, then I realized she was alone, so it makes sense . You inspire me to want to continue my own original fiction, but I am completely stuck on that !

Well glad you enjoyed my rambelings then, well glad I can offer inspiration to someone then

I really enjoyed that. Ashild's developing into a real, multi-layered character. Loved the throat-biting bit at the end of the fight.

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.”

“Hmm 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 smouldering 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 travelers and pack animals tethered to the wagons until she reached her destination.
“Umm 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 raied 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 colored 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 travelers, 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.

Another excellent entry. Nicely written.

Very nice, though the last bit was a bit confusing when the smith threw away her shield but then had it to block the tomahawk. More soon please.

Not looking too good for our heroes, is it? It's going to take some serious slaughter to fight their way clear of this ambush.

Cue more bloodshed!

You never fail to disappoint.

Maybe I could pick up a few tips from you.

 Castra Tanagra wrote:
You never fail to disappoint.

If you've worded that as you meant it, it's a little harsh, no?

If not, you might want to correct it.

 Necroagogo wrote:

 Castra Tanagra wrote:
You never fail to disappoint.

If you've worded that as you meant it, it's a little harsh, no?

If not, you might want to correct it.

Have no fear, I assume he mistyped it, Since in the form of PM he requested help with a story of his. But thank you for covering my back

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 demeanor 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.

Nice description of the the pelt clad pict, I could really imagine him and the ensuing melee. Well done

Alone in the wild of the mountains, surrounded by blue woaded heathens. Things don't look promising for our hero's.

I agree with themanwiththeplan, the description of the pict is excellent.

Nice new entry Trondheim.

Missed this update somehow! I liked the economical description of the caravan's destruction - it could have been spun out into paragraphs of gratuitous hack n' slash but you kept it tightly controlled.

This is shaping up to be the bloodiest love story I've read in a while!

See, I told you this is looking like a lesbian romance, Necroagogo see's it too.

Now you boys keep your pants on for the moment

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.

As i said before in my p.m, this was a good read. Though the bit at the end felt a bit un-genuine tbh (not that I'm an authority on the matter) and could do with a look over and a read by a friend to build the moment.

I agree, having consulted a person I know it will be reworked and re posted soon.

Its nicely written, even if its a tad bit surprising that they're both lesbians.

Looking forward to the next entry.

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 neighbor 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 armored 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 neighbors!” 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 rumored 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 traveling 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?

Interesting turn of events, who are these fell riders clad in mail and their death masks?

the romance reads better now after the tuning.

Now, let the blood spurt it's river of jeweled gore to paint the floor

Yup, reads better now. Nice reworking. Looking forward to seeing Ashild face off against the knights!

I'm interested in hearing more about the Draconian Guard. Nice new entry.

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 colored by the innocent blood shed that day.

No feedback? Well then if it was somewhat lacking I hope I can get some hints of what went wrong

Personally, I think its good. The only reason you aren't getting comments is because Dakka Fiction has been really slow for the past few days.

My only complaint is that the Draconian Guard are a little too evil. It seems almost over the top. Like when the commander says, “Kill everyone here, then burn it all down! I do intend to send a signal to anyone who has dreams of freedom!” Still, its not bad. The scene flows well, and your writing is very descriptive. I especially like this: "Outside the other knights under his command where already busy sowing the earth red with the blood of the townsfolk. "

Keep up the great writing.

I agree with LoneLictor on the Draconian Guard, I understand being a bit ruthless, but the non-stop slaughter that seems to follow them around doesn't have much rhyme or reason. Do these people or the King of Kels really think that's necessary? Of course, just a friendly opinion, if you believe that they have ample reason to do so, I'm sure we'll read why sooner or later .

I enjoyed that section, mate. Been a bit busy to comment lately but I'm certainly looking forward to more.

Who'd be a peasant, eh?

As mentioned above, some nice little flourishes and imagery in this last update. I particularly liked 'his ornate black robes seemed to drain the very warmth from the air'.

Bring on the payback.

So to those of my readers whom may be upset about the lack of brutal and unrestrained violence I can say this. Have no fear, your thirst will be quenched in the coming chapters.


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“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.

Another fine addition to Ashilid's legacy.

Keep it coming, I look forward to seeing more.

Castra

I can't believe I missed the two new entries.

They were a fine read in advancing the storytelling. The part with the black riders entering the inn was very well written. And the new faction of the bird man thrown into the mix was intriguing in it's mystery.

Thelma and Louise meet Conan.

Good stuff!

 Necroagogo wrote:
Thelma and Louise meet Conan.

Good stuff!

Well.....I was aming for Red Sonja meets Conan but I suppose a fantasy version of said duo works well too

Nice new entry.

Ashild felt as she was floating in a sea colored 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 fueled cries of the assembled hosts.

Below her a truly immense battle raged outside the walls of a great city, ranks upon ranks of heavily armored 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 armor, 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 defenseless 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 armor. 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 blod 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 signaled 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.

Very good, though doing blow and it dripping from her nose is not sending a right message to any kids reading

Left it on a bit of a cliff hanger I see, but even if they survive, will the wounds suffered by Ashild be all too much for her to bear?

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
Very good, though doing blow and it dripping from her nose is not sending a right message to any kids reading

Left it on a bit of a cliff hanger I see, but even if they survive, will the wounds suffered by Ashild be all too much for her to bear?

Oh god.....I really should stop posting when I'm that tired Stay tuned to see what happens next.

I found it amusing that she found the time, what with satisfying her lover and being on the run and all. Though it does explain her berserk rages and rampant sex life.

Never underestimate what people on the run can make work in short time, or when under pressure I suppose

Nicely done, as always.

Hurry up with the next part - you can't leave the lasses in the lurch!

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.

They certainly Pict their moment to come to the rescue!

Enjoyed that fight - very visceral. Nice one, Trondheim.

Hehe yes! That they did, and yes sir. Well played

Well glad you liked it! That is why I keep working on this

I liked this fight scene with the Picts and their giant of a chieftain , and it's a good job the rider knows some potions as poor Ashild seems like she needs it.

What next for our gallant gals I wonder?

I think the picts have become my favourite guys!

Quick, hide the good china love, the picts are coming for dinner.

If there's one thing I enjoy about this story, its that it feels like it takes place in a real world. There are multiple antagonists (the Picts, the Draconian Guard, and mostly likely more to come), multiple cultures, multiple nations, and that sort of thing. It really goes a long way towards realism, and makes it feel like there's a world even outside of Ashild's life (which can't be said for a lot of other fantasy).

I enjoyed the new entry, especially the way the fights were written. "Then with great force the two bands of men crashed together in a symphony of ringing steel," is great line. Very nicely done, and I'm eager for more.

Her body felt like a enraged she dragon had mauled her, and then stomped her flat for good measure. Her limbs felt sore and heavy and her left side stung with pain as she turned around on her stomach. She felt the soothing heat of a fire and realized whoever had dragged her to a fire must have done something with her wounds and her foes...
listening for any sounds that may reveal who or what had been her saviour she heard a voice speak in a tongue she did not recognize at first,but then a cold shiver ran down her spine.
The tongue she had heard was pictish! Fumbling around for something to grip on to she hauled her mauled frame up from the blankets she had been layed down upon.
Then she saw it, in the gloomy shadows cast by the fire that seemed to dance she saw a bear like Pict bow his head to a man clad in golden amour with copper like skin and eyes filled with a eternal fire that made her shiver with something resembling fear but yet not fully so.
“So you have awoken warrior! It pleases me to see that you have not succumbed to your wounds, although you will be in no shape to swing a axe any time soon I must say.”

“You...you spoke with that animal! Keep your bloody hands away from me Pict lover!” she growled felt a surge of panic well up inside her. If he was offended by these words he did not say so or show it. Instead he spoke in a calm and non-threatening manner to her as she was noting more than a child.
“It seems you must have been hit on the head, have you forgotten the vision you saw. Or did you not see the glimmering hawk above the yet unbloodied field? My master Thoth Amon would be rather displeased if you had forgotten it all.” he finished and bent down to pick up a wine skin and handed it with care to her, he seemed intent on keeping himself well clear of her strong hands. And given the feelings that welled upside her she did not blame him either.
Now that she had been awake for a few moments her vision became clearer and she could pick out the outlines of a sleeping form she recognized well enough. At least it seemed Charsi was safe enough for the time being at least.

Fixing her savior and caretaker with a glare she spoke.
“So I take it you are one of Thoth Amons followers then? Because your amour shows your not from the north. Nor do men of Kels, Thessalonia or the far north have skin like you! And just how can someone like you speak Pictish?” she finished and managed to seat herself with feet resting beside the embers of the fire.

“Indeed I serve the man you named, he is the eternal guiding light that leads us all trough the darkness to come. And yes, you observations are correct, I was raised in the far south under the ever baking sun and with the dessert wind howling outside the walls. And I speak Picthis because even soldiers like me needs to have knowledge of the wider world!”

“If you say so Stygian, hand me that wine skin and label me as reluctant friend then.” she said and extended one blood stained hand to grip the wine skin that was handed to her.

While the two warriors of very different breeding reached a somewhat fragile understanding for the time being, someone else where watching the stars pass by as he sat on the deck of the boat that carried him up the great river and northwards.
Thoth Amon sat with legs crossed and stroked the feathers of the golden falcon that sat on his shoulder, his face was the very image of worry as the priest pondered the events to come.
It was very clear to him that there was almost no other path than the path of war that lay ahead, the throne robber who now sat on the throne in Kels would not rest until all the lands in the north and more likely than not the south was his to rule, although it was clear he would have some troubles with the rulers of both Thessalonia and Stygia. But still, the armies of Kels has swollen with men and equipment and in the end sheer numbers and the brutal ways the men of Kels now waged war would see them win.
But by the great serpent! They would bleed oh how they would bleed. The ruler of Stygia had no intention of seeing the mad dog claim the lands the Stygians had ruled for aeons, and there where still the mater of those who never had left the banner of the old king, they where perhaps not a waste and powerful army but to dismiss the bravery and anger of men fighting against tyranny was to invite death he knew. Then there where also the feuding Pict tribes, some only wanted worldly gains and plunder while some had no wish to be dragged into the bloody and merciless war between the civilized lands.
Getting to his feet proved a painful affair for his ageing bones, he cursed and gripped his staff in a very firm grip.
“Fly my golden comrade, cast your sharp gaze down upon the world and let me know what your eyes see.” he said and watched the bird slowly climb up into the night sky above him.

“Captain, how far until we reach our destination?” he called to the burly man who commanded the ship, no response came however, witch was no unreasonable, the man could have been busy with something or he could have failed to hear him. But a tingling feeling in his very bone marrow told him something was not as it should have been.
He closed his eyes and allowed his witch sight to scour the ship, then he saw it. A dark almost foggy form hunched down behind the railing at the far end of the ship. Now he knew why the good captain did not answer him.
Gripping his serpent headed staff he muttered a low chant and spoke with a thundering voice to the beast.
“Servant of darkness! Your depraved desires and schemes will to prevail. Reveal yourself and feel the consequence of crossing a servant of the god king!”

these words seemed to strike a nerve with the foul creature, the beast summoned by dark arts rose from its hiding and walking like the great man eating apes of the deep jungles of the south at came at him. Its massive teeth barred and a cruel fire burning in the pits were its eyes should have been. Its maw stained by blood and pieces of cloth.
It paused for a moment before it begun to circle around him like a stalking predator may circle a deer before punching on its next meal.
Then it launched itself at him with a horrid howl echoing thought the night surrounding them both. But when it did it did so at a man who did not fear it, or its dark master.
A faith glimmer of light appeared around the serpent headed staff and with a swift strike Thoth Amon smacked the baboon like devil square in the head.
This clearly hurt the beast as it howled and reeled back, it was stung but not wounded nor frightened. Instead it now realized this prey would need to be dealt with fast and without any idling about. The beast came at him again this time with its claws raking at him.
He sidestepped one blow and ducked another and swore as a third blow shredded his cloak.

“By the power of the sun king begone foul servant of darkness! I banish you back to the dark realm you came from!” he said in a firm tone and swung the staff down hard, and as he did the night was illuminated by a sun like gleam of light and the ape like devil fell back screaming and clawing at its now smouldering form.
“Send my regards to whoever spawned you beast” he said and slammed the ivory tip of his staff into one of its glowing eyes, piercing its skull.
As the beast vanished in a stinking cloud of sulfurous smoke the old priest let out a heavy sigh and slumped down on the floor. The beast had managed to claw his left shoulder, and the long bloodied marks left by its claws stung as he examined them. He knew the beast was far from dead, most likely it had been merely banished or sent back to its master with a grudge to settle later at some point.
“I am getting to old for this, but by the eternal cycle of the sun I will not let you win yet you throne robbing devil.” he cursed as he heard the pounding of feet and the worried shouts of the crew that had not been feed upon by the beast, staying below and being fast asleep had most likely saved them from a rather unpleasant fate indeed he decided as he felt the grip on this world slip away and the peace of unconsciousness take him into its comforting embrace.

You're channeling the spirit of the pulps here. That description of the ape was pure Robert E Howard.

Well glad it was a fine read then. And yes I have drawn much inspiration from his works.

Nice new entry, woll look forward to more.

I agree with Necroagogo, this really reminds me of Conan. Nicely done.

Another thrilling instalment.

Keep it up, Trond; your work is a constant joy to read.

Charsi slowly opened her eyes and whimpered as the pain wrecking her body as she tried to sit up, she felt the pull of neatly sewn stitches across her lower back and upper chest alongside many other sore spots. When she looked around she saw trees, a dark sky and a smell of wet wood burning slowly somewhere near, then the flood of memories hit her like a mallet blow and she suddenly felt very vulnerable as she lay there like a defenceless child.
“Ashild...Ashild where are you” she said in a shivering voice fighting to hold back a sense of panic. Getting no immediate response she fought trough the pain and somehow managed to get up on her knees.
Then she saw him, a nightmarish towering form hunched beside the fire clad in a heavy pelt and with skin covered both by woad and deep red dried blood caking of his iron hard frame as he rose to his feet.
She could not help but to let a terrified shriek emit from her bloodied lips as the brute turned to her with strangely kind eyes not filled with hate or a lust to she her dead. Instead of reaching for her he seemed ashamed to have caused her such grievance and moved away from her.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t you come near you....you....beast!” she managed to say as she started to sob and felt tears stream down her face.
Just as she felt she was on the verge of collapse a familiar touch and a low whisper made her soon to be break down into a weeping mess relax even if just a hint of it.
“Shh girly you are not alone, nor do you need to cry. I am here” said Ashild in a tone Charsi had never heard before, not even when they where alone at night between the sheets.
The equally sewn up warrior woman held her smaller lover in her arms and brushed her messy hair away from her tear stained face and looked her into her eyes.
“You are safe here. No one will touch you. Not even that one over there, I promise you!.” she said and lowered her back down upon the thick furs she had been layed upon. And knelt beside her, even if the move clearly pained her.

She lay there and looked up at Ashild, who was marred by several ugly but somewhat neatly sewn wounds running down her arms, legs and upper body. The half troll looked like a tangled mess but as she knelt beside her lover she looked ready as ever to guard her. But the fact was not lost to either of them. Both where in no shape to fight or travel without help. Speaking with a trembling voice that revealed just how frighted she was, did the former smith ask her comrade what had happened. The answers she got did little to calm her nerves but it seemed to be so that the bear like Pict who she had seen when she first stirred from sleep was far more worried about her wounds and general well being than anything else. But none of them looked away from the fact the he was also the one who held their fate in his hands, it was his warriors who now scoured the woods for anyone who could be aiding the enemy they had bleed dry in the field somewhere beyond those trees. They both felt his gaze upon them as the two women took stock of the situation at hand.
And then there was the strange Stygian who had first tended to them once the last blow had fallen and all was silent.

Stroking her hand and holding her trembling hand Ashild begun to ponder about it all, her mind reeled from the flood of emotions the last chains of events had built up in her ravaged body. For someone not used to having much in the ways of feelings or concerns this was equally terrifying as having just escaped death or a worse fate at the hands of her foes.
“I need to tell you something Charsi, before we where set upon I had a vision of sorts one could say. In it I meet a man who claimed destiny had many things prepared for us both, more precisely you I think he meant. He spoke about a coming war in the north....you don’t happen to have royal blood in do you?” she asked and looked her partner in the eyes with a glare that radiated curiosity and a need to hear something to calm her frayed ends of sanity.
It took Charsi several moments to reply, her face however said it all as she replied ina slow and somewhat shaky tone.
“No....I don’t think so, I never knew my mother or father. I was raised in the caravan by Thule, may the gods keep him.” she said and seemed to drift of for a short moment before continuing to answer.

“You do not believe him do you? After all it was just a damned dream was it not?”

“Well it was a dream, that I am very sure of. But I have learned to keep a open mind, and beside in what other way would it explain our saviour in golden armour then? Or the fact that the Picts have not made any attempt to harm us! Or that a hundred Draconian guards where sent to find us, and drag us back dead or alive!”
To this Charsi had no reply, instead she sat there and looked into the smouldering embers that remained of the fire. The light cast by those embers made her skin glow and also illuminated her own scars. As the two women sat in silence and the towering Pict stood some distance from them and leaned on a massive tree a soft rain shower set, the warm rain drops fell towards to the ground made the nigh fill with the smell of trees and the smell of a forest welcoming the rain.

The chieftain stood there and felt the rain soak him to the skin, he payed it no heed. Rain was the last thing he worried about, his name was Bran and he was the leader of the bear claw tribe as his father before him and his father before him. Most folk of the south saw Picts as mad dogs only hell bent on plunder and rape, this description fitted some of the tribes but not all. The Southerners in many towns and hamlets slept safely because Pictish warriors made sure that none with violence in mind crossed into their lands, the safety of the towns they also looked after was seldom their most pressing concern but the strong never let the weak suffer at the hands of cruel men. Such where the codes the Picts lived and died by.
He was a fearsome sight to behold as the two women who now seeked shelter under the heavy furs left for them by the fire clearly had thought as they had awoken.
He liked the tall one with the brown hair, but he knew far better than to stand around drinking in her beauty, one did not tempt fate with those who had troll blood in their veins.
Then there where also the mater of the Stygian who had come bearing words of the enemy and fell deeds taking place outside the lands of the bear claws.
He had sent runners to the other clans he knew he could trust, and he also knew the men who opposed the mad one who had killed his father in far away Kels. Murder just for the sake of rule was in his mind a great shame. Noting on this world was worth causing such pain to ones kindred as the mad prince had done.
As he stood there he heard the familiar footsteps of the Stygian from behind him.
“ So it seems the pair has woken, I heard the black haired woman scream when she saw you Bran. It saddens me that the stigma of the Northern lands has been branded onto your kin.” he said and looked at the two who sat beneath heavy furs comfort each other.

The leader of the Picts spoke with a low rumbling voice, his voice scarred by smoke and harsh living.
“I blame her not, for all her years the very name of Picts has most likely been associated with howling blood crazed men, it will be many years before the shame is washed away.” the man said and continued to glare out into the dark beyond the weak shimmering light of the camp.
“ I agree, your brave kinsmen do not deserve the scorn and hate they get from the others of thee lands. Know that Stygia will always be a friend of those of your kind with a mind set like you Bran.”


“ We will fight for anyone who oppose the evil ways of the new king! The runners will return soon with news from the other clans. The enemy will find no peace after they do, no Pict hold any love for the mad mongrel.” he says and spits on the wet soil before leaving the Stygian and joining his kinsmen out in the dark.

Deciding it was best to grab the bull by the horns so to say he walks over to the pair huddling beneath the furs and sits down, his golden eyes glimmers as he begins to speak to them both.
“I know none of you trust me very much, I do not blame you for it. However I hope my actions may prove that I am a good ally and friend to your cause. Get some sleep is my suggestion, we ride in the morning.”
Ashild speaks for the two of them as she listens to the words spoken by this strange warrior.
“For now at least I wont consider planting my axe in your skull, we both would be dead or worse had you not appeared when you did. Beside any man who kills devils like the ones who came after us earns my respect if not intimidate trust. But you keep strange company Stygian and knowing your name would make trusting you a bit easier I think.”

“Fair demands requires fair answers, my name is Argai, I was born amongst the slaves of the high court of the Stygian ruler, and adopted by the man who would become my mentor and friend, you have already meet the man I believe. The Stygian court has no interest in seeing a war rip the north apart, and has thus sent myself and my master north to gather what remains of the followers of the old king, and any tribe willing to stand under the banner of those brave men and women. The Pict that you saw mere moments ago is one of those tribal leaders. For two long and bloody years have they hounded any servant of the new king when they can and where they can. “

“ I see well fair enough, you gave what I asked for. And your comrade in arms seems likeable enough, even if I will need to convince Charsi he means her no harm, she has....some bad memories regarding some of his less savoury pictish kin it seems.”
With those words both man and woman falls silent for a long time until she broke the silence with a question aimed at him.
“So...How dose I and Charsi play into the plans layed by your lord and master?”

“The one sleeping beside you will be the uniting factor for the remains of the still loyal nobility, she dose not know it but in her veins flow royal blood. The old king had many female companions, her birth mother died in a raid by Picts influenced by the one who would steal the crown for himself, the lone survivor was given to the man she would come to regard as her father. The man named Thule was a friend of the old king and thus deemed fit to tend to her.”

“You mean to tell me that she who has been a black smith and caravan hanger on for most of her life has a claim to a throne! By the gods I do not have enough wine inside me to think about it all!” Ashild muttered and reached for the wine skin and took a deep gulp of the strong wine.

“That she dose, now get some sleep if you can. We ride when the dawn break, I am journeying south to meet my mentor and the nobility who has taken up arms against the false king. And I have news for them that will surely be most welcomed”

An interesting development.

Can't wait to hear more, keep going!

Castra

Nice descriptions throughout, but especially with the chieftains when Charsi awoke. Also the chapter flowed very well.

Things look mighty interesting for our duo from hear on in.

Dawn found Ashild walking with a limp and somewhat slower than and Charsi mounted upon rugged a horse tamed in the high mountain passes, and fitted with crude but well made saddles. Argai rode his own massive horse that seemed to glide between the trees and over the uneven ground with far more grace than the rugged horse Charsi rode.
The forest had gone from seemingly young to far older woodland, the massive trees that loomed overhead seemed to reach for the very sky itself, and the forest floor was carpeted with damp moss and pale flowers that grew in the shadows of the giants looming overhead.
Charsi who had more or less been very quiet for some time finally broke her silence when Argai came up beside her as if to make sure she was managing the uneven ground with her wounds still giving her much pain.
“Beside the obvious fact that you are leading us south where are we headed?” the dour half troll asked as she ducked under a massive tree that had fallen down and now partial blocked the muddy trail they where following.
She seldom felt irritated when travelling out in the wilds but the damned mud and the sting from her wounds made the woman posses a temperament most foul this day.
“We are heading to the stronghold of the nobles who swore an oath to make the throne robber pay for his crimes. The citadel we will enter lies deep within the mountains we can see in a few days time.” Argai replied in a almost weary tone before continuing his answer to Ashild.

“The duke of Noregard is the one the ruler of Kels fears the most, he commands the largest still loyal army of free men in these realms. And more importantly he is the one who will command the troops who will one day march out and square of against the servants of evil.”

“So you tell me that the coward who butchers his own subjects fears a man who is outnumbered, and have few friends to turn to. While he has a whole kingdom and legions of men to send into battle? If this man is so fearsome I would like to know his name at least.”
“Who knows how the mind of a man who murdered his father and brother to claim the throne thinks. And the man we are going to see is named Torvald Reinhardt also known as the Lion of Kels after his many victories against the Thessalonians and Picts in several wars. He is a proud man burdened by the weight of civil strife and many lone nights spent pondering the coming darkness.”

“Sounds like a man worth respecting then.” she said and limped past him and his horse and with a determined look upon her face walked beside the horse Charsi rode. Walking beside the woman she loved made her blood boil both with pride, lust and a burning hatred for anyone who dared lay hands on her. She patted her reassuringly on her thigh and gave her a smile of white teeth as they journeyed onwards in silence.
As the day dragged on they begun to see signs of the woodland opening up and the faint sound of rushing water could be heard thundering in the distance as they got closer and closer.
Then as if someone had lifted the green curtain that had surrounded them for the whole day lifted and they saw a deep gorge that seemed to have been cut into the mountains when the world was young. The sheer cliffs plunged down into white masses of water that churned around jagged rocks and great boulders. The steep cliff sides where dotted with the odd pine tree clinging on for dear life. The sight and sounds of this awe inspiring sight made Charsi feel very, very small there she sat on her shaggy horse.
Then they all saw the bridge that lead across the gorge, it was a solid stone bridge built in a age long passed, but well maintained and reassuringly wide enough for two wide horse drawn wagons cross side by side if need be. But these things did not seem to occupy the mind of Argai as he sat in the saddle and gazed at the woods behind them. His eyes wandered the edge of the woods while one hand wandered almost of its own accord to the hilt of his sword that hung at his side.
“We should get across the bridge now Ashild, I would rather have Charsi walk beside the horse just in case.”
as the two women began to cross the bridge he pulled Bran aside and said in a low voice.
“We are being followed, I am not sure whom or how many there may be of them. But mark my word, there are someone looking down at us now.”
To these worried words the chieftain did not respond with any great signs of worry, he sniffed the air and looked rather calm as he answered his Stygian comrade.
“Do not fret over it friend, I know what lurks out there in the mist beyond the pines. They have been following us for some time.” the bearlike man said and waved his hand at the forty men from his tribe that had travelled with them.
As he was about to speak a arrow hammered into the chest of the warrior beside him. And then without any warning the air was filled with the distinct howls of barbarians and the twang of bow strings as the members of the bear claw let their own arrows caress the enemy who now poured out of the woods like a fur clad nightmare.
Howling in anger at this cowardly act the tribal warriors hefted their weapons and looked for whom had done this, then they got their answer. Out from the woods who seemed to have spawned both armoured warriors and the distinct blue painted shapes of Picts a wave of enemies came.
Beside the totem standard of the Picts flew a banner Argai & Bran knew well, all too well.
It was the banner of the royal Kels household foot regiment that was stationed at the last great castle that overlooked these wild mountains.
But it seemed the massive Pict who had saved Ashild and Charsi knew no fear, he and his fellow warriors stood firm as their enemies formed up and hurled taunts and insults at them.
Their intent was very clear, to sell their own lives dearly so others may live to bleed the enemy another day.

Argai saw it all unravel before his eyes, not now not when he was so damned close to the place he was needed. Notching a arrow of his own and letting it fly in one swift movement he made for the two women who now had seen what was boiling out from the woods behind them.
“RUN DO NOT STOP!” he screamed over the noise from the water thundering past below.
“Get to the other side and do not stop until!” he continued and ducked as a spear hurled by him and slammed into the stones before him. The gods be thanked the pair seemed to understand this well enough, although Ashild seemed much more intent on hefting her axe and splitting each and one of those mongrels from head to groin if she got the chance.
He sat in the saddle for a moment and watched the pair pick up speed as Ashild slapped the horse on the rear, and her self running as best she could despite her now stiff wounds.
Dismounting he stroked the mane of his trusty horse, the great horse seemed to understand what its master and long time friend meant and reared up on its hind legs and seemed very much in disagreement with him. The massive war horse had no intention to let its master fight alone it seemed.
So it was that both warrior and horse prepared themselves for what would be their last stand. Tyrion gripped his sword in one hand made sure the other gripped the shield with the royal coat of arms in the other.
Then he kicked his horse who answered him by starting a thundering charge across the the short span of bridge between them and the swirling battle ahead.
The iron shod hooves hammered against the cobble stones and the now less than ten still standing Picts who stood against many heard the sound come closer with each strike.
Then with the force of a thunderbolt he struck the first man head on, the blow from both horse and steel mangled flesh and dented steel as the sword man fell with his head caved in by a swipe from the sword and chest ruined by a powerful strike from the hoofs of the horse, another foe was layed low with a swift swipe of the blade that caught him in the neck and severed his head.

Guiding his horse with his feet as the animal dodged and weaved trough the foes surrounding them, he had just hacked the arm of a Pict when a blow caught him in the side and knocked him out from the saddle and down upon the blood stained cobble stones. His horse thundered onwards and cleared the press of bodies with its barding marked by blade and spear but more or less unharmed.
Although knocked down he was definitely not out of the fight, he rolled to one side to avoid a spear trust and slashed around him to clear a opening to get up, he got to his feet and the realization that only he and Bran still lived, the other warriors who had stood by them had fallen to the steel of sword men and the copper axes and swords of the almost naked tribes men.
His friend stood with bloodied arms and heaving chest as he prepared himself for a another wave of howling foes to hurl themselves at him.
But Argai had no time to think about it, a sword flashed by his face and a shield slammed into his own. Facing him was a well trained and well equipped soldier from the Kels army, the man wore a suit of heavy mail overlapping with plate armour and a helmet that was crafted to resemble a face. The only thing that revealed that a man was beneath eh helmet was the part of the helmet that revealed his eyes.
He found himself hard pressed to keep this new foe at arms length while he searched for a opening in his defence.
He blocked a downward strike and slammed his shield into the one his foe held, and used his weight and momentum to make the man dig his feet in. as the man seemed to tense for the next blow to come he feinted a lunge and stepped inside the man’s reach and buried his sword deep in the arm pit of the man. The blade sank deep, and dark red blood trickled down the ed

While the two last men standing attempted to hold back the tide Charsi and Ashild reached the far side of the bridge. Both where running ragged and with their hearths pounding in their chests, even if one of them was mounted on a now somewhat nervous horse. From behind the sounds of battle still sounded, the clash of steel on steel. The creams of pain as a blade bit flesh or the crack when a axe splintered a helmet.
It was Charsi who broke the silence first.
“Never thought I would feel even remotely sorry for Picts dying, but no one deserves to die like that.”

“They died so we could get to safety, the path of a warrior is seldom rewarded with a peaceful ending. Most dies alone and forgotten on a bloodstained field far from the fame and glory.”

“That may be so where you come from Ashild! But still I think no one should meet their end like that.”

“No point in shedding tears for those about to join their forefathers!” Ashild said and pulled the horse along while Charsi kept glancing back to the swirling battle on the bridge behind them.
As they where about to begin the climb up the steep slopes and onto safety Charsi happened to look up on one of the high cliffs surrounding the road they where taking. High upon that weather worn piece of rock a lone figure stood, raising a horn the figure let a deep rumbling tune carry out across the gorge. The call was soon answered by another horn blower somewhere in the distance.
“By the earth mother!” Ashild growled and fumbled with her axe while looking positively scared.
Meanwhile on the bridge where Argai fresh from the kill faced a trio of Picts armed with long knifes and tomahawks he too heard the horns sound of. So did his foes who seemed for a second puzzled by it. Before the combatants could resume their dance of death once more a sound he knew all too well begun to echo in the gorge.
Then with the force of a score of avenging angels descending upon the wicked of the world a large arrow shaped column of knights came flying down the hills behind them.
Their shining suits of armour and fluttering banners gave them a regal look as they lowered their lances as they drew closer.

Nice entry, just I dislike that a character is named Tyrion.

Its the equivalent to having a 40k character named Darth Vader or Indiana Jones. It pulls you out of the story.

I like the idea of the Picts fulfilling the same role as rangers in LotR - shunned by those whose borders they strive to protect.

Two nice updates, both well-paced in their different ways.

Keep the bloodshed flowing!

Agreed about the name Tyrion, though.

Well thank you for the honest feedback, but I did not realize that there where a character named that in 40k. or anything else related to Warhammer though.

 Trondheim wrote:
Well thank you for the honest feedback, but I did not realize that there where a character named that in 40k. or anything else related to Warhammer though.

Oh, 40k was just an example.

Tyrion is from Game of Thrones, and is popular in the US.

 LoneLictor wrote:

 Trondheim wrote:
Well thank you for the honest feedback, but I did not realize that there where a character named that in 40k. or anything else related to Warhammer though.

Oh, 40k was just an example.

Tyrion is from Game of Thrones, and is popular in the US.

I don't watch Game of Thrones. To me, Tyrion will always be the high elf warrior from WFB.

Even more confusing!

Oh lord it seems I must read both Game Of Thrones and more elf stuff for WHFB then

Ps : Went back and changed the name as requested.

That was a fine read with nice descriptions to set the scene, got a bit confused when this random knight turned up to join the fight though. But on the whole very good.

They came over the hills, summoned by the blare of the horns of the men who kept a watchful eye upon the roads entering the realm of Noregard, they where the ones who could call themselves the pinnacle of the glory that had once been shared with the rest of Kels before the dark days of deceit and murder.
Clad in suits of amour forged by the best of the amour smiths of the lands and armed with weapons so keen they could split a hair. They where the Boyars , the order of knights who had sworn to stand vigil over the weak and those in need of protection from the evils of the world. Each one of their numbers had been raised from childhood in the castle that served as the headquarters of their sacred band.
Their numbers thinned by fierce battels and a ongoing battle to save the lands they called home they now where less numerous than in times gone by, but still the banner with the golden bear flew in the wind when they sallied fourth.

As they drew closer to the foes at hand they lowered their lances that glimmered in the sun that had risen, and with a unison cry of eternal loyalty they hit the ranks of the foes.
Shields splintered and men where impaled by the sheer force of the impacts, then as the riders got in amongst their foes swords where drawn from ornate scabbards and put to good use.
The leader of the riders was a figure of awe to his brothers in arms as he layed about himself in a almost frenzied manner. Blood stained the pristine armour he wore and return blows dented and scratched his shield. He swung the sword down hard onto the shoulder of a tribes man and severed the arm in a welter of gore, then sliding the blade in between the opening in the defense of a foot man he impaled a young soldier who cried in pain and fear as the cold steel took his life.
After the initial shock and dread of the charge little will to fight on remained in the already bloodied tribes men and they one by one took their chances and ran from the swirling combat with no intentions of aiding their comrades that had stayed to fight.
Faced with such a hard attack to their rear and many of their of comrades already fallen, the last men of the Kels footmen quit the field, but they did so in a ordered and disciplined fashion. Several of the Boyars gave chase but where seen of by both crossbow and spear, it was at this time the man who commanded these mounted called his warriors back to his side.
He had no wish to risk any more of his kin simply to pursue and kill a foe who already was already leaving the field.
The man who had removed his helmet to reveal a face adorned with beard growing grey and with white hair showing on his head, he seemed to have avoided any wounds in the fight, but he felt the tug of a old wound and the slow trickle of blood from fresh nicks and cuts on his body. But such trivialities had to wait, now they needed to tend to the ones in need of aid.
The white clad knights walked amongst the fallen and collected their own, and giving the last mercy to those of their foes who still clung to life, this last thing was a grim task none of them took joy in. killing wounded and dying men where far from glorious or honourable, but seeing how the alternative was far worse it was the best albeit cruel thing to do.
These men also looked for a Stygian and a pictish chieftain, who they had seen upon joining the fray. Their commander had expressed a very dire need to find both men, and give them the aid they needed. He had also before leaving the fortress when the horn sounded ordered a detachment of scouts to seek out the two women the pair they now searched for had travelled with.

Knight Marshal Torvald felt old as he stepped over the disfigured corps of a Kels soldier, the man looked like had been struck square in the chest by a lance and then slashed with a sword. Clearly someone had decided to make sure he never raised a arm in anger again. On this now bloodstained bridge they had driven the troops of the throne robber back. For now at least, he hoped that his scouts had found the two they had been sent to look for. As he bent down to examine one of his own that had been struck down after his horse was killed a cry went out from one of the other men searching trough he mass of corpses.
“My lord! Over here, we found the Pict”
several men stood around the prone form of the great man, he was severely wounded by the looks of it. Several deep wounds could be seen on his person, but he still gripped the weapon he had used with great valour. His face a bloodied mess with a broken nose and what looked like a few teeth knocked out. His hair was sticky with blood, both his own and that of his enemies. And one of his sharp eyes was closed and swollen. He did indeed look more dead than alive. The other knights examined his tribal comrades but none lived. They had all fallen with weapon in hand and the blood of their foes wetting the ground they stood upon.
“Well don’t just bloody stand there! See to his wounds and get him to the castle so a healer may see to him! And make it happen fast!” the old man snapped with a flare of anger in his voice, his men not used to their marshal snapping at them attended to the task with a sense of renewed urgency.

The old knight looked at while the wounded and barely awake man was somehow placed upon a horse that had lost its master and escorted away.
Stepping over a disemboweled Kels man he grinned as the stench from ruptured guts and other foul stenches assailed his nostrils, no matter how many times he smelled it did it get any easier to have that horrid stench assault ones nostrils. The man in question was a very young man, no more than perhaps eighteen or nineteenth years old. And it appeared he had died screaming for mercy.
Bending down and closing the wide open eyes of the boy he continued his walk, until he came upon a heap of bodies, it seemed several men had been cut down in rapid succession due to the way they had fallen.
The wounds they all displayed where long almost graceful cuts delivered with a somewhat curved blade or a sabre of sorts. Then he saw the one who had made these wounds upon these men.
Lying under a dead man who had a long blade protruding out of his back.
The Stygian lay there stained in blood, his golden armour dented and ruined by the punishing blows of his enemies. His shield who had displayed the royal crest of Stygia lay broken at his feet and is helmet was too marked by the blows of the enemies he had slain. Feeling for a heartbeat he felt under the ruined armour the Stygian wore,Feeling a feint but distinct beat of the hearth he let out a deep breath of relief.
“A horse for this man! He still lives! Hurry!” the old warrior yelled to his men, staying by the prone form of the man who had almost given his life to allow his comrades time to make their escape.


While the almost dead Stygian where tended to by gentle hands there where two who where unaware of what was taking place. The two women still fled along the road they had set upon, but as they reached a bend in the road the largest of them paused and told her comrade to be quiet.
Ashild drew her axe from her belt and listened to the faint but distinct sound of horses drawing near from somewhere beyond the bend in the road.
“Take the horse and hide Charsi! Do not come out no matter what happens you hear me!” she almost snarled, revealing her sharp predatory teeth.

But there was no time to hide, for around the bend came the horses they had heard, riding them where men clad in leather and mail, and armed with lances and short bows. Their horses pounded along the cobbled road and almost screamed in protest when their masters reined them to a halt.
Their leader a thin man with a helmet that showed noting more than his eyes dismounted and handed his lance to a nearby rider.
Standing with both his hands in plain sight he spoke with a calm but hard voice.
“By the decree of the duke of Noregard you are hereby offered the aid and friendship of his Lordship. Name anything you require and it will be provided.”

“Really? Well it all seems very convenient to me …. how do I know you do you work for the false bastard who has hounded us since the black mountains!” Ashild said and flashed the man with a smile that revealed her sharp canines. She also shifted her grip on her axe to a one handed, almost as if she considered hurling it at him and striking him down. The display of mistrust was not lost on the man either.

“As a token of good will I am willing to play the part of hostage. My men will return to the fort at Dunheim at once, I hope this will at least show you we have no hostile intentions towards you and your companion.” he said and drew his sword and handed it alongside his daggers and the shield he had worn on his back to the same man who had taken his lance.
The soldier seemed somewhat in disagreement with the plan described by his leader but he did not utter much in the way if protest except for a few muttered words about how dim could one be to trust a half troll.
Then as the man had secured the additional equipment to his own saddle the riders turned their mounts around and rode back the way they had come with the banner of Noregard fluttering in the breeze as they did.
When the last man rounded the bend in the road on his fiery horse the now dismounted and unarmed sergeant turned to his two captors and said in a somewhat annoyed tone.
“I suppose this is enough, or do I need to strip down to my undergarments too? Or should we head for that damned fort before winter set in shall we?

“Lead the way since you seem intent on getting back home” Ashild said with a almost neutral voice, but Charsi saw a small spark in her eyes that revealed that she did not think the man was a utter bastard. Well not now at least.
As the somewhat mismatched trio wandered along the road Charsi pondered the things she had heard Ashild and the Stygian named Argai speak about. And the thin gs Ashild had asked her about also haunted her troubled mind, if it was true that noble blood flowed in her veins it would change a whole lot of things.
She would most likely have to learn much more about the things noble women did, or did not do. And what would it all mean with regards to her relationship with Ashild? One thing was very clear in her mind though. Anyone who said anything about her companion would pay for it dearly, one way or the other.
“Ashild I need to ask you something, those things you and Argai spoke about, how will I ever manage to become even half fit to rule anything else than a forge? Hell I barely know how to lace a dress! Let alone anything about rule and all that nonsense!” she said while putting on a brave face as tears treated to overtake her.
“Well until two months ago I was noting more than a wandering sell swords. And now I have meet a woman I love and trust, I know preciously little about rule and royal affairs. But what I do know is that you have a kind hearth, use that and treat people fairly and I think you can make almost anything work. And beside no one is born a master.” her lover said as she walked in front of her. Turning the half troll smiled to her as she stopped and took her hand as the horse trudged forwards with Charsi on its back. At that moment both seemed to relish a rare moment of peace.
It lasted for a few moments more until the voice of the man walking in front of them sounded.
“ Padron me for disturbing your moment of intimacy, but from my humble standing as a soldier allow me to say this. What makes kings and queens great is not their knowledge about fine wine and cloth. Nor about what sort of nonsense some poet spits out at random, no what makes a ruler great is a warm hearth and a will to stand by his or her folk.”
pausing the man spat on the ground and raised the hood of his cloak as the rain returned.
“Show the common man you have those two things and very few hearths will find it hard to dislike you. And those who do...well they can sod of and marry a bloody Pict for all I care!”

After those words had been spoken silence once more reigned amongst the trio as the rain pounded the land, and the green hills of Noregard slowly passed them by as they walked and rode onwards.
Then after what seemed like a long time to Charsi was was beginning to feel the cold creep into her bones as she sat in the saddle on her now weary horse as they climbed a tall hill and caught sight of a towering castle perched on top a great mountain overlooking a deep green valley dotted with farmsteads.
Wisps of mist seemed to embrace the castle as it lay there like a great stone drake guarding its green treasure below.
“Now there is a sight for a pair of wet women like you two to feast your eyes upon! There sits Dunheim! Strongest castle in the whole of Noregard and all the free realms! You wont find anywhere as safe to lay down and rest mark my words!”

Great new entry, loved it.

I have my doubts about the durability of Dunhelm ...

Glad the old Pict survived!

I like it! It reads smoothly and is enticing. Well done friend.

Along the parapets of the great city wall torches burnt and illuminated the night as the watch men upon walked along the walls with weapons in hand, and eyes that scanned the fields outside the city for any movement. Behind and below them patrols walked the streets of the once lively and welcoming city. In the two years after the death of the old king, and the coming of the throne robber and his villainous supports the mood had changed. People found trust let alone acceptance hard to come by, and traders and merchants from beyond the borders of Kels often remarked that the city they had once know now resembled a great tomb. This statement where also voiced by those who where born and raised in Kels but lived outside the city, or visited it for the first time.
At the centre of the great city lay the walled royal palace where once noble men and women had served their king with joy and a eagerness to do good. Now it was often quiet as a tomb, except for the times when the once loyal nobility gathered to waste themselves on wine and fine food beside their monarch.
Its halls and gardens where guarded by the Draconian guard that stood eternally ready to hunt and dispatch any would be intruder or rebellious soul. These devils had forsaken the trust placed upon them and turned their steel upon the ones who had relied upon them in times past, now they only answered to two men, one of them was their secretive leader who spent most of his time in the great citadel they had been gifted with, or in council with the king.
To anyone who had served beside them in times before the change of ruler these men would seem a mere shadow of the once noble and proud royal guard.

In the throne room that was decorated with fine art, tapestries displaying the many victories of the old kings of Kels and the many long tables that where used in the great feasts put on in times of celebration.
At the far end of the room stood the throne carved from the finest silver pine wood and decorated with ornate patters of gold and studded with gems, this was the seat of the ruler who now sat there consuming another flagon of wine while his face showed his displeasure regarding the news he had been given by the man standing before him, while servants stood in the shadows ready to attend to his every need.
Speaking with a voice slurred by wine king Erik Haraldson spoke to his subject.
“You mean to tell me that both the men that is supposed to be the finest warriors and masters of the sword, failed not once but twice!! to capture a simple black smith and her dim witted troll companion!”
The man being addressed showed no sign of being bothered by the drunken outburst by his king, remaing calm and cold as a serpent the man who commanded the Draconian guard answered his majesty.
“Yes my king, but the two you seek will not evade us for much longer, after they had managed to slip away from the ambush laid by the heathens they slipped into the wilds where my men lost them for some time, but their trail where picked up again at the foot hills of the black mountains.”
pausing to adjust remove the hood that concealed his face the man continued.

“The outriders haunted their every step until they overtook them, and almost had them within their grasp when a war band of the blue painted devils that haunts the border marches fell upon them. None of my riders survived the ambush may I add. “

“And how dose this come to be good new ! That you loose a hundred knights to feral bastards and my prize escapes!!” the king growled and motioned for a servant to refill his cup with wine.

“It tells us many things sire, one that they have the aid of the Picts, and that they where heading for either Stygia or more likely Noregard. I am sure your majesty realize what that would mean....”
the mention of those two places made the king turn red as a boiled lobster, with a howl of rage and frustration he hurled the cup of wine and the nearby flagon at the servant who just had brought them to him. Getting to his feet with a somewhat unsteady motion the began to make for the doors that lead to his private chambers.
The marshal of the Draconian guard stood and watched his king fume and rage, and was far from impressed. The king had his moments of child like behaviour that sat very poorly with the warrior. But he supposed even kings could afford a moment releasing frustration or anger. Walking after his ruler he passed the now sobbing serving girl who lay on her knees and collecting the broken pieces of pottery and glass.
“I would be quiet if I where you wench! Unless you wish to be sold of into slavery!” he muttered as pulled her up and looked her over with eyes hardened by many years of war.
Many things was said about him and his lack of compassion for the common man, and most where true. But let there be said that his icy mind sometimes thawed and allowed the man he had once been seep trough and out into the world.
The serving girl dared not look up at him as he stood in front of her, she was almost petrified by fear and shame. Releasing her hand he sighed and walked after the brute that called himself king.

King Erik entered his private chambers and tossed his crown on the bed as he sat down in his favourite chair that overlooked the gardens outside the stained glass window. He felt the buzz of the wine and the comfortable feeling it gave him as he sat and there and pondered his next move, for too long the rebellious nobles hiding in the mountains had eluded his wrath. Although they had beaten back several attempts at stamping them out, had it not been for that one man leading them it would have been much, much easier he knew.
The duke of Noregard had over the two last years developed into a figure that haunted his dreams and the times he was alone. There was no denying the man was a very capable general and leader of men, and the order of knights he also lead had shown themselves to be a constant threat to anyone seeking to strike at their lord and leader.
And then there where the dim threats posed to his kingship by the distant lands of Stygia, and much closer and within more importantly within reach of his armies the union of city states known as Thessalonia.
Getting to his feet and collecting maps and books from the shelf’s standing beside the windows he began to form plans as the marshal of the Draconian guards walked and closed the door behind him.
“I see you have either decided to begin studding the fine arts of geography or, more likely you have begin laying plans of some sorts.” the warrior said.

“Sharp as ever you are it seems. I want you to summon my generals and my cabinet! Its time we end this madness that has ruined my kingdom once and for all.”

“At this time of night? I think they may protest at begin awoken in such late hours. Surely your enemies can wait until dawn breaks, and beside. You will be better of presenting the plan with a well rested mind sire.”

“If I did not know you better I would say you where making fun of me, very well then. Wait until the morning but don’t delay after that!”

“The thought would never cross my mind sire” the marshal said and produced a pipe from his person and stuffed it, and light it before leaving his king to brood in the hours before dawn broke.

While the tyrant of Kels and his court slowly began to prepare for the last deep breath for the finale strike at their enemies, someone else was making the last part of their journey into safety.
Drenched by the rain and weary from the road Ashild and Charsi and the sergeant who went by the name of Olav Trygvason . As they reached the slopes of the mountain that would lead them up to the castle that lay nestled up in the rolling banks of mist and rain.
Trudging up the muddy road leading up the side of the mountain they threw the odd look upwards at the castle in awe that such a place could be built so up high.
When they reached the gate they found a large number of heavily armed guards standing before the massive gate made from oak and clad in thick iron sheets to add strength to it.
Over them the walls seemed to reach for the heavens as they where partially hidden in the mist that had come creeping.
“Halt! Who wishes entry into the castle?” one of the guards called out to them while he kept the halberd he held lower and with the spike directed towards them.

“It is I, sergeant Olav returning with the two sought after by the Knight Marshal and duke of Noregard.”
a few moments passed after the guard had turned to his comrades and relayed the answer given to him. Then with a slow and audible rumbling the massive gates began to swing open, and revealed a closed rank of spears and shields defending a line of crossbow men aiming at the ones seeking entrance.
It was clear whomever commanded the guards of this place took no chances when it came to letting anyone he or she did not know or trust into their home.
“Walk slowly in trough the gate, no sudden moves and acts of aggression!” a hard voice called out to them as the guards outside as well as the ones inside the gate kept their weapons fixed at the new arrivals. Then a different voice was heard and the wall of steel and heavy shields parted.
“Where is your bloody manners captain of the guards! You think three individuals, of whom two are severely wounded by the looks of it will attempt to storm a castle!”

“No sire but I do not wish to take any chances, not with such poor visibility from the walls and the fact that you yourself my lord, saw of a large band of enemy troops not even a days worth of riding from these very walls!”

“I appreciate the caution and zeal you out into your work Captain, but now stand down.”
In the flickering light cast by the torches and the dim light seeping trough the mist came the man who had addressed the captain of the guards.
A man who seemed to have passed the summer of his life and passed into the autumn of life came into view, clad in a simple tunic and wearing a coat of arms on his chest. He also wore dark blue pants and leather boots. At his hips hung a sword that seemed to have seen very much use.
His face was bearded and his hair had the signs of old age beginning to draw near, spots of white hair showing in the dim light.
“Pardon the rather steely welcome party, my men and I seldom get guests not interested in killing us all here at Dunheim. My name is Torvald Reinhard duke of Noregard and leader of the alliance of the nobles sworn oppose the false king that now rules. I welcome you to my humble castle and home” he said and bowed before them both.

The man then cast his eyes upon the two women, both sporting bloodied bandages and looking relatively haggard. Both seemed in dire need of medical attention and a bath. His sergeant looked to have fared well in their hands as a hostage of sorts on their journey to his hold.
One was a fair thing with raven black hair and fair skin tanned by the sun, and what seemed scars left by white hot metal, clearly this woman had seen work inside a smithy of some sorts.
Then there was her fellow woman at arms so to speak, She was something he had never seen before, clad in rugged fur and leather, and with several gruesome looking scars on her imposing form. She also was by all standards a very beautiful woman, but none the less she seemed just as friendly as a mountain bear. He decided then that she had more than human blood in her veins, troll blood by the looks of it. It was the smallest of the two that spoke their reply to his welcome.
“My thanks kind lord, both myself and my friend accept your offer of aid. However we have been told you already have two men whom we know in your home already. And an introduction of us two may be in its place too. I am Charsi and this is my companion and guardian Ashild of the north.”


“Yes that I do, the two men made their stand at the bridge that runs across the gorge that borders my lands. My knights and I drove the woad painted devils and the royal soldiers of. Your friends made them pay dearly, although it came at a bloody price. None of the tribes men that stood beside their leader payed with their lives. But both the Pict and his Stygian comrade will live. And its an pleasure to meet you both” the old man said while he rested his hands on his belt.
“Now follow me and I will see to you that food and warm cloths are made available to you both.”

They walked after the man across the massive courtyard that where surrounded by homes and large storage buildings, it was clear that beside being a fortress this was also a place people called home. Smoke rose from several chimneys and the faint sounds of a smithy being run made Charsi look around for it. Her body and mind taken back in time and emotions by the oh so familiar sound of a hammer hitting white hot metal, and the sounds of the warm steel being cooled in cold water.
The feelings those sounds awaken made her tears trickle and she fought oh so hard to keep them in but in the end failed.
Sobbing like a hurt child she slumped down on the muddy courtyard and lay there weeping her hearth out as Ashild picked her up and stroked her hair. Then as the other woman held her in her arms and carried her like a treasure chest into a room dimly light up by burning candles and a roaring fire she let her weariness overcome her and slip into oblivion.
She barely noticed the careful hands of Ashild slipping her worn and ragged cloths of and wrapping her up in the heavy blankets laid out on the great bed in the chamber prepared for them.
The only thing she did feel was when her lover slid in under the blankets beside her and wrapped her strong arms around her and held her close, as if to shield her from all the bad memories and nightmares that threatened to haunt her sleep.

As the two women slept soundly and safe for the first time in far too long someone else was stirring in his own bed, his chest felt stiff and one hand throbbed with pain. Blinking with his eyes and come to grips with still being alive the figure attempted to get to his feet. But as he set his feet down onto the cold stone floor and pushed himself up he realized just how weak he felt.
None of the bear like strength he knew he had in his massive body seemed to be there, then he looked down and saw his chest covered in white linen bandages, and the same went for the arm that throbbed with pain.
Then he remembered it, the glorious last stand beside his kin folk, and the Stygian named Argai, the swarm of enemies bearing down upon them. And the sounds of steel and flesh being torn asunder under it. He had seen his own son cut down by a devil wearing a face mask and wielding a long steel sword, and holding a shield decorated with the symbol he had come to learn and hate with all his guts. Salty tears streamed down his face and dripped down upon his hairy chest as he stood there feeling dizzy and weak, he felt both ashamed and weak for not being able to avenge his son and fallen kin when they had died, but even a warrior of his renown could not withstand cold steel and hatred burning bright within the hearths of his enemies when added to the numerous wounds he had collected from them.
Vengeance would be his, and the death of his kin folk avenged the Pict swore as he started to dress in the cloths layed on for him on a low bench beside the bed he had been laid in.
they where a far cry from the clothing he normally wore but they suited his great frame just fine as he put them on with a great deal of effort. Dressing with one hand out of use proved somewhat hard for him but he did not relent. Finally dressed he decided it was time to face whomever had saved him from death.
Setting one foot in front of the other he forced himself to fight trough the pain that had blossomed in his body he snarled like a wounded beast and opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
There outside the Pict found a group of men clad in fine cloths and armour waiting for him. They had clearly been waiting for him, since a collection of empty wine jugs plates stood in one of the great window alcoves not far from them.

These men where the nobles that had sworn to see the head of the throne robber on a pike, and their homeland free of his yoke of tyranny!
The first of them was baron Harald Kaupang, he was a young man in his middle twenties but already a seasoned veteran of many bloody battles against the Kels royal armies. He was whip cord thin and with a hard face ruined by a sword blow, he had a mane of black hair and sported a clean shaved face, his master work plate mail sported the bull as its coat of arms. His barony was the one who had suffered the most at the hands of the despoiler. His lands had once been famed for the large and fertile wheat fields and the cattle raised by his farmers. Now his lands where a shadow of themselves, the fields slashed and burnt and cattle gone. He himself had been forced to watch the brewing civil war tear his family apart, his only brother had sworn allegiance to the new king, partially to save himself and more painfully to have a stronger claim to the barony. The two hot headed brothers had come to blows, and the horrid figth between brothers had left one dead, and the other marred by both guilt and gruesome wounds. Both to mind and soul, so was it the that the new baron sought comfort in wine and fading memories of a childhood now long lost to him.
But the banner of the Kaupang barony still flew in the wind, and his somewhat diminished armies still stood defiant. His infantry was some of the best in the lands and they and their commander knew it. And they had proven their worth many times over and over again. Backed by skilled archers armed with yew bows and men at arms gripping their pole axes they would never yield as long as their lord lived.

Next in line and to be recognized by the Pict leader where a man he had only seen one time before this day. A well built but horribly scarred man, whose infamy at sea had earned him equal amounts of praise and abuse over the years. He was not of noble birth but had earned his title as warden of the northern seas by crushing the countless pirates, privateers and other sea born threats up and down he wind swept coasts of Kels. And his name was Seon Gunnarson, he was known for his iron fisted mastery of the long ships that ploughed the waves, and his lesser seen kindness towards those who had lost loved ones at the seas. Such where his kindness towards such souls that he had refused the manor he had been granted when lifted into the ranks of the nobility. And asked that it was sold of and the the coin used to support widows and infants left behind. His dukedom was that of the island of Vanaheim, and it was the only place not to have seen the predations of the royal Kels armies, guarded by a fleet and men so hardened by the cold northern gales that the usurper saw no gains from attempting to burn the place down. But he too had lost much, in the early days of the civil war his sons and wife had been wayllayed of the coast of northern Kels by numerous ships loyal to the new king. After a brutal sea battle the last long boat carrying the woman he loved, and the children they had together where caught and put ablaze. Of the ships he had sent to sail those he loved to safety only a single badly damaged wreck where found many days later by a passing Stygian trireme heading for Vanaheim.
When the news reached him he had gone berserk, and in a great display of hate and fury he had sworn to not rest until the very last of the followers of the false king lay dead beneath the waves or upon the hilt of his blade. In addition to this he had murdered the envoys from the new king in cold blood while he howled like a crazed beast. Ever since those tragic days he had sailed the seas burning and looting the holdings of his mortal foe whenever he could, and his men clad in fur and mail had swarmed behind him howling in their gruff voices like a sweeping tide of fury oh so divine. Now he stood here, beside the other nobles who had stayed loyal and alive


The next in line to be recognized was a man clad in simple yet fine cloths, sporting a beard well trimmed and long hair collected in a top knot. His face was weathered by many long periods spent exposed to the elements. His single eye where a shade of steel grey and seemed to take in the gathered collection of nobles with a stoic calm. He eyed the Pict and nodded to him with a faint smile on his lips. He was the brother to the duchess of the border marches that ran along the edges of civilization, while his sister guarded the border marches he was the one who ruled the dukedom that lay within the heartlands of the great woods that stretched down from the north, he also stood here today as a representative of his beloved sister.
His name was Brage Asaheim of the dukedom of Karellia, his lands where sparsely populated compared to those of his fellow nobles but he had the benefits of having a population used to hardship and a almost constant struggle to make it trough the days alive and well. It was his scouts and woodsmen that acted as the scouts for the armies of the rebels that fought against the tyrant.
A calm and reflected man he was often seen as the voice of reason and a more cautions approach to warfare and statesmanship alike by his peers but he was by no means a coward. It was by the blood of his people that the feral and unruly Pict tribes that saw anyone as far game was kept in line. And away from the lands beyond his own woodland realm.
It was said the only times he lost his calm was when dealing with those unwashed and painted warriors. The loss of an eye stood as a testament to this statement.
He had received the summon to this place while he was busy organizing a campaign to weed out the last remnants of the Picts he had crushed in a horrid battle whilst winter had raged.
He had fallen upon them with all the men he could muster and his brave woodsmen and common solider had died with honour as they reaped a bloody mid winter harvest from their enemies. But it had cost him oh so very dearly.
Now his forces where reduced to a shadow of their former strength until they could be reformed with fresh blood into the ranks.

As these men of power stood together and gazed upon the wounded leader of the Picts footsteps could be heard drawing nearer, and with a firm voice the leader of this band of warriors and woodsmen spoke.
“Ah I see you have all meet, it saves us the time needed to exchange pleasantries over wine and food! If everyone has had their share of rest I suggest we get on with this. We have very much to discus, and we also have a decision ahead of us that will shape the future of our struggle!” said Torvald Reinhard duke of Noregard and gestured form them to follow. Him into his own private chambers further down the hallway.

Nice new entry. The King is an interesting character. Even if he's a drunken lout, he's still a bit sympathetic. The Marshall on the other hand...

Nice new addition, and my hat off to the Captain of the Guard for he is a wise man.

I find the Nobles an interesting lot and I hope to see them steeped in blood soon.

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
I find the Nobles an interesting lot and I hope to see them steeped in blood soon.

Yup - some well-observed little vignettes there.

As the council where taking their seats in the decorated chamber, and the wind started to sing its howling song outside the castle walls and thunder crashed against the bleak mountaintops and the ever present rain kept falling from the heavens a series of events where unfolding somewhere else.

It the looming shadows of the great twin citadels that guarded the entrance to the heartlands of Kels the light of countless torches blazed in the dark night as the vast armies of Kels came pouring onto the fields where they would muster for the final blow against their hated foes. The banners of countless regiments of foot men flapped in the weak breeze and the sounds of many regiments of horse could be heard as the animals and their masters prepared themselves.
The atmosphere was one of tense nerves and a hint of fear, every man present here knew that the coming campaign would be bloody beyond imagination. And that most of them would not return to this place, the last time the armies of Kels had marched into Noregard all but a few hundred men had been hacked to pieces by the rebels and their savage allies in the narrow mountain passes where numbers did not mean for much, or in the vast woods where men where picked of one by one, or lured into their deaths by hidden enemies within the evergreen hell that surrounded them at all sides.
The main force would march directly into Noregard and onto the massive castle at Dunheim and lay siege while the remaing armies would sweep towards the dukedom of Karrelia and onwards to the border marches afterwards. This massive undertaking would be possible due to the aid offered by the many feral Pict tribes that had long standing grudges against those who opposed their king, and the fact that the garrisons on the border with Thessalonia had been almost emptied of men and weapons. The city states of that realm would not dare to attack their king had declared. They feared his wrath & vengeance too much to risk their own life’s and homes for such futile gains.

The tent pavilion where his nobles and generals where gathered to discus the coming campaign with him buzzed with the voices of so many noble born men. Dressed in their best armour they made a splendid if somewhat varied scene. Some men clearly spent more time drinking wine and eating roasted pig than commanding men, while others where like pale shadows scarred by countless battels, and with the constant flickering of the eyes that spoke of men wit much on their minds.
But in amongst their midst there where a man who made them all pale in comparison, dressed in a suit of plate armour forged with metal that seemed to absorb light, and make the wearer resemble a wraith. His pale features set in stone as he listened to the men around him argue amongst themselves, he stood behind his lord who wore a suit of armour of very ornate but practical make and decorated with great splendour. On his head this man had a crown and the coat of arms on his chest declared to one and all that he was the ruler of all these gathered men.
King Erik was perhaps his now dead fathers son but he looked noting like him, his face shaven and his hair scented with oils he looked more like a court attendant in appearance had it not been for the well worn armour and sword he carried. As a throne robber one could never keep ones skills with both mind and sword sharp enough he had decided.
Speaking with a voice that for once was iron hard and in some twisted way sounded just like the man he had run trough with the sword he now carried he addressed the nobles and officers. Oh how he hated their endless bickering and pitiful attempts at gained favour with him.
“SILENCE! Enough of this! You all know why you and your armies are summoned here today. For years these wild dogs has been allowed to run free throughout my kingdom! Sowing rebellion and causing mayhem, but now it all ends. The plans that you all have been shown will be the last move in this game of power, when the sun rises and we march the last days of the rebellion draws near!” he finished and raised his glass of wine to make a toast.
“FOR VICOTRY AND BLOODSHED!” he called out and his minions answered him like a pack of wild dogs baying for blood. The nobles and officers cheered him, shouting their praise and promises of heads claimed in his name when the battles begun.
But from behind the throne when he sat down a voice cold as the grave spoke into his ear.
“A remarkable speech sire, but I do wonder how many of these peacocks will be present when the campaign ends. It would be a sad day if so many noble houses lost their hot headed ruler.”

“Watch your tongue marshal! I do not wish to hear such words just now. But I agree actually. But I care more for ending this once and all than some noble dying in the battels to come.”'

“Pardon my words then sire, I only wish to point out some options for you when this is all over. And new rulers of the conquered lands are to be appointed after all. “

“I have someone in mind already, and I believe the lands we will reconquer will fall under the direct rule of the crown. They will need a firm hand to guide them after all.”
With a wolfish grin the king took his place once more beside the nobles who now where busy eating and drinking their fill before the armies began their march the coming morning.
He sat at the head of the table and made sure to avoid much in the way of drink, he could not afford to be seen suffering a bad case of morning sickness and shabbiness when the new day came.

But one man was missing from the feast, the pale marshal of the realm and the one to command the Draconian guard had slipped out from the great pavilion and now stood on a hill quite far from the camp. There in the pale company of the stars above him and the soothing winds he bent his knees in silent prayer.
He prayed for a coming time of bloodshed and great victories, he prayed that his king and ruler would prevail of the traitors and that the Draconian guard would reap a bloody harvest of their foes.
Drawing a curved dagger he cut a long cut along his forearm and watched blood drip down upon the cold earth before getting to his feet.
He could see the vague outlines of his men who kept a weary watch over their lord as he prayed to the storm god for victory. None would live if they where to happen to stumble upon him in such a holy moment of worship.
With blood dripping down his hand and a renewed sense of purpose the man walked down the hill and grabbed the reins of his horse offered to him by one of the knights who had followed him out to this place. Swinging himself up into the saddle he grinned and felt the eyes of his god look down upon him, yes there would be much honour and fame won in the coming weeks he felt.
Let them fear us, let the fear eat away at their hearths until only fear and a sense of doom remains he thought and followed his brothers back to the sprawling camp.



Meanwhile somewhere far away from the coming storm a lone man sat with folded feet and closed eyes, his mind wandered along hidden paths and countless paths open to him, and him alone.
In that place that knew no time or passing of years he saw the events unfolding, he saw the false king muster his armies and the dark ones who served him pray to their own dark gods for success on the fields of war. It was clear to him then, only one option would save the brave few who stood against the numerous evil men opposing them. For the longest had he hoped that a direct involvement in the fate of the north could be avoided but now it seemed no such hopes was going to bear fruit.
Opening his amber coloured eyes and gripping his staff the old man who seemed to be nearing his end to anyone who did not know him. He stood for a moment to gather his thoughts before clapping his hands to summon the warrior standing guard outside.
The warrior entered with his shaven head bowed low and his hands crossed across his chest. He was armoured in the golden armour all the warriors of Stygia wore and at his side a sabre rested.
“Yes holy one?”
“The time has come! The dreams sent to me by the god king can no longer be doubted! If we are to stave of the coming storm we must act with great speed general! Marshal your soldiers, rally the horse and grip the spear! War calls us northwards”
“Sire! The sons of Stygia will not allow the ones opposing tyranny to stand alone. I will begin at once.” the man said and made the sign of the serpent across his chest as he got up to leave.
Only moments after the general had left the sorcerer Thoth Amon behind to carry out his appointed task and duty, could the blaring of horns be heard as the great army that had been sent to the valley it now rested in began to awaken and make ready for march.
He doubted if they would reach the place they where needed before the hammer struck, but by the gods and all their power! If they could not come in time to lift the siege they would avenge every man and woman who had fallen on those castle walls and in the fields below.
Walking out of the tent he stood and watched as men hurried past with both weapons and supplies in hands, oh how lucky one was to see such motivation and discipline amongst the common man of the realm. It truly did warm an old hearth to see such will to suffer hardship and the thrat of death to aid strangers in need.
With those last thoughts the old man sat down on a weathered chest and watched the camp slowly be made ready.


Ashild and Charsi waited for the old duke to come see them while they worked their way trough the food provided for them, compared to the things they had eaten while on the run it tasted divine. And so did the wine that was brought in a great glass jug by a servant clad in the livery of her lord.
The two days since they had arrived at this place had been an emotional strain for them both, but more so for Charsi who had to come to grips with her whole life built upon a lie. A lie meant to shield her and give her a safe and well cared for upbringing as a child but still a lie. She also had to cope with the fact that she was of royal blood and thus was the rightful heir to the throne of Kels should the rebels win the war. And peace once more set in across the war torn lands that would be hers. It was also the matter of her rather unusual relationship with Ashild should she accept the crown.
Then as they finished their meal and the last of the wine vanished down thirsty throats a slight knock on the door could be heard. Signalling for Charsi to sit down and let her open the door Ashild rose up and adjusted her shirt. The last few days had seen her wounds heal rapidly and her former strength had returned quickly due to the excellent care of the surgeons and healers serving in the castle.
Resting one hand on her hip she sung the door open and blocked anyone from entering with her great frame and stern look.
Outside the door stood not the duke of Noregard nor his aids but the fur clad form of Seon, the raider of the high seas and ravager of hostile shores looked to be in a dour mode but the sight of Ashild seemed somehow to make him a bit more cheerful. He was not alone however behind him stood the old man himself clad in his suit of war plate.
Looking both men dead in the eyes and almost daring them to say something Ashild smiled after a few tense moments and let both of them into the room behind her. Seldom could it be said that Ashild payed any man much attention, but the duke of the high seas seemed to have won her trust. If not her acceptance as someone who could be relied upon to not mess about with the tasks at hand, the reason for this was more likely than not his dour outlook on things and his tendency to voice his dislike for the things he did not approve of.

As for the duke of Noregard it seemed the two of them had come to a understanding of sorts, the old man could cast his weary eyes upon the half troll and probably imagine her naked and clad in noting but pearls and she would not hurl him of the walls like a spear. Then it was also the fact that he was a very skilled warrior and had done both of them many a great service while they had been in dire need of aid.
It was he who spoke first when more drink had been provided for them.
“ I hope you both are feeling well, the healers tell me you have recovered well and seems to be in good spirit. Bearing in mind the hardship and unexpected news you both have had to deal with these last few days and weeks.”
It was Charsi who spoke for them both now, Ashild was more than pleased to leave it all to her.

“Our wounds have closed and we have rested well within these walls. But I must admit to that the news you broke to us has been weighting down upon my mind. The feeling of having lived a lie dose not seem to wish to let go just yet.” the black haired woman said and took the hand of her lover. And squeezed it hard as if afraid for all to come crashing down around her.

“I can understand that very, very well. I know noting I can say will make it easier to come to grips with but I think everyone who stands besides in this struggle for freedom will respect you final say in the matter regarding the crown.”
It was at this point the until now silent Seon Gunnarson spoke. With a voice marred by years spent sailing ships across the freezing cold seas and in the smoke of burning towns and castles did the sea hound announce his loyalty to the woman who sat opposite him. Kneeling as low as he could get due to his old wounds he swore a blood oath.
“By my fallen kin and the gods I swear to die upon the steel of your enemies if I fail to hold my oath to eternally be your servant until the end of time!” before anyone could say anything he drew a knife and cut the palm of his hand and pressed the bleeding hand into her shaking hand and gripped in a firm but not painful grip. After a moment he let her now bloodstained hand go and got up
He then took the great horn crafted from one great walrus tusk and presented it to Ashild with both his hands. The scarred warrior held the horn with the same reverence a father may hold his child.
“This horn was gifted to me by my father. I am the last man alive of my bloodlines and I will have no more children or others to mourn me when I die. Therefore I gift this to you woman! When you find yourself alone and surrounded by foes blow it and help will come!”

Turning to his fellow duke and friend he spoke in a sombre tone. The other man knew that eventually the call of the sea would draw his friend out to it once more, but he had hoped he would stay beside him none the less. Seing such a man meet certain death with no one left to carry his name made the duke of Noregard shed one single tear.
“I will be of no use behind walls and far from the seas! I will set sail and rejoin my warriors at sea now. We will meet our fate with the northern winds when we meet the ships of out foes!”

“I understand Seon, although I had hoped you would stay, you will be sorely missed when you leave all the glory to us. And with you gone and Bran gone who will see to that the mead is finished of in due time?”

“Curse the damned mead! When we meet once more beside the sides of the gods up high there will be more than enough to go around any ways. And tell that one I will be wanting revenge for losing to him in arm wrestling.”

“Il hold you that then Seon”

The seafarer turned then to the two women. And said with a voice surprisingly affected by emotions long thought lost to him.
“ As I leave this far realm behind I wish the both of you the best, and good luck in the coming war! Die well if so be and make the devils pay with blood for every inch of ground they dare stand upon!”
Shaking the hands of both Charsi and Ashild who where taken aback by this unexpected events. And that of his old friend the warrior stepped out the door and joined the men who had sailed with him here upon the great river that ran in the valley far below. There the long ship who had carried them so far from their beloved sea would see them reach the salty realm they all loved.
As the warriors and their leader had left the castle and made their way down to the waiting ship far below, Torvald watched them go. He stood there unmoving and felt saddened by looking while yet another score of brave souls left to meet their doom.
The departure of the Pict leader had been far less emotional but he would be missed too. Although the man had only meet with the other leaders of the rebellion a handful of times he was a trusted and well liked ally. His people had given much to plague the common enemy they shared and his henchmen. But he had never asked for anything than their support and a safe haven for the women and children of the tribes he represented.
A small band of Pict warriors had come here to greet their chieftain and bearing news of the grim sort. From the borders of Noregard and Kaupang came reports of a massive war host rolling across the lands, it seemed all the armies the false king could muster had been called out. Their numbers where by all accounts almost beyond counting, and the forest of banners they carried seemed to block out the sun.
The armies of Kaupang had wisely chosen to not exchange blows with their foes and where making for Dunheim as fast as they could march. Leading them where Picts scouts who showed the fastest roads and paths to travel along. Behind them the woods and mountain passes would be the last place untold numbers of brave and fiercely defiant tribes men would sell their lives dearly to delay their foes with ambushes and traps.
The Picts had promised to come when the last battle would be fought but now they needed every man to harry the enemy, and to make the escape of their kin folk possible.

Speaking to the ones standing around with the characteristic hard voice they all knew and knew to trust he said. Listening to his words where both nobles who had seen their holdings burn, a half troll that had been enrolled into events that would forever change the lands around her. And a woman who had gone from a simple smith to a refugee and then onto the path that would make her the queen of Kels if the war ended well.
“This is the last breath before we plunge into the closing days of our rebellion! Mark my words, the enemy will be outside our walls before long! His armies will be so numerous they will seem like a endless ocean of steel and hate. But none of them can claim to be battling for a just case! They will all die in shame before our walls. Sharpen your swords gentlemen and ladies, the hour of destiny is upon us!”. With these last words the duke of Noregard also known as the lion of Kels marched to organize the defense of the great citadel and to plan with his officers.
Charsi where asked to join them so she could be involved in the planing while Ashild was left to make herself useful or find some way to make her own preparations.
Grinning from ear to ear she she watched the clouds roll by above her head and the wind sing its song, yes the half troll thought. It would be good to spill blood once more, she needed to vent some frustration.
Walking down the stairs leading down to the courtyard she stopped a watch man and asked him where she could find the armourer of this place.
The trooper gave her the directions and where rewarded with a view of her hindquarters as she strode of. Never let it be said she was cheap on rewards when praise due.
When she neared the place she could heard the sounds only a great forge like the one she now now drew near could make. The constant ringing of hammers and the whoosh of the great furnaces turning out white hot steel to be forged. Pushing a massive door open she stood at last in the place she had looked for. Addressing one of the smiths and explaining her needs for a suit of war plate, and whom had sent her to this place of smoke and heat she said what she need made for her.

The smith whom was a sooth stained man with arms bulging with muscles as hard as the iron he pounded into shape looked her over and answered her.
“I think I know what to dress you in, but it will take some minor modifications though, as you are quite more wider across the chest than the average knight”

Ashild liked this man, he seemed to be a honest and respectable man. Like most of the ones she had meet after coming here to this castle up in the clouds.
“When will you have it done? She asked

“Come back at dawn, I will make sure its ready by then, and same goes for that woman of yours.

“That soon? You must truly know the riddle of steel then master smith.”

To this compliment he merely smiled and seemed to think noting of it, after so many years spent pounding metal he had learned to beat the fight out of the metal and make it twist and shape to his will. So it was true what the half troll said, he had mastered the riddle of steel.
Leaving the noise and heat of the smith behind she walked out into the waiting day that would soon bring news most horrid.
As she layed one hand on the door knob she sensed something amiss, there was something wrong. The room behind the door seemed to quiet, there was no sound of breathing nor the familiar smells of a room occupied by a living person. Feel a sense of dread rising in her guts Ashild slammed the door open and saw something that made her blood boil with a berserker rage.
Howling like a enraged bear seeing its mate harmed by hunters she hurled herself at the dagger and sword wielding form standing over the sleeping form of her lover.
Her howl of rage could be heard throughout the citadel, and the guards both nearby and further away came running like there was a great fire.
The assassin had time to draw his sword and turn to face her, but that was all. Before he could bring it to strike the massive half troll slammed into him and they both crashed down hard on the bed behind them, waking the would be victim and making her shriek in surprise.
The assassin was well trained and skilled at the bloody trade he practised, but he was on far too deep water now, the enraged woman had his sword hand locked in a crushing grip and his dagger hand been lost to him. Much as tried he could not budge the grip she had. He head butted her square in the face and bit her nose in a attempt to make her loose her concentration but it backfired.
She snarled and with a sudden tug of her arm she pulled his arm out of its socket, and snapped the bone like a child breaking a twig. As he howled in pain she barred her teeth and sank them into his throat like a hound gripping a hare. As the blood began to squirt like a fountain she ripped and with one sicking sound tore his throat out.
The would be queen slayer gurgled in shock and fear as he slumped down dying as death welcomed him into its embrace.
It was only then the blood haze lifted from the eyes of the half troll and she spat blood and realized the dagger embedded in her forearm. Gripping the hilt she pulled it slowly out and tossed it to the ground.
“Rot in the darkness that awaits you coward!” she snarled to the bloodied form on the floor as the guards poured into the room and where greeted to the morbid spectacle.

It was also now that Charsi who had been deep in her wine induced sleep realized what had almost come to pass, and with somewhat unsteady steps she made her way over to Ashild who had just wiped the blood of her face.
She gripped the wounded arm of her lover and looked at her with eyes that said it all between those two. The half troll too looked at the smaller form of her beloved and a faint smile found her lips as she embraced her while the guards who where partially in shock and somewhat in awe of the display of sheer animalistic rage that had taken place here, began to haul the dead would be murderer away.
But the hard voice of their captain woke the men up and made one and all listen with eager ears.
“Bloody bastard! I want every inch of this citadel searched for the place this devil slipped in. leave no stone or barrel unturned! If he had company find me that sorry sack of gak and bring him to me and his lordship!”.
Spurred on by their captain the guardsmen began their search of the citadel, to aid them they sent for hounds to help track anyone who could have slipped inside the fortress they stood guard over. But the guards and the hound masters did not find anyone else except rats and shadows in their search. The conclusion to the hunt for any possible signs or points of entry turned up noting, and therefore it was decided that the man must have been in disguise as a commoner or perhaps trader.
But as a result it was decided to double the guards and post a detachment of house hold knights outside the chambers of the nobles and other important men and women. The same went for storehouses and other supply storages. The hounds where also allowed to run free, and it would be these massive beasts with shaggy manes of hair and jaws capable of breaking the thigh bone of a bull that would be the most deadly obstacle for any would be spies. They where trained to hunt silently and to kill their prey instead of just pinning it down., and they knew the scent of all those who called this place home.
But meanwhile this was taking place Ashild sat in silence beside the somewhat unhinged Charsi and allowed the other woman to sew her wound up, and to scold her for being so reckless. The little wench had a tongue sharp as steel Ashild decided and smiled as she felt the needle pierce her skin and the thread follow trough as the knife wound was sewn closed. But in the end she knew that she would not have her any other way, it was strange how compassion and love took time getting used too. As the last stitch was made and the thread cut and Charsi declared she was done with her work for now, Ashild knew she had found the one thing she had been searching for her whole life.
As their hands meet Charsi looked in those ice blue eyes and saw them wet with tears as her mate kissed her slowly and ran one hand down her back pulling her close.
Then all was lost as noting but the raw release of emotions and lust took control of them both, and for a time noting else than the heat between the two matter in the world.

But for others the passing of the hours where far less pleasant, at the gorge where the knights of Noregard had routed their foes when they had come to the aid of Ashild and her comrades a desperate battle was being waged.
At the front of the swirling battle on that great bridge where the hallowed soldiers of Kaupang, with weapons forged from the finest steel and clad in well made amour did they clash with the hated enemy that had now set their beloved homeland ablaze.
The skies was darked by arrows as both sides unleashed a hailstorm of arrows and the screams of the dying filled the air as men crashed together like a great collision of steel and flesh.
At the very front the proud banner of Kaupang flew in the wind as the man sent to hold the bridge as long as he could stood beside his comrades in arms on this day.
He ducked under a axe blow and came up hard with his own sword and caught the wielder in the guts, his sharp blade cut trough the leather and mail worn by the man and with a sicking sound the blade was pulled free. And the stricken man collapsed down with sock and fear on his bloodied face.
His breath was laboured and he felt dog tired but the enemy showed no signs of slowing down, for the whole day had they been swarming across the bridge. At first it had been lightly armed men and boys barely out of their childhood alongside other fodder troops, they had died in their hundreds on the pikes of the Kaupang soldiers and on their blades. But he saw the wisdom behind it, the commander on the other side had so many men that he could afford such horrid losses, it would tire the defenders and make them less able to fight as the day drew out.
But then his thoughts where interrupted as a new enemy came at him armed with a pole axe. But before he could move to block or strike at the man several pikes impaled the man and ended his life. Muttering his thanks to the men beside him.

Then the battlefield fell silent and only the moaning of the wounded could be heard, not that many of the men from Kaupang had survived their wounds, those who had fallen had been hacked apart by their enemies if their friends where not close enough to aid them. But those who had avoided that fate had been put on horses and lead back to Dunheim.
Taking advantage of the lull in the fighting he issued new orders and commanded that the men at the front switch places with fresh and rested troops who itched for a fight by now.
But as he did a horn sounded from across the gorge and a great cheer went up amongst his foes, and then with the thundering of hooves he could see why, for out onto the bridge came riders mounted upon massive war hoses, clad in sooth black plate armour and with cavalry masks they all looked like true horror given manifest, their inhumane looks alongside the baleful shine their armour seemed to radiate gave of a of air of dread.
The captain could almost feel the eyes of those pale wraiths upon him as the banner they carried could be seen in all its foul glory, a great silver drake on a black banner flew in the wind.
Then as one the riders formed up into the well known and feared formation they always used when facing down enemies on foot.
The wild howling and taunts of the regular troops where not mirrored by these silent ones. Then with a raised hand the lord commanding the Draconian guard signalled their charge.

Seeing this the captain yelled to his men with a firm and steady voice, reflecting his experience as a leader of foot men.
“Pikes to the front! Ready yourself lads! Give them hell!”
His men answered him with hard voices and promises to kill every last one of those dogs coming at them.
His mouth felt dry as he watched the rapidly closing heavy cavalry who suddenly seemed to him very frighting. But he kept firm and gripped his sword hard in one hand.
“Gods help us” was the last words he had time to say to himself before them slammed into ranks of waiting footmen.
With a unearthly silence the Draconian fell upon them, unlike the others who had hurled themselves at the troops from Kaupang these men did not utter a single word as they layed about themselves with hammer and sword, their lances used to break the wall of pikes and to scatter the footmen standing in defiance against them.
The bloody harvest they reaped was horrid but the men they cut down did not die easy. They recovered after the brutal charge and swarmed their new foes with both sword and spear, and dragged knights down to be mobbed by the infantry. But they had not been so blood crazed to charge the army opposing them alone, behind them and exploiting the breach created by the riders came countless Kels troopers screaming their battle cries and bringing their weapons and hate to bear.
The captain ducked under a blow and came up hard and slammed his shield into the face of the man trying to cut him down, he then hacked the man down and impaled him trough the neck for good measure. Just as he yanked his sword free a shadow fell over him, and before he could react his shield was struck by a immensely powerful blow witch sent him flying.
With a sense of panic setting in the stricken man attempted to rise but as he did a armored foot where planted upon his sword arm. And as he looked up he could see a sight he would be haunted by the last few moments of his life.

This chapter was jam packed with goodness. Blood oaths, assassination attempts, romping women, and a major skirmish to round it off. Well done.

Epic update! Ashild's quite the tigress when she's protecting her woman.

The conclusion will kill more people than the tsetse fly.

Nice new entry. The Draconian Guard are a fearsome bunch; things don't look too well for the rebels.

Pardon for the long delay my faithful readers, life and women folk has sought to oppose me getting time to make this chapter. For the next part expect a siege, fighting on walls and all around mayhem

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The wind howled and the sea roared in anger as the dragon ships rode the massive waves that rolled across the seas outside the coast of Kels, it was still a measurable time until autumn came and brought with it the first of the storms, but already the turning of the seasons could be felt out on the high seas. But it was noting any of the men who where used to these hard conditions.
The ships where decorated with shields along their sides and at their bow great dragon heads rose up from the sea and seemed to dare anything lurking out there to come and face their wrath.
The sails on these ships where made from sheep’s wool and treated with fat to make them last for many a long voyage.
The crews of the ships where a rugged and assorted lot, drawn from the different clans that made up the population of the place they called home they looked more like unkempt wolves of the high seas. With long beards and clad in thick furs to keep the biting cold out of their weary bones.
At the helm of the largest ship stood their leader who now where pondering the days to come, in the last year he had seen so much bloodshed and general mayhem, he had burnt the great city of Nidaros and put the fleet moored there to the torch. And he had been bloodied but not beaten in a great sea battle of the coast of his very own home.
Seon gripped the helm and let out a deep breath, it formed a puff of fine mist as the warmth of it meet the cold sea air. He had always known the embrace of the seas and had always known he would one day die out amongst the waves or while boarding a hostile ship.
Ever since they day when his wife and children had been murdered by the vile mongrel who dared call himself king had his hearth known noting but pain, but when he had seen the one who had the blood of the old king flowing in her veins something had awoken in him. It was the sole reason he had sworn the most sacred oath to her. He had thought everything but death lost to him but by the gods! Now he had something to fight for. So here he was, sailing beside his comrades in arms to meet the fleet his men had said lay waiting to disgorge fresh men and supplies intended for those who would lay siege to Dunheim.
Gathering his wandering mind he signaled for his first mate to come closer so they could speak.
“Damnable weather for a brawl! How are the men?”

“Well at least we do not have to worry about fire arrows or being put ablaze Seon. The men are fine, if a bit wet.” the man said as a wave washed over the deck and showered the men in ice cold seawater. Both men cursed and stood there looking very displeased.
“Aye but I don’t think we can count on finding the enemy out and about now. I have a feel they have taken shelter and are waiting out the storm. Now I am not afraid of a scarp in this weather but I think many of the men will be.”

Spitting salt-water and looking at the men who sat behind the oars aiding the navigation of the ship trough the storm that raged around them.
With a look of displeasure on his face he gave the order to steer for calmer water where the fleet could wait for the storm to die down. The place they set course where a cluster of islands whom formed a protective cove where a large number of ships could seek shelter.
“We head for the shelter of the Leward islands, no one else will dare to sail there in this kind of weather!”

“I hope your bloody right Seon! I think a battle in this weather would end only in ruin.” his first mate said and pulled the bear skin he wore around himself.
So the ships from Vanaheim followed their lord towards what they hoped would be a safe heaven from the wrath of the howling storm. But their hopes would not be answered in the manner they had hoped.

For nestled in one of the protective coves at the shores of the Leward Islands lay the royal Kels fleet morred, and where riding out the storm.
These ships where a far cry from the sleek and agile long ships used by the men from Vanaheim, instead these ships where great multi masted ships, they had once served a far more noble cause but now they had been remade into ships who only brought promises of death and misery. Their solid hulls where treated with tar and then painted black to give them a sombre look. Along their railings there where shields meant to give cover to the crew and soldiers aboard the ships from arrows and other things hurled at them by unfriendly forces.
The ships where crewed by a mix of press ganged sailors and other men who had been given the choice between the sword or serving in the fleet, there where also those who had volunteered to serve abroad the ships and thus had earned more privileges by doing so. Commanding these ships where men who had forswore all honor to fill their own pockets, or in some cases had taken the position as captain to serve their king until death.
It was these men who the sailors from Vanaheim knew would be the ones who would fight until death.
Aboard the largest of these black painted warships that lay at anchor stood the man who commanded them one and all, a seasoned sailor with salt stained hair and skin. And with a massive red beard whom had spent many years criss crossing the seas, and as of late had developed a burning hatred towards the bastard whom he knew lurked somewhere out in the raging storm. He had no disillusions about the skill of the devil named Seon, nor those of his men who would gladly go to their graves for him. But he also knew he would smile when they hung him and put the rest of flea riddled mongrels to the sword.
As he stood there on the deck of his flagship surrounded by his captains and the two Draconian knights whom commanded the soldiers they carried abroad the ships he could not have known how close his nemesis was.
Relying on the sheer number of ships under his command and the number of soldiers tried and tested in battle he felt secure enough to only post a small number of guards to act as lookouts.

Abroad the long ship Slaupnir Seon stood and watched the horizon as he now could lay his eyes upon the first island in the chain of islands that made up the Leward. The storm still blew hard but it was slowly getting weaker, and seemed to have emptied its rage upon the sea further north.
They would seek shelter and await calmer weather in the bay of the next island, there it was only the shallow draft of the long ships who could pass,and thus making it a safe harbor for his hunted fleet of seaborne raiders.
But as he steered the ship towards the island he felt a tingeing feel spread trough out his body. It was a unpleasant feeling and it made his bad arm throb with pain. But he did not loose his calm, he knew that feeling all too well. He would send a lone ship to have a discreet look around the neighboring islands where the coves and bays where much deeper. And he would be damned if he took the chance to toss the anchor if there was any royal ships lurking around these waters.
He spat over the side and looked up at the increasingly brighter sky that slowly came into view, yes it would be a fine day to die if they found those bastards today. And beside, if they did he had plans for those ships if they could be captured.
A wolfish grin spread across his face as he called out to his first mate and told him to signal the captains of the other ships, a plan had formed in his mind as they had weathered the storm. He knew his men where itching for a fight now. And by Cerunos they would have it if the ship he had sent out to scout found their prey.


The lone ship sent out to scout was a ship built to last, its sleek form built by the finest oak to be found and crewed by seasoned sailors whom had sailed up and down the stormy coast for many years. At its bow a dragon head barred its teeth to ward of any evil that where lurking beneath the sea, its sail was colored red and the rowers kept a steady pace as the ship cut across the channels and patches of open sea between the islands.
Its captain was a young man whom had earned the right to steer the ship when he had avenged the death of its former master. In a brutal skirmish at sea with several privater ships had the young man sunken into a berserker rage after seeing his captain struck down while standing guard over a wounded man. The proud warrior had stood there like a angry beast defending a pack member from hunters and killed anyone who stepped inside his reach, but a cowardly pirate had slipped behind him and planted his sword in the back of the man.
This display of utter cowardice had spurred the young warrior and his comrades to a utter blood crazed rage. Howling like mad dogs they had doubled their efforts and slaughtered the pirates where they stood, after the battle had ended they had put the ships of their foes ablaze with those whom had surrendered and their wounded comrades inboard. Such was the fate reserved for pirates at the hands of the men of Vanaheim.
Now the sailors under his command kept a keen lookout for any signs of their foes. As they slipped into a new and rather narrow channel he ordered the men to take the sail down and put their backs into rowing. They where getting closer to the coves and bays where they could find their prey.
His blond hair where gripped by the wind as he held the rudder firmly.
“Quiet now! No one make a sound” he almost whispered as they cleared the channel between the two islands and slipped out into the open bay between them.
As they did a fog bank could be seen hanging low over the water ahead of them, he cursed as he knew there was no way of knowing what lurked inside that roiling bank of mist. But he also knew how to use it to his advantage, his men gripped the oars and rowed in utter silence with only the faint sound of the oars breaking the water. As they entered the fog and soon found themselves hidden from sight he whispered to his first mate to get his attention.
“Do you smell that! I could almost swear it smells like burning whale oil.”
his first mate never had time to answer for just at that moment the fog seemed to dissolve just for a mere moment around them and they saw a sight that made their hearths drop.
For all around them partially concealed by the fog bank lay the great ships of the royal fleets of Kels at anchor. Their black hulls silhouetted against the blue seawater and the rising cliffs behind them, at that moment they looked like something from a fairytale with their sails partialy down, and the smoke rising from the lanterns hanging on deck and with the galleon figures mounted at their bows.
As the men of the ship Draugen looked around them in a mixture of awe and dread their captain where not phased by the ships around, although he too felt a small hint of worry creep into his hearth. He knew that discovery at this point would only mean certain death for one and all.
But the moment of awe passed fast, and the men gripped the oars and began to row as fast as one could while trying to remain somewhat silent.
His first mate whom had now found it somewhat safe to speak to his captain walked up to him and spoke in a sombre voice.
“Well Il be damned then, looks like we will have that scrap after all eh captain!”
his captain merely nodded and seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts so the man turned and barked a command to the men who sat sweating behind the oars to raise the sail and make good speed back to their own fleet.
As the dragon ship slipped away undetected or so they prayed, the captain abroad the Kels flagship whom had awoken after a long night of drinking with his fellow captains walked out onto the deck and yawned. Silently he cursed those mask wearing dogs for making him wait so long before setting sail for the great river delta, that would allow his ships to follow a course up towards the place all the men abroad his ships where destined. But he knew better than to speak up against them, those who where daft enough to do such things seldom lived long.
Looking out into the foggy sea he felt somewhat reassured that they where hidden from sight in these banks of fog and mist.
In his mind he calmed his nerves with that he only needed to wait two more days before he could order the fleet to hoist anchor and set sail for their final destination.
But had he known what lay ahead of him he would more likely than not taken his chances and set sail for a friendly port somewhere far far away from these islands.

The ship Draugen where by now cutting trough the ice cold seawater at considerable speed, gone where the need to be stealthy and avoid detection. Its red sail where raised and its rowers putt all their strength into the task at hand. To anyone looking at he ship as it ploughed trough the sea and cutting the waves it could have seemed as if it where flying.
At the helm stood the young captain with a grin on his face, it was moments like this that made him feel alive, even though he knew that the coming battle would be grim and many would die he could not help feel happy. To watch his men handle the ship as they did and to feel the salty spray of seawater was it meant to be alive for him.
As they rounded the island where their comrades had seeked shelter he steered towards the ship whom belonged to his lord. The news he carried would indeed be welcomed he imagined as the ship pulled alongside Slaupnir and strong hands gripped the ropes tossed aboard.
He crossed the cap between the ships and walked with a spring in his step up to the old scarred warrior who sat on a barrel and tended to his armour. Bowing his head in a show respect he spoke to Seon He could see the words he spoke ignite a fire inside eyes of the man who had lost everything dear to him, and only had hate and grief to keep him warm at night.
Putting down the shirt of mail the sea warrior called out to those whom stood around him.
“This brave warrior has tracked down the bastards who has for far too long escaped our burning hatred! This is the moment every one of us have been craving! Let us send these devils to the bottom of the sea where the sea may gnaw their bones clean! TO BATTLE AND A FIERY DEATH!” he howled and was answered in kind by the baying of his men on the ship and slowly the baying grew to a choir as the other ships joined in.
Every man who stood on those ships could feel the blood rush in their veins and the hunger for battle growing inside their chests. So the preparations began to hoist anchor and set sail, the men worked in a frenetic pace with stowing away supplies and other things, while others began raising the sails on the ships they had called home for so long now.
Seon stood beneath the great sail and watched the ships he commanded form up in a long line behind his own ship, and those of his most trusted captains.
He felt the wounds he had suffered years ago sting with a sharp pain that made his eyes water, but the pain was something he could deal with. Far worse was the memories that had haunted him when he fell asleep but he knew those things would soon cease to matter. Soon he would forever sleep beneath the waves and never have to watch the days pass him by in their melancholic pattern as they had these past two years since his beloved Ida had been taken from him.

Several hours passed as the long ships cut across the straits and channels between the islands that stood like silent sentinels of stone covered in rugged pine woods. Many a man felt a tug of homesickness as they passed them by, many of these warriors had sons,daughters and women whom waited for them.
Then as they drew near the place where the young captain had discovered the enemy fleet the men began to make the last preparations for battle. The sails where taken down and doused with water so they would catch fire, and archers made sure their quivers where full and that the powerful long bows they where armed with where ready to be used.
As they reached the last island that concealed them from the enemy ships those whom where tasked with blowing the horns that would herald their coming took up positions in the front of the ships as the fleet split in two. So to come at the enemy from two sides.

Aboard one of the smaller transport ships that had followed the warship from Kels loaded with weapons, supplies and other things needed for the coming campaign a lone sailor stood and kept watch as he looked out to sea, he was missing his home and his woman and he cursed the foul dogs whom had press ganged him into the service of the devil whom called himself king.
As he stood there and dreamed of friendly shores his eyes caught sight of something that made his hearth sink.
Out of the fine sea mist the all too familiar shapes of the ships the wolves of the sea sailed came into view, and a deep rumbling horn blast confirmed what he saw was real.
Knowing he would not live to see another day the man screamed on the top of his lungs and rang the bell that was used to alert the crew and spread the warning to the rest of the fleet that lay at anchor.
“ THEIR COMING! THE BLOODY REBELS ARE COMING!”
As he had said the last word he felt something slam into his chest, and he stumbled backwards and fell down on his back. He could feel something warm spread across his chest and a sharp pain jabbing trough his body. He managed to look up and saw a long shafted arrow with red guidance feathers sticking out of his chest before the awaiting darkness took him.
Although the lookout was now no more the rest of the crew had heard his frantic call and where swarming up from below, the rest of the fleet had also heard the ship bell and was in addition alerted by the sharp sound of a horn being blown somewhere aboard one or more ships.

All around there was a rush of activity as soldiers and sailors rushed out from below deck to man their positions and to see what was the cause of the alarm. But amongst he sailors there was little doubt, they knew there was only one man whom would dare to attack such a large fleet. And that was the fiend known as Seon of Vanaheim.
Aboard the flagship whom lay near the shore of the bay they had taken shelter in the captain whom led the great fleet stood on the deck and heard the horns blow and the frantic ringing of ship bells around. His crew where busy getting the ship ready for battle, but he knew the enemy had caught him in a bad place. The great warships where slow to manoeuvre in such confined waters as these, and the ships could not rely on their great speed out at sea.
But he knew one, they had more than enough sword arms to give these bandits a good hiding or die trying at least.
The man drew his sword and barked a order to his first mate.
“Whip the rowers! Get us away from the shore and have those land lovers from the army ready to fight! And make ready to repel boarders!”
his underling saluted and began to shout orders to the task master below deck whom swung his whip while the drummer pounded the drums to give the slaves a rhythm to row to.
The slaves heaved the heavy oars as best they could and slowly the great ship began to move, but the strong current and the sheer weight of it made the proses slow indeed.
The soldiers aboard the ships gripped their shields and made sure their weapons where ready for use, the sound of soldiers manning their posts where mixed with the sound of archers who let fly with a hail of arrows aimed at the ships who came towards them hard and fast.
But the range was in some cases too far and the arrows hit noting but sea, while in some cases the arrows slammed into shields and bit into flesh and men cursed in pain.
Then a volley of arrows came from the long ships whom now where in amongst the royal fleet, and the wails of wounded men could be heard as the arrows fired by men whom where used to shooting at a moving target picked of soldiers and sailors. A few arrows found their way in amongst the slaves and the poor souls screamed in pain as the cold steel bit their whip scarred flesh.

Then with a fierce howl the long ships manned by hardened warriors came alongside the first of the warships and the sea raiders swarmed up ropes or used ladders to scale the sides of the ships.
When the first men scrambled over the railing they where meet by the battle tested soldiers of the Kels army whom stood alongside sailors armed with sabres and daggers. The two sides slammed into each other with great force as the fighting went from a organized fight to a mad brawl that swirled up and down the length of the ships, the deck soon ran red with blood and the screams of dying and wounded men filled the air alongside the clang of steel on steel and the sounds of shields splintering. The fighting was extremely hard on several of the massive warships where the sea raiders meet hard resistance from the soldiers aboard those ships

Seon pulled himself over the railing just behind the first of his men to climb abroad the ship, he cursed as the shoulder radiated with the old familiar pain. He gripped his sword in his hand and brought the shield he carried on his back to bear.
Then he joined the swirling and chaotic battle that raged before him, he could smell the blood and the stink of ruptured guts as he swung down hard on a exposed arm and cut it clean of, the owner wailing in agony and fell back clutching the bleeding stump.
He ducked just in time to avoid a spear aimed at his face and swung his shield like a hammer to break the spear, but he missed and he merely clipped the shaft of the spear, and the wielder withdrew it for a new strike. But before the man could several arrows slammed into him and he fell down with a surprised look on his face.
Seon did not have the time to look for the archer nor worry if the arrows where intended for him, he found himself faced with a pair of soldiers who came at him hard and fast, they worked well as a pair but they lacked that essential training in cooperating. So when one of them lunged forwards he was greeted by a fierce blow from the shield Seon gripped in one hand.
The stricken man stumbled backwards with blood gushing from a ruined nose and dropped his sword. His comrade took no head of his wounds and tried to cut the old warrior down with a overhead chop, his sword fell fast but not fast enough the the two blades collided once more.
The old warrior was forced back on the defensive by his younger foe, whom jabbed and trusted his sword at him.
Just as he pulled back his sword and was about hack at his foe once more the old sea dog gripped his younger opponent by the sword arm and head butted him several times, making him reel and drop the blade he had been wielding.
The old sea raider snarled like a beast and spoke in a low tone to his enemy.
“Time to die mongrel!” and just as he had spoken the last words he rammed his own sword into the guts of the man he held in a vice like grip and twisted the blade logged into the his guts before withdrawing it and hacking him across the face. The bloodied man flopped down and lay still as the fighting around him raged on.

Seon drew deep breath and suddenly became aware of the smell of smoke, looking around for the source he could see one of the great warship catching ablaze, and long hungry flames licked up the sails and welled up from the cargo hold. He could also hear the wail of the slaves trapped beneath the decks as the ship slowly burnt.
When he saw this he cursed and felt his tempter start to rise, he had given very clear orders that all enemy ships was to be clear of foes, and if possible crewed by his own men. If noting else the supplies they carried was of great use.
But he could not see any more ships burning so he did not fret about it, for suddenly the old man where hit by a hammer like blow that sent him reeling, and he felt his sword arm throb with pain.
When he looked up he saw a black clad figure hacking down his men as the wraith like warrior sought to end the man it had just struck down.
The wraith carried a great sword that where decorated with ornate runes and where deeply stained with the blood of his own men.
As the fiend parried a blow from a warrior whom looked to block its path Seon could feel the cold hand of dread grip his hearth. This foe was unlike anything he ever had the displeasure of crossing blades with.
And as for the brave soul whom tried to stop the devil from reaching his downed captain, he died when the sword of his foe cleaved him from head to groin in one fell strike.
Several more men died as they tried to stop the black clad wraith from reaching their lord, but as the fighting still raged on up and down the deck, most of them needed to focus on the foe at hand.

The Draconian stood looming over its prey and with one armoured hand hoisted the stricken captain up by the collar of his armor. There he hung and stared into those merciless and utterly cold eyes for what seemed an eternity. Then the knight raised its sword arm as if to strike.
But the blow never came, for at that moment the blade was about to lunge forwards a massive shape slammed into the knight and sent both Seon and his would be killer tumbling across the deck.
When Seon looked up he saw that the one to save him was one of his chosen men. Clad in mail and heavy reinforced leather armor the warrior whom was armed with a great two handed axe stained with hair and gore strode towards the Draconian whom now had gotten back up on his feet and regarded its newest challenger.
“Hold on sire! This devil will not harm you as long as even one of us draw breath!” the rescuer said.
The sea raider whom stood in defense of his captain and lord looked at eh black clad coward and growled like a beast as he hefted his axe in his hands.
Then without either of them speaking a single word they hurled themselves at each other, the axe forged by the best black smith to be found in Vanaheim collided with a blade forged deep within the darkness of the citadel that where the home to the Draconian guard.
The ringing of steel and the shrieking of the blades as they arched through the air, alongside the great speed the two warriors went at each other made all those around them cleared a path around them, for none wished to be caught in their path.
Harald swung his axe down with a speed almost unbelievable to a man of his size and strength, and barely missed the leg of the black clad devil that had dared to lay hands on his lord. But the knight avoided the blow and graced his left arm with his own blade. But the blow failed to cut trough the solid mail shirt he wore.
Circling each other they came together once more in a brutal collision, that gave both fresh bleeding wounds. As the glimmering blade once more speed past him barely missing his neck this time Harald knew he had to end this one way or the other. The sheer ferocity of his foe demanded it and the fact that he could not keep this murderous pace up for much longer. The sheer speed and skill of his enemy would soon send to the afterlife he felt sure of.
So when the Draconian came at him with sword leading the way he feinted a slow retreat backwards while he lashed out seemingly in desperation at his foe.
Then as his back was to the railing he let his foe feel the true wrath of a son of Vanaheim, with a mighty howl of rage he took the throwing axe hanging at his belt and hurled it directly at his foe, the small axe hit the Draconian with great force and although it did not cause him any serious wounds the sheer force behind the blow from the hammer head of the axe knocked the air out of him. And it was that short moment of time Harald needed.
Swinging his great two handed axe in a wide arch he caught his opponent square in the neck. The axe head cleaved meat and crushed bone and sent the head rolling across the deck to land at the feet of the remaing soldiers of Kels whom looked at it disbelief and shock.
Gasping for air and feeling a relief of having won this particular fight Harald looked at the band of remaining enemy soldiers, and a evil grin spread across his face.
Looking to his comrades in arms and his lord whom had somehow gotten to his feet, but clutched his arm and looked worse for wear. He did not need any instructions for what to do next, the look on the face of his lord told him all he needed to know.
Not one of those betrayers whom had abandoned all honor to serve a false king would die to the last men. There would be no prisoners and no quarter asked from either side.

The Kels soldiers however to their credit loose their will to fight when the black knight fell tot eh axe of the sea raider. They closed ranks and presented a wall of shields and spears ready to sell their life’s dearly, for each man knew now that unless the gods themselves came down from the heavens they would not see their homes again.

I'm liking this sea battle, and good call on putting the rest in another chapter.

The only thing I didn't like was the pace of the fleets attack. One second they were coming around the headland, the next they were close enough to shoot their bows. There seemed to be no measure of distance for the reader to mark.

Will the next part be up soon?

Well glad you liked it, and regarding the distance. Well yes, a fair point. but I thought the reader would be able to conjure the rest up in their inner eye, and well I will begin drafting ideas and such this evening

My brain must be on melt down from the heat.

Good to hear.

Epic sea battle! The build-up was nicely done and the conflict itself sure isn't disappointing. Hope Harald survives!

Oi slacka, me wants mor ov da Warrrghh!

Pardon? My Pict is somewhat rusty

Would be so kind as to add more to your story my good man. Thanks awfully old bean.

Oh its coming, just you wait. It will take some time hoever to get it all nicely done

Good to here. Your fans are pained by your absence.

This last section was my favourite by far, I love a good sea fight!

"make ready to repel boarders!”

Is one of the coolest orders to bellow.

Nicely written, Trondheim. There aren't nearly enough sea fights in Dakka Fiction

Okay now, for those whom expected slaugther and mayhem, s I know i promised well. It is coming is all i can say, having done this part I can get on with the real fun part Enjoy and commet as always my dear readers and friends.

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Somewhere far from the blood tinted sea and the blood letting happening there someone else was slowly succumbing to boredom and not the blades and arrows of her foes. Ashild sat with her feet hanging in the loose air up on the parapet of the first ring of walls that ran around the great castle at Dunheim.
She was not used to being surrounded by such amounts of high walls and dense stone, and the longing for the peace of the woodlands made her head hurt. But she knew she could not just leave either. Charsi depended upon her and so did many others whom had much to her surprise taken a liking to her, and saw her as a comrade in arms. She would never understand humans she realized as she sat there and looked out over the misty lands below the mountain citadel.
The fact that these lands soon would shake under the countless boots of several massive armies marching forwards like a rolling wave of darkness and cruelty made her bile rise. And she swore in her native tongue.
Swinging her legs back onto the rampart she got up and drained the last of the wine skin she had been slowly draining over the last few hours. She did not feel the need to go and watch while Charsi got her armour fitted, nor did she feel like listening to the endless discussion between the remaining nobles whom where busy preparing for the arrival of their enemy.
The half troll stalked down the dimly light corridors leading down to the courtyard, and the training ground where seasoned soldiers drilled those whom had taken up arms beside the regular armies to defend their homeland.
The bark of the war weary sergeants and the grunts of effort from the newly enlisted militia men filled the air in that particular courtyard.
She watched in silence as the relatively raw recruits, both young men and women where mercilessly drilled in the fine art of working together as a spear men unit. To form the wall of shields and to press steadily forwards with the sharp points of their spears leading the way while they allowed the crossbow men to fire between their shoulders to pick of enemy soldiers.
But the shouting and the din of the recruits struggling with their weapons and gear soon lost its novelty to her, and she left some of the young men looking at her swaying hips.
She passed homes sheltered below the massive walls and great towers, and the half troll saw children running around the streets playing oblivious to the coming storm. She smelled the aromas of cooking and the distant smell of homely comfort hidden behind the sturdy wooden walls.
As the woman whom stood head and shoulders above most folk walked down the muddy streets, she stood out like a great predator amongst lesser beasts.
A fine example of this came when a gaggle of children whom had been busy playing some game of sorts. Their eyes became wide with something resembling curiosity as the woman whom where rumoured to be noting short of a walking avatar of coming bloody death. But also according to some also where a gentle giant, one whom stood in defence of all that was good. And who cared not for the lure of gold or power but driven by her love to the black haired heir to the throne.

Several of the children where fetched by their mothers whom lowered their eyes when she attempted to look them in the eyes, and to make them realize she was not some brute.
“You know woman, I do not bite nor do I harm harmless townsfolk.” these words struck home in one woman in particular, whom after her friends had returned home layed her small trembling hand on the considerable larger hand of her counterpart in life.
“Pardon my kinsfolk, you are one of the few of your kin that have passed by here. I don’t think they know what to make of a woman who acts like you do” the woman said as she grabbed the hand of her child and led her boy back home while she threw the occasional glance back at Ashild whom now stood alone in the street and watched them go.
But the moment faded fast and she walked on down the muddied streets towards one of the inns she knew was to be found. As she walked down the last street of the street she caught sight of her destination.

She pushed the heavy oak door open and walked into the small common room that smelled of wet cloths and weary soldiers who sat at the tables scattered around the place and drank in silence for the most. But there where a good number whom kept up a lively racket as she ordered a mug of beer from the man behind the bar counter.
Taking the mug she found a unoccupied table and sat down heavily upon the chair and placed her long legs on another and leaned back against the wall.
As she sat there and sipped the beer while she stuffed the bone pipe with tobacco she found herself pondering when the armies of her foes would come into view, the siege would begin in earnest. For as of now she felt like everyone just waited for the finale storm to break, the soldiers where weary an many of the peasants and towns folk also lived in constant worry.
Alongside the bar keeper two serving pages where running to and from the tables with beer, meals and other things requested by the guests that surrounded her.
Just as a sense of calm began to settle down in her the moment of calm was shattered when the rather noisy group of soldiers whom where deep in their cups exploded into a tempest of raunchy laughter and crude remarks aimed at the of the serving pages, whom had dropped a tray full of full beer mugs.

The hapless page where pale with fear and embarrassment as he knelled down to pick up the broken pottery and the tray, but just as he got up a hard kick from one of the soldiers sent him flying. He landed hard, and by the sounds coming from him he was weeping now. Both from the embarrassment but also due to several bloody gashes on his hands due to the broken poetry he had landed.
None of the other guests in the tavern said or moved to help the poor boy, and even the bar keeper stood still and dared not intervene between the boy and the drunk solders whom where forming up around him in a rough circle.
But before anyone of the drunken bullies could further humiliate the poor boy the door was opened, and in stepped a man clad in partial war plate and with a grim face came into view. His scarred face was as set in stone and one of his hands came to rest on the hilt of the sword he carried on his side.
The grins vanished like morning dew before the rising sun from the faces of all the gathered drunks.
The man whom stood and and glared at the drunken gaggle of men where none other than the duke of Kaupang. And it was clear to one and all that beneath his stony features his blood boiled with anger and disgust.
He crossed the floor with his steel shod boots echoing his coming like the bells of a church. And before any of the drunks could speak or draw steel to defend themselves a brutal blow from his gauntleted hands sent one man falling down like a pole axed animal.
This spurred the friends of the stricken man to howl in dismay, and several of them fuelled by a mix of alcohol and bad tempers hurled themselves at the duke, and before anyone could react or seek shelter the whole tavern exploded into a massive bar room brawl. It was everyone against everyone as men hurled themselves at whomever did not fall into the category of brothers in arms.
Ashild saw this unfold and was about to get and leave when a of duty guardsman gave her a painful blow to the back with a chair. This act made the blood that ran in her veins, and was not of human origin boil. So instead of a yelp of pain the man where rewarded with a low snarl. And the massive woman turned and seized him by hair and one handed hurled him head long into the wall, as the man impacted with the wall his head split like a ripe melon and he slumped down motionless and with gore staining the wall. turning around to see if there where any more fools that wished to die she was rewarded with a glancing blow from a flying beer mug.
Deciding this was not something she would shrug of, she swung at the nearest man, and caught him square in the chest. Caching him of his feet and slamming into a comrade of his, her blood rushed and she could feel the berserker rage simmer, and as she sidestepped a blow from a burly trooper and backhanded him across the face before head butting him several times and leaving him dazed and bleeding on the floor.
Her eyes swept across the swirling mass of drunken brawlers she saw the lone duke, whom where laying about him with a cold and calculated style. His lip was split and his gauntleted fists where stained with blood and hair.
She saw his lean to one side and thus avoiding a blow aimed at his head and punch the offender hard in the guts before kicking him hard in the knee. The man dropped and seemed to be in great pain as he rolled over to one side and clutched his ruined knee.
Then suddenly someone drew a knife and lunged for his exposed back, Ashild saw this and before she could stop herself she grabbed the axe hanging at her belt and was about to hurl it at the would be knife wielding fiend. But somehow he had sensed what was coming and turned just in time to avoid a savage stab in the back.

Seeing this new assailant the scarred veteran drew his sword, and without any hesitation slashed the man across the guts, before reversing his swing and embedding the sword in the skull of the knife wielder whom sank down onto the floor and la there motionless.
This act of violence alongside with the sudden arrival of more men whom clearly had been summoned by someone whom had decided that the calling of the castle guard was needed. The men clad in war plate and armed with halberds poured into the room and showed no mercy to the drunken brawlers. Anyone whom did not cease their brawling where pummelled with blows and placed in chains to be dragged of to the prison to sleep their drunkenness of, and to face judgement at the hands of the thane.
One of these men whom wore the symbols of a sergeant at arms approached his lord whom stood and where cleaning his sword for blood and hair.
“Sire are you in need of a healer?
“No sergeant I am not, but your worry is noted.”
“What happened here sire? The place looks like a whole horde of screaming Picts stormed in!”
“Some of the less savoury locals decided that harassing the serving pages would be a good idea, that and several others deemed it the best time to settle scores of their own when the first blows where thrown.”
to this the sergeant at arms nodded and ordered his men to start hauling the battered and bruised individuals of to the prison.
The soldiers of the guard seemed to recognize Ashild and made no attempt at apprehending her, although at least two men lay dead around the tavern as a direct result of her. Most likely those men where not going to be missed. Or more likely the warrior woman was deemed a bit to unhinged to be tangled with, over something as trivial as a bar brawl.
But she did not miss the glare she got from them still, she would indeed need to keep her temper in check. Even disliked and more or less unwanted soldiers where still protected by the law.
When the last of the bar brawlers whom had resisted the attempt to force order upon them was lead out of the tavern and the back of the last castle guardsmen disappeared the duke placed a purse on the bar counter, and spoke a few words with the man whom stood behind it and where pale as snow as he surveyed the damage done.
Then the man whom had for so long watched his own land slowly being ripped apart by the war that now where at his heels looked at her, and signalled for her to step outside with him.
“I knew I would find you somewhere where beer was to be had. Although a bar brawl was something I did not expect to find.”

“Well what can I say, drink makes men loose their minds.”

“Ah wise words indeed, and fairly true I suppose. Although I think loosing ones mind may be a good way to relive the tension we all are feeling in one way or the other my dear. Something tells me that when the siege starts in earnest, we will all wish for the time to brawl in a bar.”

“So you came all the way down into the lower quarters to lecture me? And here I thought you noble born where busy.” Ashild said and stiffened a yawn.

“No that I did not do troll, I came here because your presence is wanted. And I cam to tell you that your Stygian saviour is on his feet, but the gods know he seems to have lost all sense of friendliness.”
She looked the duke of Kaupang over with her ice blue eyes and seemed to consider a reply but it never came. Instead she just nodded and gestured for him to lead the way to wherever the remaing nobles, and the Stygian named Agrai whom had recovered from his ghastly wounds thanks to the skilled healers of the castle.
They walked in silence back up the cobbled streets until they stood before the last gate, that guarder the entrance to the citadel.
After having climbed the narrow winding stairs p to the floor where the council where being held they entered the great hall, where they where meet with the nodding of heads and looks of weariness upon the faces of those assembled there.

“Ah how good to see you my dear!” the old duke of Noregard said, and his face told her that he was genuinely pleased to see her.
Some of the others she did not recognize but figured they where assorted captains of the army, or some of the lesser nobles whom had thrown their lot in with the rebels. Then there where the Stygian whom stood out in the way a lion would stand out amongst lesser predators. His wiry features added to the burning hate that could be seen plainly in his eyes. It was clear to see that he intended to take as many of his enemies with him before they overcame him, when battle was joined. His armour had been mended and his sword returned to him after he had lost it at the desperate battle at the bridge.
“It is good to see you warrior! Knowing you still walk amongst us gives me hope” he said in a low tone to her as he pulled out a chair for her.
Then she saw Charsi, and felt her hearth flutter with a feeling she was not sure was. It made her chins blush and she had to put every fibre of will she had to make herself regain her posture before she embarrassed the poor girl too much. The dark haired woman looked at her lover and sent her a smile.
“Now then! Since we are all gathered here and you all know more or less know what we will be discussing lets get on with it shall we.” the old duke said and took his seat at the far end of the table.
Beside him sat the man whom commanded the citadel guard and the elite formations of foot men, and on his other side sat the duke of Kaupang. Whom had gathered what remained of his forces after the brutal blow he had suffered when the enemy crossed the river, and butchered the six thousand men he had sent to hold it. The loss of such skilled warriors hung heavily upon the man whom had begun to show the signs of age, despite being in his prime.
“As you all all too well know, our enemy is coming to begin what will be the most crucial battle of the war of freedom so far. He has mustered every soldier, militia and savage tribes men he can. Their numbers are to put it mildly almost endless. But we still have the chance for victory! In his lust for victory has he sent three armies north to strike at the duchess who, guards the border marches. “

Pausing to sip deeply from his wine glass the man continued after setting the fine glass down.
“When the enemy stands at our gates, the defence of this hallowed castle and all those whom dwell inside its walls will fall to us ladies and gentlemen. Therefore have I alongside Duke Brage and Duke Einar allocated you to where you will be of most use. Same goes for your men”
“Where do you have need of me then! For I have many a score to settle with these devils!” said Ashild and looked directly into the eyes of the old man.
Before he could answer her however a voice that until then kept quiet broke in, it was the voice of one whom in the span of a few months had seen everyone she had known and loved die, and found love with a giant from the north.
“I know I am no seasoned veteran or masterly skilled tactician, but I too have scores to settle with the throne robber. He murdered my father, sent feral beasts to murder my foster father and tried to have his deranged henchmen take my life. And sine you all are so bloody determined that I should lay claim to the throne I set this as my demand for me doing just that. Let me stand on those walls and greet the first bastard to climb over with a sharp sword. With Ashild by my side no man will lay hands on me. And if you do not agree with this take the damned throne yourself! I never dreamt or asked for it anyhow.” said Charsi whom had quietly risen from her seat and walked over to Ashild, before sitting down in her lap and gripping her hands in her own.

“Well I will be damned.....” said Brage and smiled, the quiet and almost melancholic man from the great woodlands seemed to find something amusing.
“If I had any doubts about your right to the throne you just dismissed them. Unless anyone can conjure up a very good reason for disagreeing with this I see no reason to oppose your wish.” and it seemed no one had any wish to oppose the demands put forwards by the reluctant heir to the throne.

“Well then, now that these things are out of the way I have only one more thing to air before we all get some sleep. And that is the matter of the Stygian army we have heard about.” duke Torvald said and turned to the Stygian whom sat silently and sipped cautiously at a cup of strong wine.

“When if ever can we expect it to come to our aid? How many men dose it number and whom commands it? Asked the duke of Noregard, and regarded the other man with keen eyes.

“I received word from a person whom I know and tryst, that the army crossed the Pontar valley two days ago. And entered the hinterlands that lies beyond that place. From there it will take them at least a week of rapid marching to reach Noregard, and then two days to get here at maximum. As for their numbers, I was informed that the god king has sent forth the single greatest army to ever leave Stygia. Their numbers will be enough to match those of our deranged foe.”
he however did not mention the fact that is was his lord and eternal master Thoth Amon whom commanded the army. The very one whom had sent him north to rescue the dawn of light from the tide of darkness spilling fourth from Kels.
The old sorcerer whom could with a flicker of his hands do more harm than most armed soldiers could hope to do with sharp steel and burning hatred he mused silently as he listen to the others talking amongst themselves as they begun to depart the room.
He too rose from his seat and made for his chambers, it was time to meditate, to let his inner self wander and to make ready for the coming battle.

As the nobles and their comrades held the last council before the enemy arrived, little did they know that the enemy had already crossed the last ford that lay between them and the great citadel at Dunheim. Before them fled terrified farm folks and villagers, whom where allowed to run in terror before the massive army that came ever onwards.
The night itself was illuminated by burning torches and the deep rumbling of horns and drums as the soldiers walked forwards under a starless night sky. Their minds set upon the brutal and bloody battle that lay ahead of them.
As they passed the small farmsteads and hamlets folk fled head over heels before them, shrieks of panic and the calls of people looking for loved ones could be heard.
At the forefront of this truly impressive display of power rode the elite cavalry, dressed in their best suits of war plate and with banners fluttering in the gentle breeze. These men where well trained and none could claim they where of less skill or dedication than their counterparts that awaited them. But even they knew whom was the true heralds of fear, from time to time they could make out the dark shapes in the distance as the Draconian guard spread terror and fear as they rode like devils seeking fresh blood ahead of the army and set fire to towns, burning farms and slaughtering refugees in a orgy of blood and a lust for vengeance.
Their task was simply, while the main bulk of the army was to allow refugees and those fleeing before them to run unharmed and unhindered the Draconian guard would spread fear amongst those whom fled before them.

King Erik sat on his horse and gazed out into the night before him, and smiled as he saw the flames reach for the heavens as they devoured farms and homes. Let the rebellious rabble fear their king as he came to silence their pity full attempt to rid themselves of him.
He intend to leave enough of them alive so they could rebuild and toil until they dropped dead from exhaustion. But that was just the farmers and labourers, anyone else would die a bloody death for their sins.
He was dressed in a ornate suit of war plate, and at his hip hung a sword he had taken from a executed noble. It looked so much better at his side than at the side of that old fool whom had had before. He looked to his side, and saw his marshal sitting motionless in his saddle with a emotionless face as he looked out into the darkness.
“Why so gloomy marshal! Smiling will not kill you know! And beside, soon you will have a whole citadel to call your own after we put the devils whom occupy it for the moment. You and your knightly brothers will no longer have to make due in a ruin as you do know!”

“Yes my king” was the short reply that came from the mask clad marshal, whom sat on his massive charger and brooded over the unfolding events. This madness would not be the beginning of peace in the north, that he knew. His spies in both Stygia and Thessalonia spoke of preparations for war. And what was worse that the ruler of Stygia had sent fourth the largest army to ever leave the Stygian realm. Even now the great army marched north to Noregard. He only dared to hope that the armies sent to the border marches would be able to deal with the witch whom ruled there. Although he had doubts about it, the nobles chosen to act as its commanders where far from able generals he knew and dreaded. But no matter. If they crushed the castle at Dunheim, and cut the head o the rebel armies then.....well it would be a wholly different game of thrones then. Without their leaders, and the loss of so many men would leave the few that where left with very little hope.
His moment of silent consideration and brooding where shattered by the voice of his “beloved” king.
“When we stand before the walls I want every man of note to be assembled, I feel a need to hear what my generals and officers have planned beside just hurling themselves at the walls. Also make sure to have some wine ready, I fear it will drag on to no end.”
“Of course your majesty, it will be done as you command” said the Draconian, whom where glad he wore the mask. For his face would have revealed what sort of thoughts that filled his mind.

And then after a hour or so riding alongside a wide road the lead elements of the army could see the massive citadel of Dunheim rise out of the mist at the far side of a great valley split in two by a grand river.
And before their eyes they also saw that the rebels had put the farms and the last few small hamlets to the torch themselves. The only emotions this stirred however was the aggravation of missing the chance to grab loot and food before the bloody task at hand began.
So in the light of the fires that blazed away the assembled host of the realm began to encircle the citadel that looked down at from its mountain top nest.
As the soldiers did this they also begun to dig many deep trenches, that would be lined with sharpened wooden stakes. These pits would both act as a deterrence to any attempts to storm the camps that would be erected behind them. But also they would help guard the great siege engines that would be erected by the siege engineers.
And so it was the great siege of Dunheim and the last act in the great war in the north begun.
The first of the loyalist troops to see the massive horde that rolled across the lands and formed up in front of the citadel was the night watchmen whom stood in almost utter silence and watched their enemy come closer. Each and of them felt a claw of dread worm itself into their hearths, and the cold realization that now there was other way out of this than to fight like devils.
As the torches and the constant blaring of horns came closer and closer the guards let their own signal be heard.
The clear and strong tune produced by brass horns sounded all along the walls, alerting their comrades to the coming of their foes.
The captain of the guard whom was a seasoned soldier looked down into the sea of enemies, and calmly turned to his underlings.
“Send word as fast as you can to the dukes! And for the sake of all things holy someone put those torches out! We need not reveal ourself to the enemy. They will be up here soon enough.”
but the good captain had not needed to worry, the nobles had heard the blaring of horns and the signal from the night watchmen. And where already engaged in a hectic rush to dress themselves in armour, and ready sharp steel. But most of them practically slept in their armour but still such things took time. The pounding of countless boots could be heard up and down every street as the garrison mobilized the men, and the silent but palatable fear amongst the citizens could also be felt in the air.
On the walls the men took up their designated positions, and looked down at the hated enemy, almost everyone of the men manning those walls where a bloodied veteran of the gruelling civil war, while some of them where raw recruits whom had never seen battle before.
While these things took place someone else whom had no other wish than to live in peace, and in the company of each other where dressing themselves in armour.
She stood by the side of her beloved and helped her adjust the straps on her armour, she handed her the ornate gauntlets and she strapped the sword belt firmly around her waist. Taking up the helmet engraved with the royal coat of arms and handing it to her she swallowed a desire to just lock the door, and wish for it all to go away as she handed it over.
Then it was her own turn to be helped on with the suit of war plate, to feel the small hands of her lover struggle with the buckles and straps and to hear her curse under her breath as she pulled at them hard to secure them.
Ashild looked away for a moment to blink away the tears that had somehow begun to trickle down her chins. She did not wish for Charsi to see her weeping, not now at least.
“I suppose none of us two ever imaged we would be standing here, in a castle besieged and surrounded on all sides. Ready to make a stand on a fortress wall with no hope of escape eh?” she said before taking her weapon from Charsi and strapped the weapon belt on herself.

“No I cant say I ever imagined being announced as a queen, but these last few weeks has been filled with so much madness that I know not what to make of almost anything any more. But I know this to be true! No one has ever had so much confidence in me, or been willing to risk so much to save me as you have. Let the very gates of the abyss open for all I care! I do not intend to die on my knees should my hour come in these coming days and nights.”
Not expecting to hear such fighting talk from the normally more gentle and sensitive woman she had come to love so dearly Ashild smiled. Yes she thought, fate may have dealt them both a rather unexpected hand of cards, but she too would be damned if she laid down and waited or death now.
Feeling her moment of melancholy pass and being replaced by a much more familiar feel she smiled. Her blood was rising and she felt the part of her that was not human growl within her mind.
“Let us greet these devils then eh darling! My axe wishes to caress their necks when they climb the walls.” she said and opened the door and stepped out followed by Charsi. So it was that they made their way to the walls, passing troops whom many of bowed their heads in respect for the young uncrowned queen. It was clear that the news had spread like a wildfire amongst the men, even if they feared the coming darkness they had something to rally behind now. Something larger than mere freedom and a hope for the chance to see the coming of a new dawn.
Meanwhile on the battlements the dukes whom made up the council of the royalist council stood beside the lesser nobles, and looked out into the gloom. Not one of them could escape the feeling of tension, and maybe dread. For before them where amassed the full might of their enemy. Countless soldiers waited below for the gloom to lift, and give them enough light to make the first assault upon the walls.

King Erik sat in the great tent and listened to his commanders lay out the plans they had for storming the citadel, his head throbbed with pain and he reached for the cup of wine laced with black lotus. He himself had no plans of being in the first wave, let the fools die in his place. There where always more men to replace those whom died serving him and the throne.
His unshaven face gave him a look that would not be ill suited for a robber, but the ornate armour he wore dispelled that illusion. But still, he looked far from particulary regal at this moment. But he cared not either.
The only man whom was not replaceable beside himself in this tent where the hooded man standing beside him, the marshal of the Draconian knights never revealed his face to the common nobles or generals, only he and the other members of that insidious order of fanatics knew his true looks. A horridly scarred face ruined by the wounds he had received at the hands of the dark fiend they kept chained down in the bowls of the ruined fortress that served as their headquarters.
Erik had been there once, and seen the beast when he had meet with the man to convince him to join in his plot for the throne. That part had been the easy bit of the coup, the rest well that was all water under the bridge but still.....it had been damned hard worth but oh how it had been worth it in the end. To see the look upon his fathers face when he had rammed his sword trough the old man and seized the throne that day. He was brought back to the event at hand by the voices of his generals whom argued about who would lead the first assault, they where all capable of doing it, and doing it well but it seemed they wished for him to have the final say.
Looking at the men whom awaited his finale word in the matter he spoke with a weary tone.
“The honour of commanding he first assault upon the walls will fall to my trusted marshal, he will be the extension of my authority as your king! Heed his every command and preform your tasks well! Now get out and begin to prepare your troops.”
the looks upon their faces made him almost burst out laughing, the shock some of them showed where quite amusing he thought as he sat there and sipped his wine. And felt the soothing effects of the lotus. And beside, now maybe those bickering fools would fall silent. Not for fear for their king, but the masked devil they all knew had no second thoughts about killing anyone whom questioned his commands. He knew he had to be there when they begun, but that would not be until the sun began to rise. Instructing his servants to wake him when it did he retired and left it all to his marshal.

the advantage of being a troll ay, everyone else gets arrested and she gets off scot free.

Good new entry, it sets it up for the siege nicely, though it could do with a read through to get rid of some extra words that you typed in twice.

Yes that and being a woman seems to have its benefits. And beside would you pick a figth with her?

By the Emperor no, that one is more woman then I can handle. I think I'd have to climb in a cupboard and cry.

Can't have a good fantasy story without a tavern fight. Nicely written, Trondheim.

I'm conflicted about the siege. On the one hand, I want Ashild to win. On the other, I'm starting to like King Erik though. And the Draconian Guard are certainly interesting, even if they aren't good people.

 LoneLictor wrote:
Can't have a good fantasy story without a tavern fight. Nicely written, Trondheim.

I'm conflicted about the siege. On the one hand, I want Ashild to win. On the other, I'm starting to like King Erik though. And the Draconian Guard are certainly interesting, even if they aren't good people.

Yes i figured it was due time for that now. And thanks for liking it. But really? Well i suppose i did a good job then, when the evil throne robber gets some sympaties

From a sea fight to a tavern brawl? Nice change of pace. The relationship between Ashild and Charsi continues to be well-developed and I agree with LL ... the baddies are shaping up to be quite interesting characters in their own right.

All the better for when Ashild splits their heads.

Consider me subscribed.

Many many thanks for the kind words to you all.

When dawn broke it was with the company of the sun shining upon a blue sky. It was almost too good to be true, and it was. For beneath the sky and in the warmth of the rising sun the first signs of the coming assault upon the walls could be seen from said place.
Ranks upon ranks of soldiers from the Kels army stood silently in the sun and awaited the call of the bugle their commander.
The knight rode to the front on his massive charger and gazed upon the walls where he could see his enemies looking down upon him, he could almost smell the fear, the hate and the wish to get to grips with the killing.
He had longed for this day ever since that first clash of swords near the city of Turin. That day the earth had turned red with blood and the air had been filled with the howling of the lines as they charged towards each other. fuelled by hate, distrust and long buried feuds given fresh fuel to fan their burning desire for revenge.
He had killed so many men that his dreams had been haunted by their faces for a long time after that day, but they only joined the countless others tht haunted him as he closed his eyes each night. But the dead was dead. And none could dispute the honour he and his comrades in arms had won. However blood drenched and questionable it was in the eyes of some.
But he would never come to view the man child that sat on the throne as a true monarch, the fool was seldom of use these days. But he would serve him non the less, but for now he had something to take his mind of that particular problem.

“Men of Kels! Before you the enemy awaits your coming, they will fight as cornered beasts. I will not lie to you, the battle will be hard, brutal and without any mercy!” the marshal said and pointed one gauntleted hand at the battlements up upon the mountain.
Riding along the front ranks he gazed down at his assembled troops and let them behold his dark glory.
“But you will give no quarter, leave no man alive! Let your hate, your thirst for revenge for your fallen comrades guide your sword hand! TODAY WE END THIS!” he roared and drew his sword and pointed at the citadel that lay behind him.
So with a massive howl the soldiers of the Kels army began their advance towards the enemy, siege ladders where carried by the men. While the siege towers where pushed and hauled forwards by others. Behind them great machines of war begun to hurl stones the size of wagon wheels at the massive walls in hope of breaking them down by sheer brute force.
These men would be the first to reach the walls, and the first to feel the sharp reply from the defenders.
The men manning the walls looked with a almost stoic gaze upon their foes, and when the enemy came well within range they sent their greetings from afar, arrows and crossbow bolts whistled trough the air, and knocked men from their feet when they found a target.
But it was not enough, for even if they thinned the enemy ranks it was no hope in stemming the tide that where thundering towards the walls. And with great cheers from the besiegers the ladders reached the walls. Behind them the steady rumbling from the siege towers could be heard as they too drew nearer and nearer.

Up on the walls the royalists awaited their foes with baited breath, the battlements where lined with soldiers from all walks of life. Most of them had lost their homes, their loved ones or both to the ravages of civil war. Now as the last battle loomed they made ready to sell their life’s dearly if need be.
Duke Torvald stood beside his fellow royalist leaders and watched the speech given by that infernal fiend whom sat p high on his horse. His hate filled words could be heard across the wind, that man was indeed brave even if he where a murdering whore son.
He stood above the first massive gate in the walls and watched the banners that displayed whom where here this day. The bull from Kaupang, the snarling wolfs head from the woodlands to the north and his own. The bear standing on its hind legs snarling. And then there was the royal banner that proudly showed the enemy that the queen of Kels, whom would be crowned after the war was won stood beside them. The banner showed a white horse set against red and with a ring of golden laurels running around the white horse.
So this is how the last battle begins,with blaring horns and the thunder of the enemy as they charge at our walls, let them come! I no longer fear death or a sword to the neck he thought.
Then his thoughts where interrupted when a new banner joined the ones already flying proudly, it was attached to long spear, and showed the fanged maw of a great serpent. He then realized whom it belonged to, looking to his side he saw the Stygian, Argai standing there dressed for war. His golden armour repaired and his sword ready to spill blood. He bowed his head to Charsi and Ashild, and nodded to the other nobles and him, it was clear he too intended to fight.
The man seemed to have undergone a change of sorts, his posture was one of regal might, his gaze was like that of a golden eagle and his hands gripped sword and shield firmly. Then there was the sense of calmness that emitted from the man as he planted the banner.
It was clear he did not fear the coming storm, it looked more like he finally had made peace with either his gods or himself. He was a different person than the brooding warrior whom had meditated in silence for hours upon end after awakening from the deep sleep he had been in.
Thorvald was about to say something to the man, but stopped himself before the words escaped his mouth. No words where needed between the two men.

Ashild and Charsi had left the nobles standing there and looking at the enemy that came closer and closer. They now stood beside the ranks of heavily armoured spear men and sword men that waited for the ladders to reach the walls.
The men nodded to her and made it clear they knew whom she was, and what she represented. The tension was thick in the air as Ashild drew her axe and swung it back and fourth by her side.
As she stood there she suddenly became aware that Charsi gripped her hand and squeezed her hand hard, so hard that it hurt.
Turning to look at her she saw that the small woman was almost on the edge of tears, but it was not of fear. No this was something else, she could smell it. Beneath the stench of sweat, leather and the strong smell of the men around her she sensed that Charsi was trembling with anger, or maybe anxiety.
“Dont fear the enemy, they can not hurt you. The ones you know and trust are with you, and any man that dares lay a hand on you in anger will die!” she whispered in her ear and kissed her hand as they stood there, side by side.

“I know, I know Ashild! But this whole bloody mess seems so fuelled by hate and greed I know not how it will ever end! Promise me that you will never leave me” the black haired raven said and with a practised move drew her sleek sword from its scabbard. The keen blade reflected the sun as the first ladders slammed into the walls. And the howls of the enemy could be heard as a glittering storm of arrows forced the defenders to seek shelter behind shields, and the sturdy parapets.
Somewhere along the line the hard voice of duke Einar sounded and as the first soldiers from Kels sprang onto the walls, the men of Dunheim greeted them with cold steel and burning hatred,
“FOR THE QUEEN! FOR FREEDOM!” was the call that went up as the swirling battle was joined.
The first man to die by her hands was a man armed with a morning star and a sturdy shield, he swung at her and missed. Then as he tried to block her return blow in time she feinted a lunge and when he took the bait she drove the blade home into his neck. The blood gushed out and coated her blade as he tried to scream, but only managed a gurgling sound as he fell backwards, and tumbled over the wall, he hit the ground far below with a sicking sound.
But then she barely cheated death or serious harm as a sword cut by her chin with mere inches to spare, before she could even react her attacker cried out in pain as a pair of spear men ran him trough with their weapons and drove him to the ground. They yanked their spears free, and one of them used the butt of his spear to crush the skull of the man.

All around her the sounds of steel upon steel, shields breaking and the screams of men dying filled the air. The battle raged back and fourth in a almost rhythmic pace as the two sides put their backs into clearing the battlements of their opponents.
Then suddenly she went flying through eh air, and slammed into the wall of the tower behind her, winded and feeling dizzy she could barely make out what or whom had sent her flying. Standing there snarling was a immense figure, clad in heavy mail and leather armour and armed with a heavy war hammer a massive troll mercenary snarled and swung its weapon in a wide arch to clear more room for its companions whom only now had climbed up the ladders to join the fray.
The beast smelled like a wet dog, and its fanged maw where frightening to behold. As it hacked and pounded men flat around it the beast seemed enjoy this madness.
But then as it turned towards its first prey the beast seemed to catch sight of something that made it howl in anger and slam its weapon hard down upon the ground. Then she saw the source of this sudden outburst of pure animalistic rage.
Standing over the still form of a troll slain by a brutal axe blow to the head Ashild pulled her axe free and licked the sharp edge of her axe clean. Her face was covered in gore, and her armour was also covered by the same grizzly mess. It was clear she had been busy for the few moments Charsi had lost sight of her.
The troll snorted and seemed to say something in its crude tongue to her, the words must clearly have bit home because Ashild barred her teeth and howled as she rushed forwards.
Then as if two massive primordial giants where slugging it out they came together. Sparks flew and the air was filled with grunts and curses, as they both seeked the edge that would allow for the killing blow.
Charsi was winded but not hurt, or so she at least felt like. Staggering up and grabbing her shield that lay beside her she firmly gripped the sword in the other hand and threw herself at a new enemy. She could not match Ashild in the sheer terms of strength but the black hired raven possed a stubborn streak and she had a temper to match the fiercest wolf. Seeking to guard Ashild as she struggled with the towering brute she kicked hard at the back of the knee of a Kelsman whom cursed and fell forwards upon the waiting sword of the man whom had been fighting him.
Ashild felt the blood boil in her veins as she locked horns so to speak with the brute that stood before her, he was so strong that she almost could not believe it. But she matched him in that matter, and the two stepped back, before launching themselves at each other once more.
Then with a inhumane effort Ashild broke the guard of her foe, and planted the wolf headed axe in his ribs. The troll grunted in pain and reeled backwards as she delivered a brutal blow to his jaw. With a last gasp for air the great warrior fell forwards and move no more. Gasping from the effort, and feeling her aching muscles burn Ashild managed to pry her axe free from the corpse at her feet.
Looking around she saw that the enemy had been pushed back for now. But that the sige towers had rolled so close that a bow shot would have hit them. As the last Kelsman died upon the walls or beat a hasty retreat, the defenders took the moment of calm to draw their breath. And steel themselves for the next wave of enemies.
For this had been noting but a test of their steel and will to fight, however brutal and bloody it had been. All around lay the ruined corpses of both royalist and those whom served the false king.
But there was no time to remove the dead, just to get the wounded away and to have a sip of water before the creaking of the wheels mounted upon the trio of the first siege towers got so close she could almost feel it.

“Damned animals! How many are there of them?” said the duke of Kaupang and wiped the sweat from his face. Around him lay heaps of dead enemies, his men and himself had been at the front of the first wave. And it had been bloody and grim, how many he had killed he did not know. But he knew that there was still plenty to go around.
“Push those ladders down! And for heavens sake have someone bring up more water!” he called as he allowed himself to peer over the wall and onto the land below.

As he peered over the parapets he caught sight of the bodies laying at the base of the wall, some riddled with arrows while some where men where men from both sides, that had either fallen or been thrown into their deaths. Looking up at the sun that still shined on he knew the stench would be horrid come next day or a few more hours.
Just as he where about to say a few words to his second in command a arrow whizzed past his face and bit into the chest of the man behind him. He screamed as he staggered backwards and fell head over heels down the stairs before coming to a stop near the bottom of the stairs.
Feeling the adrenalin suddenly boil up once more the duke cursed whomever down there had taken the chance to shoot at him.
The archer whom had sent the arrow did however not get the chance to celebrate, a hail of arrows from the defenders alongside a few massive bolts from the balistast mounted upon the towers answered him in kind before the archer captains ordered their men to cease waiting arrows.
But they would pay those whore sons, for every one of his men that had given their life’s in the defence of these glorious lands. They where perhaps battered and torn between hate and the lamentations for those whom they had lost.
And then there was those damned towers, that now where a mere stone throw from the walls. Once more the archers in the Kels army began to sent showers of iron tipped birds of prey up at the men whom took shelter,and answered them in kind with their own arrows and bolts.
“Look lively men! The devils are coming back for a second turn of bloodied noses and bruised egos!” he called out to his men as he lower the visor on his helm, drew his sword and steeled himself for a new dance with death.

He never had imagined himself standing beside these men of the north fighting for freedom, and a young queen that most likely never had imagined she would be just that. The fighting had been brutal and bloody, no quarter where granted or asked for. He did not enjoy the killing of wounded or dying men but he understood the reasoning behind it, even though it was more likely down to sheer cold hate.
His sword was stained by both blood, hair and gore and his shield had several arrows embedded in it, a spear had just missed his leg and a axe blow had caught him in the shoulder but failed to do any serious harm beside giving him a rather unpleasant bruise.
He could hear the nearby captains and nobles shoring up the will of their men by encouraging words , and by the fact that one and all lead from the very front. Then there was that giant of a woman, she was most definitely in her element here, she had hacked, cleaved and maimed all but a few of the men that had gotten in her way, those whom had not died that way had either been hurled of the walls or as a few troll mercenaries had done, fought her with a savage lust for both blood and her flesh. The heavy mail and leather armour she wore did little to hide some of her more visible attributes but any man whom thought her just a domesticated beast from the north was long dead, or shown to be wrong.
As Argai, prince of Stygia and one of his homelands most accomplished warriors stood there with curved scimitar in hand and waited for the enemy he felt himself smile. Yes this was indeed a cause worth bleeding for, and then there was threat pretty queen. He knew she was way beyond him but still motivation went a long way to motivate fighting men to keep at it he thought and grinned.
“Don’t they ever stop coming Ashild? I mean we killed all but of a few in the first wave that stormed the walls!” Charsi said as they knelled behind the parapets and waited for the siege towers to close the last few meters between them and the walls.
“No it don’t seem like they plan on stopping just yet. But they will need to soon thought, their men must be just as weary as we are. And beside, they have the time on their hands. We don’t in here.” her lover said and spat blood and sweat. The blood came from a split lip courtesy the troll she had hacked apart, his massive fists had bruised and battered her more badly than she first thought.
“I suppose I do not have stomach for becoming a queen that is fond of war, but then again. Maybe that will be a good thing after all these years of strife.” she said and looked as if she wanted to say more but she did not but she did not need to say more either, both Argai whom had eavesdropped of sorts and Ashild recognized the wisdom in her words.
No a a ruler that knew the horrors of war and mayhem, and thus wanted to strive to prevent any such ordeal ever unfolding again in their realm was perhaps not a bad thing.
Then with the sound of screaming iron the ramps on the great towers feel down, and crushed the parapets where they feel, their great frames riddled with arrow, cross bow bolts and balistast shots.
The shouts from the Kels troops whom now swarmed out their shelter inside the towers where greeted by the equally angry shouts from the defenders, and the twang of bow strings as the bow men turned their bows towards the men swarming around down below.

The first man to set foot on the ruined parapet was greeted by a face full of steel as a Boyar slammed his axe directly into the face of the foe. The head was cleaved in two, and the top piece fell down spilling brain and blood all over. Then the fighting escalated in earnest. It was clear to the defenders that the first wave had been the rabble, mercenaries, light foot and other less experienced troops.
These men however wore the black plate of the Kels most battle hardened regiments. Armed with war hammers, shields and a will to fight to the last man, they all had sworn their life’s to the false king and would rather die than to disappoint him. With the fury of a storm they hammered into the defenders and the battle began in earnest.
“DEATH TO THE QUEEN! DEATH TO THE LOYALISST!” was their battle-cry as they swarmed forwards. But they where greeted in kind.
Opposing them was the men of the knightly order of the Boyars, standing beside the battle harden veterans of the armies of Kaupang.

Oh man, that ended far too soon. Great job, me expects more soon, the Picts demand it.

Ever heard of cliffhangers. And yes well not tomorrow at least, my inner troll will be occuiped with other things than typing

Damn cliffhangers.

Great new entry, Trondheim.

That was fun!

Can our heroes hold out until reinforcements arrive?

Will we find out tomorrow?

Hopefully, the answer to both is 'yes'.

I would not get to optimistic for both, I have just started the next and possibly fianle part. Depending on how far I am willing to go with just one massive block of text. may break it up in two bitzs so to ease the reading. And knowing me, do you think all the good guys will survive?

 Trondheim wrote:
knowing me, do you think all the good guys will survive?

There's a first time for everything!

So yet again I update! Expect no fierce figthing on walls this time,that part will come next. And yes, I have not forgotten to start killing of characthers in next part But Enugh with that, enjoy this next part. C&C is always welcomed.


The grim figure of the Draconian marshal stood in amongst a circle of stones that had been erected so long ago that the memories of whom had placed them here was long gone. He stood with his king and a man whom leaned upon a tall staff that made his sword arm twitch. He had never understood why some men imagined that the gods, whom seldom if ever took interest in the affairs of mortals, could be swayed to do their bidding. But he was not so blind that he disregarded the primordial power some men like the old man could summon with their dark rituals.
Had not the fool been one of his majesties favoured followers he would long ago planted a dagger in his spine and left him to feed the carrion beasts of the land.

The site of this meeting lay some distance away from the camp itself, and the outlines of the citadel he was attempting to break could be seen barely trough the mist that had rolled in as the assault by the war hounds regiments had begun. He had expected most if not all those in the first waves to die. The damned royalists where not about to die without a brutal and lengthy siege he knew. They where far too many, and far too well provisioned inside their citadel. For now at least.
He stood there and listened to the two drone on and on, while the prattle of the other rabble that followed the old fool made his annoyance rise as his aids milled about preparing for the ritual at hand.
He gripped the hilt of his sword so hard that his fingers throbbed with pain, but the pain served only as a focus to keep his façade up until the moment came to fly ones true colours so to say.

While this took place, events had begun to unfold that would make every man, woman an child cower in fear.
Far, far away from the raging battle stood a ruined citadel. Its walls broken, and its gates that had once guarded those whom had dwelled inside lay broken and shattered by the armies that had long ago sacked it.
Now however its walls and parapets where guarded not by soldiers or hired swords, but by something far more dark and sinister lurking deep inside.
The shadows seemed to dance and flicker as torchlight illuminated the towers where dark shapes stood guard with their hooded eyes wandering across the bleak lands around.
If a lone wanderer dared to make it past their fell gaze, and find the will or courage to step inside the first ruined gate. He would see the rusting arrows deeply embedded in the shattered remains of that gate. He would see the the signs of the effort taken by the masters of this place to rebuild it, and the tools left behind by slaves herded back to their cages where left for all to see.
If the brave wanderer was to press on, and stole along the dark road running further inwards, he would begin to see the traces by those whom now lorded over this place.
Stables where massive war horses were housed and the sheds that held the gear needed to dress such beasts for war. He would also at this point be aware of the rancid smell of something smelling like wild beasts, then he would see the cages. Made from solid steel that housed the bloodthirsty hounds whom roamed the place, acting as both alarms and hungry guards. These massive beasts whom where the product of mixing of the great war hounds found in service to the Kels army with wild Wargs or more foul beasts captured and brought here by the feral Picts.
Pressing on he would see the barracks where the slave overseers and the common guards slept and ate in between duties that would be the least of his concerns.

This foul place, once a proud and steadfast bastion of good that had fallen into the hands of evil was the ruined citadel of Mourgheim. Since its fall at the hands of the Draconian guard whom had claimed it as their seat of power and guarded their most dark secrets from anyone whom wished to spy upon them. It was here that their lord and master commanded the dreaded Draconian knights. And even now, as the last battle in the horrendous civil war raged on far, far away. Those whom remained kept a keen watch over their fortress, and all whom dwelled within.
Their master knowing the cost of the battle to come had taken almost a thousand of their numbers upon the march, but still there remained a mighty host to walk upon the walls.
But mere numbers and a siege in some far of land was far from the mind of the man whom now governed in the place of his master. He was more a beast robed in the skin of a man, than a knight. His foul temper was well known, and his willingness to apply the most horrendous torture and mutilation to the slaves and poor wrenches that where held in the dungeons below knew no bounds.

He was however for all his faults and deranged ways a most able caretaker. But he was not at peace, from deep, deep below came words from the men whom stood guard over the thing locked away down there that was beginning to stir. The rattling of massive chains and the sounds of a hot breath rolling over the stone walls fromthe depths did little to ease his worry. For if the darkness down there was indeed stirring, he would have need of every man he had.

He crossed the inner courtyard followed by two of his most trusted men, flsnking him like shadows. Guarding their master against the blades of assassins and would be rivals alike. He came into the massive halls that would lead him to the tunnels that plunged deep down into the earth. Tunnels that where so massive that he found himself awed by how they had been cut from the roots of the earth.
He passed by guards whom dared not meet his gaze, all bowed before him before continuing their silent watch over the darkness that lay round.
He could hear the screams and wails of agony from the torture chambers where his skilled men where busy applying royal justice upon traitors, criminals, and other unfortunate souls whom had landed in his cold grasp. He would indeed make a point of stopping by there on his return. It was far to long since he heard the sweet cries of men and women screaming for mercy.
As he and his two shadows passed the last pool of torchlight and walked onwards into the near darkness, he could almost feel it now. As if someone fanned rhythmical waves of warm air up from the deep. That sent a chill down his spine that was at odds with his hot and clamy flesh.
This was a place only a handful of men and women in the kingdom knew about, and these few individuals would hold it secret unless they wished to see the inside of the torture chambers he had passed not long ago.

The trio of wraith like men stopped in front of a massive gate, the doors where decorated in ornate brass motives that displayed creatures from the sagas of old. And the gods whom had created this world.
As he was about to lay his hands on the great gate the low snarl that emitted from the darkness around him made him pause and raw a deep breath. He knew of course about the guards that where posted down here but still. Such beasts made any mortal made grip for his sword.
For out from the darkness came a score of bull headed beasts. Clad in ornate golden war plate and gripping massive two headed axes the Minotaur’s looked at him with poorly concealed hunger. They eyes radiated hate for all but their master whom was away and fighting a war now.
The largest of the beasts whom easily almost stood three meters tall and with a body that seemed cut from obsidian stepped so close that the smell of of ox was almost overpowering.
“Pale one! You seek entrance to the hall beyond the gates yes?” the leader said in a very broken form of the trade tongue most commonly spoken in Kels. As the Minotaur awaited the response it swung its massive axe idly, almost if of boredom. But the casstellan knew better it was a display of the sheer power and also a way of demonstrating to its underlings that he as their chief bowed his neck to no one, not even the feared pale ones.

“Yes why else would I come down into this damp and decrepit cesspit! And before you do, I brought the standard fee as agreed upon between you and my master.” one of his shadows left his side and walked back up the tunnel for some distance before he whistled sharply.
Then the distant sound of chains and the shuffling of feet could be heard mixed with the sounds of the occasional whip crack as guards herded a large group of slaves down. Almost two hundred recently purchased slaves had been taken down into the darkness. This herd of human cattle had been brought here for one reason.
“They are all yours. Try not to eat the chains this time!” the pale one said and gestured towards the great doors. The slaves however had by now grown accustomed to the dim light, and could see the monstrous shapes that closed ranks around them. They screamed and wailed for mercy but to no use. Their fate was as good as sealed. But not one of the great bull men lunged for the fresh meat just yet.

Instead they took the chains the slaves where bound to, and fastened them onto great slabs of stone. So that not one could hope to escape his or hers fate. With that done they grabbed their weapons and with practised and efficient pace they took hold of the massive iron rings that where mounted upon the doors and with a inhumane effort began to haul them open. Slowly the doors opened and a smell of heat and something else washed over the casstellan whom stood and gazed at the dark abyss that lay beyond.
“Stay here!” he told his two attendants and signalled the Minotaur chief and his most able warriors to follow him. The great obsidian coloured beast snorted and hefted his axe in both hands. A sour smell of rancid sweat began to rise from the Minotaur’s as they walked on hoofed feet after the Draconian.
Waiting outside the other beasts seemed also to not relish the idea of the massive vault doors being opened. But they kept a keen watch and waited for the return of their chief.
Their kind was a rare sight these days, hunted and killed by the men of the North and south, hounded to the ends of the earth and to places humans seldom ventured. But the fierce pride they carried was not lost, nor was the utter loyalty they had to their leaders. Anyone whom survived a encounter with them, and gained their respect had indeed found new brothers in arms whom would walk into the fires of the abyss itself alongside his or hers side.
The casstellan drew a deep breath when he saw what he had come to wake up from its deep slumber.

For before his eyes, held in place by immense chains lay a beast whom could reduce armies to ash, smash castles to ruin and leave whole provinces as noting more than charred ruins. Its scaled head was as wide as a ox cart and massive yellow fangs could be seen. The scales had the colour of a dark ruby, or some other precious stone. And its two curved horns had the same colour as the finest ivory.
“Wake the wyrm” he said to the Minotaur’s whom fanned out behind him, and with caution took up positions around the great vault.
The leader of the bull men strode across the stone floor and layed down his axe, and picked up a great hammer. The hammer lay beneath a great bell, that had once stood on a old temple. But now it would be used not to call the faithful to worship but to wake the great beast.
Raising the great hammer he swung backwards and with great fierce struck the bell. The deep chiming of the bell seemed to make the very air vibrate and the casstellan could feel it deep in his bones.
At first it seemed the beast had not noticed the tolling of the bell, so he was about to order a second toll when the chains holding the beast began to move, and with a deliberate show of drama the great drake opened one eye and glared at him.

The wyrm whom was called Cuelebre had ever since it had been lured down into this dark place, and by sorcery most foul and treachery bound in chains. But for a wyrm the passing of several years was noting more than the passing of a few heartbeats so to speak.
Now its slumber and brooding was disturbed by that horrid bell, but its mind that had seen aeons go past noted something else...the chains that held her seemed weaken almost as if someone had stolen the sorcery and let only the cold iron remain in place.
As she felt the fire in her form beginning to spread throughout her massive body a plan formed in her mind. Yes he knew now that it was time to show the mere mortals that deceit and treason did not go unpunished when played upon someone like herself.
She knew however that her mind would be her most important weapon to start with, so deciding that playing the part of the docile beast they thought her to be for now would make things run along much easier she opened one eye and glared at the human and his baleful minions.
The stench of sweat and fear from the Minotaur’s whom had sworn service to the mask clad man in front of her made her bile rise. Several of those beasts had made the mistake of thinking that her chains made impossible for her to lunge forwards. But they where more than long enough for her to come within range with fang and claw of those beasts. The taste they had left her with in her mouth was not something she cared to repeat she had decided after that distasteful meal in the time after her capture.
Her memories f their screaming and the panicked rush of their comrades was interrupted by the cold and cruel voice of the human whom had assisted his master in luring her down here.
“So wyrm, I see you have decided to wake from your sleep. I have a proposal to make to you if you care to listen.” the man said and took a step forwards.
He drew a scroll from his cloak and drew a dagger from his belt and bent down, with one hand he held the scroll and the other he jabbed the dagger into the cracks between two of the great stone tiles so it kept the scroll unfolded.
“That scroll contains what my master is offering you wyrm in return for your aid in dealing with the rebels. Either you accept this or you will rot away down here until only your bones and scales remains!” he said and seemed to believe himself her master.

She replied to him in a deep rumbling tone, she kept up the role as the bound captive very well she thought and almost smirked at her own devious plots.
“If I may have a moment to read what your oh so glorious master has penned down I shall give you a answer.” she said and with a deeply concentrated look upon her scaly face read what the bastard has penned down for her on that piece of paper.
The message penned down with black ink and pen was very straight forwards, either she would swear allegiance to the Draconian and let herself be bound by spells and other foul means to his will. And be rewarded with a new place to dwell and the right to devour every, man, woman and child inside the walls of the great citadel that would become hers to occupy. If not she would be sealed of inside the place that now served as her prison. The tunnels leading down to her be collapsed and starvation and madness would claim her life eventually.
“Well what is your answer wyrm! Servitude or eternal damnation!” the casstellan said with a sneer to his tone as he expected the beast before him to accept her fate, and thus recognizing the power his master wielded over all living things.

But the answer he got was far from reassuring, instead what he got was a deep rumbling laughter. It seemed to come from all around and the sheer force of it made his ears hurt. His other servants seemed alarmed by this, and the bull men began to bray in alarm and fear. Even their massive leader took several steps backwards and started to bellow to his kinsfolk.
Then with her reply still ringing in his ears the enormous beast rose to her feet, her yellow eyes with the serpent like pupil wide open as she almost seemed to smile.
Then she roared and the whole world seemed to shake as the great she drake with muscles building under her scaly skin began to break free from her bonds that had kept her chained up for far too long.
The man whom had just moments ago thought himself her master stood there and did not move. Most likely he knew his coming fate, or maybe the primordial fear all men had for the great wyrm had seized control of his mind and body.
As the last chains broke, and the remains of them fell to the cold stone floor the wyrm crept forwards with her long tongue flickering and a stench of sulphur emitting from her nostrils. The Minotaur’s where by now mad with fear and fled before her, she payed them no heed. They would not get far anyhow.
She stopped directly in front of the man and before he had time to even scream she belched fourth a torrent of flames that enveloped him like a wave may cares a swimmer in the sea.
She stomped fourth like a god of the old myths as she broke down the great brass doors and emerged into the halls beyond. Her angry roars echoed up the tunnels,and her footfalls made the stone floors shake as she began her slow crawl up to freedom.
As she paused for a moment she saw the slaves destined for the cooking pots of the now fleeing Minotaur’s and knew this would indeed be a grand day.
The human cattle screamed in absolute horror as she opened her fanged maw and with one massive paw grabbed hold of the nearest prey.
It was a long time indeed since she had tasted man flesh she mused as her great teeth crushed bone and chomped down on the flesh of the screaming victims. Blood and strips of cloths soon decorated her lower and upper jawline as she left the chamber behind her.
As she made her way p the maze of tunnels and grand halls she left behind a scene of utter carnage. Mangled corpses, smouldering remains and a strong scent of sulphur hung in the air as the vengeful drake took her revenge.
As she did so the bells begun to chime on the surface, where those whom had been able to escape the horrid scenes below came pouring out and raised the alarm with frenzied cries and smelling of smoke and charred flesh.
Then Cuelebre whom now could smell freedom and fresh air reached at last the finale massive gate leading out into the inner courtyard.

Outside the great gate the remaining Draconian knights, regular Kels army troops and the few that remained of the Minotaur’s had formed a wall of steel. If the beast wanted to escape their wrath she would need to kill everyone of them.
As the casstellan was noting more than a heap of smouldering ash the command had fallen to the highest ranking knight left alive in Mourgheim.
He was a veteran of many wars and battels, from the brutal wars of suppression against the Picts to the blood soaked sacking of Kaupang.
Now he stood and waited for the beast to emerge from the darkness of the realm below their feet’s.
“Archers! Aim for her eyes and her mouth! The beast is most vulnerable there!” he said to those armed with longbows.
Then suddenly the moaning of iron and wood slowly splintering as something truly massive put her full might into it began to be heard. Then with a roar that shook the very ground the doors where ripped clean of their hinges and the beast emerged with smoke billowing from its nostrils.
“LET FLY MEN!” the commander barked and a cloud of arrows shot across the courtyard and hammered into the beast whom bellowed in anger.
How these puny mortals dared let their metal tipped arrows scratch her beautiful scales she thought as she swiped across their front ranks with one of her great paws. The talons that could rip apart stone reduced men to a red mist or cut them in two.
Then suddenly a sharp pain jabbed trough her left lower jaw, and looking down she saw a either brave man or a incredible stupid one having delivered onto her a swipe from his gleaming sword.
As he pulled back a second strike she bellowed in rage and reared up on her hind legs while her great lungs drew in a huge gulp of air.
Then with a great whoosh she spewed fourth a wall of raging fire that engulfed the courtyard and set men ablaze like morbid torches she put the rest to rout as men simply could not bring themselves to face such a godlike creature whom could engulf their comrades in fire that melted steel and left only behind charred ash.
The only ones whom still dared to oppose her wrath was the black clad knights armed with blades that stung her oh so badly when a blow managed to pierce her hide.
They where foes she did not dare leave alive, for even a wyrm o0f her age and power was not immune to steel blades like the ones they carried.
So not with burning hot rage but cold calculating hate she turned her attention to the ones whom still lived. Let them spend their few moments of life left in awe of her might and dark glory.
She wailed as a blade stung her side. Swinging her frame around and stomping down hard upon th swordsman she reduced him to red gore spread across the cobblestones.
The few men till standing now gave ground to her, and thus came the chance she had been waiting for, as they looked on in awe and terror she flexed her wings, and with a massive demonstration of the sheer power she possed she rose up on beating wings into the heavens above.
Below her the citadel lay thee smouldering, he flames spreading across roofs and between the wooden houses that in between the walls.
With a deep and ear-splitting roar she dived down with flames trailing her wake. Let the cattle run! Let them see the full wrath of a drake whom was enraged and thirsty for revenge.

In the great pavilion where king Erik and his court sat and where busy with the dinner being presented to them, and all seemed peaceful in their shielded zone of comfort while their men died at the walls not far away.
Just as the serving pages where beginning to bring the main course in the old court magician suddenly screamed in absolute terror and fell backwards from his seat near the king.
The man whom was viewed by many of the assembled lords & generals as a man to kept at arms length and who was wise to not openly disagree with, lay on the floor of the pavilion and while blood began to trickle from his eyes and ears wailed like a newborn child as he alone could see a great evil slowly crawling across the floor towards him. His two acolytes whom stood nearby rushed over to his side and tried to calm the old man and to get something meaningful from him had to restrain him with brute force as he began to scream with utter fear taking hold in his voice.
“The darkness! It comes oh it comes crawling fourth from the veil. The chains have been shattered and the beast is once more unbound!”
As he lay there shouting and frothing the king and almost everyone else had gotten to their feet and where looking at the spectacle with raised brows and worried looks.
“What darkness and what beast is he rambling on about! You two make some sense of it or there will be hell to pay! Now get him out and get him to his tent” king Erik said in a tone that left no room for questions.
The remaing men and women looked on the two acolytes whom lifted the by now almost hysterical man between them and hauled him away like someone carrying a wounded man.
As he did however a moment of clarity seemed to pass over him, and with a voice firm with authority as his post gave him the old man spoke.
“The beast we sought to keep chained down, and enslaved has broken her bonds. Now she once more haunts the sky! All will learn to fear her name....beware the scarlet red terror know as Cuelebre!” was the few words he managed to speak before the madness gripped his mind once more, and the struggling acolytes finally managed to drag him out.

Great entry! Nice to see the introduction of a new factor into the power struggle (cool name too ).

Really liked the description of the citadel and thought the depiction of the dragon really did the legends of the old wyrms some justice.

Bring on the gory finale ...

Minotaur's and Dragons! You are spoiling us now. Will we be seeing this beast haunting the skies above the besieged Dunhelm soon? And how will our favourite half troll manage to over come such a foe? I think shes going to need a bigger axe me thinks.
A few missing words but nothing the mind couldn't fill in.I enjoyed this jailbreak. good job, it was a fun read.

Necroagogo wrote:Great entry! Nice to see the introduction of a new factor into the power struggle (cool name too ).

Really liked the description of the citadel and thought the depiction of the dragon really did the legends of the old wyrms some justice.

Bring on the gory finale ...

Glad to hear you approved of the anme, but a helpful spirit wishped in my ear that all would be okay And yes, I wanted to stick to the feel that a dragon is a foe so immensly powerful that mere mortals have very litle hope to stand before it.

Themanwiththeplan wrote:Minotaur's and Dragons! You are spoiling us now. Will we be seeing this beast haunting the skies above the besieged Dunhelm soon? And how will our favourite half troll manage to over come such a foe? I think shes going to need a bigger axe me thinks.
A few missing words but nothing the mind couldn't fill in.I enjoyed this jailbreak. good job, it was a fun read.

Yes i do spil you all dont I? And well.....who knows

Up on the walls a eerie silence had taken over from the clatter and scrape of steel clashing with steel, and the wails of men screaming in pain. Instead there was only the cawing of carrion birds feasting on the heaps of bodies below the walls, and the odd sound of the guards posted there exchanging a few words in hushed and weary tones.
The stones of the ramparts where coloured a deep red, and dotted with broken pieces of weaponry lay all around that no one had taken the time to remove.
Instead the defenders where busy tending to the wounded and seeing the dead off from this cruel world that had ended their life’s. The flames of funeral pyres rose high into the air as the men and women of Dunheim burnt their dead kin on the great central courtyard of the keep.
But even as they fuelled the hungry flames with their dead kinsfolk everyone knew that the pyres would burn long into the night and for many nights to come. Regardless of whom won, many would still pay the ultimate price and be sent of into the after world from this place.

Standing on the walls his men had payed so dearly to defend, the duke of Kaupang stood by his old friend Thorvald surveying the walls. The first ring of walls where still in their hands, and if it should fall they would fall back to the second ring of walls.
Their men where still in high spirits, and although their loses in the terms of dead and wounded had been significant. They still considered themselves lucky. The sheer numbers of their enemies had allowed their archers to hit with almost every arrow and bolt fired.
And the dukes had stationed their most veteran troops on the walls that first day of the siege, allowing the enemy to hurl their far less skilled and trained troops onto their swords. Thus thinning the enemies numbers without too much in the way of losses of their own.
But that had all changed when the war hounds had been let loose. Those devils clad in black armour and savagely trained in the brutal arts of combat to become some of the best, if not the best troops in the north, had lived up to their name. Fighting like a massive pack of war hounds they had dealt the defenders a stinging blow, and only the presences of the boyar upon the walls had stemmed the tide of carnage. That and the giant half troll whom alongside the reluctant queen had acted as a source of inspiration and courage to their men.
In their eyes the young soon to be queen seemed to have undergone a dramatic change. She no longer doubted her origins or her self, but it was clear she had doubts how she would do as a queen. But that fact was a good sign they agreed upon, being nervous about such an important duty as that was no poor character trait.
Then there was her consort....now that was one soul none wanted to cross. Anyone whom happened to anger that hellish woman would most likely be dead before they had finished speaking. And the fact that she had cut down several troll mercenaries, and afterwards hurled herself at the war hounds. Killing the gods only knew how many, made her something of a idol to some of the soldiers. But those traits alone did not make up the legend that was being woven about her. Some of the citizens spoke of her as a demi god, whom had come down from the north to aid the royalists. While other less friendly minded folks called her noting but a rabid barbarian with a very short fuse and habits that left much to be desired from a royal consort. But those whom spoke such options out loud soon found themselves kindly reminded by their friends or comrades that if such words reached the ears of said barbarian. Or most if not everyone of those whom had stood by her side up on the walls, they would make sure they never lived to regret such foolish words uttered in their presence.

“I bloody hope those devils catch some fever and all die down there, it would make this siege much more enjoyable. Not to say a bit easier to live trough than if they keep at it like they have until now.” said Einar whom once had called Kaupang his home, and turned away from the walls.
He left the Thorvald standing there with his thoughts and worries. The two plus duke Brage, had been discussing the day to come. And witch regiments were to man the walls. The archers from the woodland realm of the calm and soft spoken duke had proven to be a key part of their defence. Their skill with the bow was great, and the footmen he had brought with him had also proven their worth.
They had decided it was the turn of the two newly raised regiments and two more seasoned regiments to hold the walls while they kept the other troops in reserve. Plus two regiments of halberds stationed near the the places where the fighting would be the hardest. The knightly order of the Boyars would hold the gate alongside the household regiment of Kaupang.
But the brave men manning the walls could never imagine the events unfolding in the realms marred by the long war, and the grim news that would reach the ears of the false king in two days time.
But when the new day began, and the rain returned. The skies above became witness to the preparations for yet another assault upon the walls. And the hours to come would prove to be a horrid affair.
Down below the royalists could see banners flying in the wind and rain, and much to their dismay they could make out that the enemy had gotten their siege engines into place under the cover of darkness.
Captains and sergeant at arms called out orders to their men just as the first of the massive stones were hurled into the air by the enemy war machines to come whistling down from the sky to fall among the defenders.
“TAKE COVER!” someone yelled as the stone slammed into the wall, and shook a whole section of it. The stone had not breached the wall. But it had done its damage still. A large piece of the parapet lining the wall fell down alongside pieces of stone and masonry.
Then a hail of stones quickly followed in it's wake and began to fall around the men whom scrambled to get clear of the wall.
“If they keep this up they will breach the walls! By the gods may they have mercy on us!” said duke Brage and drew his sword as he stood by the other two dukes and their personal guards and attendants.
“ We must make ready to hold the breach when they do. Brage, Einar. Take your household regiments down there with all the reserves! Do NOT let them enter! I will makes sure the gates do not fall!” said Thorvald and lowered the visor on his helmet as the two men left his side and called their men to their banners.
The rush of men running down the streets were matched by the whistling sounds the massive stones that rained down made as they smashed into the walls or overshoot and sowed havoc in the castle town as they smashed houses. Or struck the streets and showered those around with razor sharp fragments of stone.
It was clear now to all the soldiers, from the most seasoned knight to the raw recruits of the spear regiments. The walls would soon be breached! And then the enemy would flood in like a great wave of anger, steel and hatred.
A group of raw recruits where running down the street, following their comrades with fear gripping their hearths. These young boys and girls whom had never used a weapon in anger had very few illusions of what awaited them when they reached the hole in the wall.

Ashild stood in the cover of a massive tower near where the wall would soon collapse, and the fighting would begin in earnest. Beside her stood Charsi and the large detachment of Boyar knights whom had taken a vow to guard her with their life’s. These men clutched swords and heavy bladed battle axes as they stood and listened to the impacts of massive stones upon the wall that by now where clearly close to collapse.
Over the last day or she had come to terms that she would more likely than not die here, of course she had not told Charsi this, but she suspected that her lover knew none the less. Sometimes words was not necessary between two whom was as close as they where.
Almost whispering under her breath she began to pray to the gods of her people, it was not for comfort or hope. But more for the strength to face her foes, weapon in hand and fury burning in her veins.

“Hear me spirits of the wild, the giants sleeping under the roots of the mountains and the wolf chained up until the end times! Give me the strength to meet my enemies and to split their skulls and send their screaming souls into oblivion! Do this and I will grant you glory” she finished just in time.
For at that moment a massive stone ripped through the wall and sent broken masonry and stone tumbling down as the great wall finally collapsed under the relentless bombardment unleashed by the army outside the walls.
Dust flew everywhere and all around her she could her men coughing and spitting dust.
Then the voices of captains and sergeants at arms sounded and the ranks rushed forwards to plug the gap.
But then everyone standing there heard it, coming closer and closer where the hoarse chanting of countless warriors and the rhythmical stomping of boots.
Then as if by magic the dust got swept away by a gust of wind and the army of Kels could be seen as it came forwards. Howling in unison as they surged forwards.
At the front of this massive army came the black clad war hounds, these men whom renowned for their iron hard will and fanatical loyalty to the false king. Always at the front of any major offensive these men had proven to be more than a match for anything the royalists could muster on several occasions over the years.
They hammered into the defenders like a hammer striking an anvil, their howling and sheer blood lust made the line strain under the fierce assault they mounted. Behind them came the regular Kels soldiers, carrying ladders and other means to scale the walls beside the breach that had been opened.
As they closed the finale few meters up the heaps of rubble and the remains of men whom had no gotten clear of the wall in time their maddening howling reached a peak, and then they slammed into the defenders.
The fight was on and the defenders repayed their hated foes in kind, all along the walls and in the breach itself the shouts and war cries of the defenders rose up to challenge that of their foes.

She ducked under a wide sweep from a axe man and came up hard with her sword leading the way, the gleaming blade slashed across his left hand and then buried itself in his armpit. Where the strong steel point forced the chain mail apart and bit his exposed flesh. He stiffened and sank down with a look of surprise on his face. But there was no time to savour the kill, she kicked him hard in the head with her sabaton and drew the blade free.
Her shield stopped a blow aimed at her chest and her sword intercepted the next. Then she found herself receiving a hail of punishing blows from a very skilled sword fighter, whom where as quick as he was brutally strong.
As she ducked and weaved and half expected to find his sword buried in her own guts she heard a sickening crunch of bone, a sound of something wet giving way and then with a scream of pain her foe fell forwards. A Boyar had buried his heavy battle axe in his spine, and ripped it out. Taking with him chunks of bone and gore.
However her saviour never lived to swing his axe again, for suddenly and with great force several crossbow bolts slammed into his upper chest, and gurgling blood and with a panicked look the man dropped dead onto the ground beside the man he had just killed.
Charsi knew she would mourn the man and all the others whom died later. But for now she was more focused on just keeping herself alive, all around here a gory and brutal fight was swirling back and fourth. She saw the dukes and their personal household troops in the thick of it. She also saw the Boyars with their banner sporting the golden bear stand beside them. And the common soldiers hurling themselves at the enemy whom never seemed to stop coming. The piles of dead where already high and the moan of the wounded and dying added a nightmarish flavour to it all.
Then a loud snarl got her attention and she a wild eyed war hound come at her. His eyes flared with blood fuelled madness, and his mouth frothed as he swung the two axes he carried in a wild but deadly pattern at her. He did not even slow down to measure her worth as a foe as he bayed for her blood.
She snapped her shield up, and tried to break up the swirling pattern his axes weaved as well as avoiding those razor sharp blades. But then as she lunged forwards when she saw a opening he did too, they crashed together, and with panic setting in she realized her grip on her own weapon had gone. When this....beast had somehow avoided impaling himself on it as he had lunged forwards.
His iron hard grip on her sword arm made her almost wince in pain as she desperately tried to pound him with her shield, but before she did he raised his axe and with a evil gleam in his eyes swung down hard.
She jerked her head to the side, and thus barely avoided the blow that would have split her skull like a sword splitting a water melon.
Realizing he had missed he head butted her hard square in the face, and she felt blood begin to flow from her nose and split lip as he continued to pummel her with blows. Then the war hound trooper raised his axe for the finale blow.
But just as the axe was about to fall a looming shadow fell over them both, and with massive force the man was struck directly in his face. The shower of gore, hair and brain fell down on the downed queen who spat and almost vomited from the foul taste.
“Charsi! Are you hurt?” asked a voice she knew from the first word spoken whim it belonged to.
With one bloodstained gauntleted hand Ashild pulled her stricken partner up as fresh troops poured into the fight from both sides.
Her companion looked horrible, bleeding from several gashed on her face, a broken nose and her armour stained with blood and dirt.
Her hair was a mess of sweat and gore, clearly the fighting had been savage and she had not come away unscathed. To be honest she looked like she was about to drop to the ground due to her wounds and sheer fatigue. Speaking with a low voice as they both caught their breaths she said.
“Damned bastard managed to catch me unaware, nicked my left side the devil did.” Ashild said and gestured to her left. Her armour there was stained red with blood, and the padding beneath could be seen.
As Charsi was about to answer her a crossbow bolt came out from no where and slammed into Ashild, the blow knocked the great warrior woman clean of her feet and sent her tumbling backwards with the bolt shaft sticking out from her shoulder.
Charsi stood for a split second and felt terror grip her soul and hearth. But then she regained her senses and with a burning rage and desperation driving her forwards she raced to the side of her downed lover.
A Kels soldier tried to block her way, but that proved to be fatal. With a blood-curdling scream she lifted her sword with both hands and struck him directly in the shoulder and in that one wrathful stroke hacked his limb clean of. He screamed in agony but only a few words managed to leave his mouth before the blade came back and separated his head from his shoulders.
Driven by a anger witch she had never felt before the woman whom never had thought herself a warrior at hearth could almost feel the red mist creep into her mind, all she could think of was to get her beloved away from this madness.
She barely avoided a brutal swing from a sword man and when he swung at her again she blocked with her shield, and used it to deliver a blow to shoulder and while he was recovering from that brief set6back she drove the sword into his leg and kicked him free of the blade.


Ashild lay on the broken rubble and tried to push herself up. But her shoulder hurt like someone had poured a dart of molten iron into her wound. And her vision was blurry and she could feel her whole body screaming for rest. This maddening battle was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, gathering all her remaing strength she tried to rise to her feet. But they would not carry her, and she fell back down again with a groan of pain.
Then she heard the sound of metal shod boots on the rubble, and when looked up she saw Charsi kneeling beside her with several Boyars standing guard around her with more common soldiers taking up the guard too.
She could only make out bits of the words Charsi spoke, and she could see the worry plain to see on her face. She tried to form the words to speak but her strength had by now completely failed her and all she managed was a hoarse moan that sounded something like yes.
Then she felt several pairs of hands grab hold of her and gently lift her up. After that all went dark as the night as unconsciousness claimed her.
As Charsi watched the soldiers gently lift the still form of Ashild up, and with all the speed they could manage carried her away to the temple of the healers she felt s cold spike of dread gripp her guts.
It was the fear of loosing the one person whom she had ever dared to lay her emotions bare to. And the one whom had given her the strength to break free from the bonds holding her.
But alongside that cold fear she felt the hate, the anger and outrage aimed to her foes. Who even now dared to set foot here in this once peaceful place.
Suddenly it was as some unseen force washed away her weariness, her doubts and her fears. She picked her sword up once more. And with a blood lust she did not know dwelled inside her she rejoined the fray.

Duke Einar swung his pole axe down hard, and caught his foe in the knee. The heavy hammer head crushed bone and broke sinews and on the return blow he drove the spiked end of the weapon into the chest of his foe.
All around him the men of his household guard where fighting like lions. Standing like a wall of steel and armour they had cut down all those whom had sought to take this place. Behind them the banner of Kaupang flew proudly in the wind and dared anyone whom thought themselves their equals to come and test their blades against them. They where the amongst the finest soldiers to be found in the north, and even the frothing mad men of the War hounds knew better than to doubt their skill at arms and valour. But even their unbreakable will was not enough, his men had bled and died here today. And he knew of those whom had marched to this place with him few would see the end of this nightmare.
“Here they come again!” he called with a firm voice as a new wave of foes came at them, these men where no raw recruits or regular soldiers, these where the knights of the enemy force that had dismounted and now fought on foot. Clad in solid plate armour and armed to the teeth they came forwards backed up by armoured sword men and halberds.
Then with a massive crash the two lines came together, and the killing started once more. All around he could hear the crash of weapons and thud of blocked blows.
The two sides tore into each other like rabid dogs fighting over territory, the army fot eh king had formed a wedge and sought to break the lines of the royalist with this powerful charge. But the men they meet knew how to greet this.

Blows rained down and men cried out in pain and fear as cold steel bit into warm bodies. And bodies dropped down without a sound when a blade delivered instant death to the receiver of the blow. The fighting was at its most brutal near the royal banner where Charsi, whom had chosen to stay behind and fight rather than to go with her wounded lover stood. And around the banner of Kaupang.
Then as the royalists had managed to hurl back yet another frenzied charge at their now thinning ranks the Kels army seemed to take a step back. And held its men back instead of charging once more into the ranks of their foes.
As they did the pounding of great drums could be heard and the ranks split up to make way for something or someone, then the defenders saw what was marching fourth.
Ranks upon ranks of black clad knights marching under a single baleful banner depicting the gaping maw of a great wyrm, with faces hidden from the eyes of those around them and gauntleted hands gripping cold steel the Draconian guard took up formations and stood silently as if awating the signal to begin their attack.

But despite the fear these wraith like men spread wherever they went none of them could hope to rival the man whom ruled their order with a iron fist. He was the one who had put countless thousands to the sword when the armies of Kels crushed the armies of the city states during the last war with them.
To say he was a feared man was to understate his reputation as a carrion lord. Someone damned to rest in the darkest layer of the abyss when death finally claimed his rotten soul.
He walked along the path that had formed between his men and looked up at the ruined walls and corps strew hill leading up to the breach.
Not a word escaped his lips as he surveyed the task that lay ahead of him. He then turned to look back at the ranks of the assembled Draconian warriors, drawing his sword that seemed to glimmer with unholy light he spoke a few chosen words to his nearby attendants. And with the blare of horns and pounding of war drums the black tide began to roll forwards like a avalanche of evil.

While the dark horde began its assault upon the royalists still standing tall a being far older than any of the petty kingdoms of the north where devouring her latest meal. The stench of sulphur and burnt flesh hung heavily in the air. The wind picked up grains of the sooth and sent it flying.
The large party of men, horses and carts hauling supplies to the armies laying siege to Dunheim had been ambushed by Cuelebre as they had begun the slow descent down from the border mountains.
The great female drake had caught sight of them as she followed the trail of devastation left behind by the armies she followed. The burnt down towns, farms and desolate landscape below told her that the prey she seeked had come this way. As she placed one scaly paw upon the partially burnt carcase of a horse and ripped the dead animal apart in a shower of gore and ruptured guts she savoured the taste of the horse.
But her mind did not rest as she ate the remains of men and horses, she knew that to confront an army of the size that the devil had had imprisoned her was a foolish thing to do. But she had no allies nor did she have a mate to aid her.
But so set on revenge was the old drake that her more reckless side won more and more ground in her mind.
“Fear me human, for death is coming for you!” she snarled to no one in particular as she was about to take flight. And in sheer vengeful lust she let a great roar echo in the silent valley.

Not looking good for Ashild is it. And I liked the savage fighting of the breach.
Oh, and DRAGON! Having one of those in a story is always a winner IMO.

No it definitly dose not look good for her.....And yes it is always nice with a DRAGON as you so nicely put ut.

Ashild won't let a mere scratch like that slow her down!

Having a Drake on your side helps in any battle ... just look at the Armada

Great entry Trondheim - the ending's going to be epic.

Nice new entry. You've done a great job of depicting just how chaotic combat is. I can't find any problems with the story as a whole. That said, there are a few sentences that need some work.

"They hammered into the defenders like a hammer striking an anvil" is redundant. It would work better as "They hammered into the defenders".

"She ducked under a wide sweep from a axe man and came up hard with her sword leading the way, the gleaming blade slashed across his left hand and then buried itself in his armpit." is good, but it would work better as two sentences, as in "She ducked under a wide sweep from an axe man and came up hard with her sword leading the way. The gleaming blade slashed across his left hand and then buried itself in his armpit."

"A Boyar had buried his heavy battle axe in his spine, and ripped it out. Taking with him chunks of bone and gore" would work better as one sentence, as in "A Boyar had buried his heavy battle axe in his spine and ripped it out, taking with him chunks of bone and gore."

"Ashild lay on the broken rubble and tried to push herself up." Lay is present tense. It should be laid instead.

I'm eager for the new entry. It'll be interesting to see Duke Einar fight Charsi. Einar is an experienced warrior, but Charsi has something he doesn't; fury.

Yea, i know some of mmy sentecens needs working on. I do try however, but I fail to see why the Duke Einar would figt Charsi. Since they both figth for the same cause, I think I may have mixed a name or two up. But Charsi will none the less be figthing a foe that will push her to the edge of her survival.

Sorry about that, I think I got some names mixed up.

No worries LL, it happens to us all=)

*Bump*.

Where's the epic finale?

Sorry for the very long delay. Life has thrown several spanners in the works, mixed with a massive case of authours block. But I have been trying to get it done, as this is being typed I am at the finale few pages. I hope to have it done soon, sorry to all my fatefull readers that has been so extremly patience with me.

Best regards, Trondheim

So here it is, the conclusion to the long, maybe far to long story that I have been posting on and of here on dakka. I hope it comes across as at least okay. If not well you all know the drill. Due to events over the last few days the story may not live up to the hype. Anyhow onwards to the end eh?


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The sound of rushing feet was all Ashild could hear as they carried the stricken royal consort to the healers of the solemn church. They passed the great oak gate decorated with ornate scenes taken from the mythology of the monks and nuns whom dwelled inside these white limestone walls.
As they did so they passed the small but highly dedicated and trained warrior monks whom stood guard over the stricken.
Their ornate suits of heavy scale armour and full faced helms gave them a almost inhumane look, but these silent guardians of the temple where no strangers to war dispite their snow white robes. Each one a veteran of long years spent defending and aiding the down trodden and the needy. But also of countless bloody battles waged in the name of their religion and zeal. Though in this war they had not taken any sides, nor would they. For when the argument between nobles ran hot and steel where drawn, they held themselves above such conflicts. Their sacred oaths forbidding them to aid the powerful to lay waste to the lands they had sworn to defend.
The men carrying Ashild, whom by now hovered on the edge of the real of this world and the dream world, crossed a small courtyard where the silent forms of those whom had lost the fight to cling to life lay under white linen on the cold ground.
A lone monk clasping prayer beads walked slowly from one shrouded body to the other whispering a silent prayer, and granting each man absolution for his past sins to send their soul to the afterlife with the blessing of the church.
She drifted into a semi waken state and became aware of how weak and helpless she felt. The steady trickle of blood from the wound in her left side, and the crossbow bolt wound in her shoulder had continued to flow freely.
Each time the ones whom carried her took a step a small jolt of pain flared up somewhere in her ravaged body. Forcing her to grit her teeth to bite off the groans of building pain.
Just as she was about to drift of again she could hear the muffled voices of someone that was clearly not a soldier. She was carefully shifted from the stretcher used to carry her over into a table of some sorts where she felt someone beginning to undo her armour.
Then darkness swallowed her, and she could no longer sense anything but that blissful darkness and the soothing effects of the dream realm.

As she drifted she felt as if someone was watching her. But when she tried to look about for any onlookers all she could see was a dark sky above, and the feeling of heat caressing her bruised skin.
I see even war and ruin can not make you sleep poorly said a voice that she instantly recognized. Stumbling up on unsteady feet Ashild saw the robed figure of the man whom had visited her dreams on that gruesome night in the cold and wet woods.
Leaning on his staff and gently stroking a golden hawk, Toth Amon looked like he had aged since their last encounter. His bronze tinted skin had faded into a pale greyish tone. But his eyes still burnt like two roaring furnaces.
'As I told you on that first night when we crossed paths so to speak, it has taken a definitive turn for the worse. As you may remember I told you of the coming of the lost heir, and the role you would come to play in making sure she got the chance to seize her throne. Even as we speak she fights like a lion to defend it, and more importantly side by side with those whom would bow before her.' The old man said and with a clap of his hands conjured a image of a swirling battle that raged on below them.
In the strong wind that had come howling down from the mountains around Dunheim the royal banner flew defiantly beside the two banners of the two noblemen standing beside her displaying their loyalty.
The men whom were still standing had formed a wall of steel and burning anger to hold back the tide of darkness that was pounding them like a smith hammering a piece of burning hot steel fresh from the forge.
At the very front the proud woman from the north could see a distinct figure trading blows with a black clad wraith before planting her sword in his skull. Beside her a man slammed his two handed pole axe down upon a another foe that had been knocked to his knees.
Although the royalists where making their foes pay for every inch with blood and a staggering amount of fallen soldiers, they where not far from being put to flight.

'Why have you taken me here dream walker! To make me beg for aid? Or to reward me with yet another prophecy any drunken fool could have told me instead!' Ashild snapped. It stung to see Charsi standing against such horrid odds without being able to grab her weapon and wade into the fray beside her.
These words seemed to only make the man smile, but it was a smile that made her shiver with primordial fear. It was definitely something with that man beside his considerable powers, both with sorcery and other things that made her shiver even in this dream scape.
'I see even the bite of cold steel can not bind that tongue of yours...... but I suppose every saga needs a hero that seldom knows when silence is gold. But seeing how the gallant defenders below us will sooner or later be washed aside by the sea of darkness I will do something I seldom even consider doing.'
the man raised one skeletal hand to display a ring. It was a very ornate gold ring with a stone that seemed to change before her eyes. In its depths she could have sworn she saw flashes of fire and the ghostly reflections of light.
The man clad in simple yet finely dark cobalt blue robes standing before her then slid the ring off his finger and placed it in the palm of his hand.
'You wish to once more feel the brush of the wind in your hair, the song of arrows and swords around you. And the rush of blood as you clash with your foes? Then claim this ring as your own. But know that doing so may cause you to walk paths not foreseen.'

She hesitated for a moment and fixed him with a baleful glare. Her mind filled with countless questions and doubts. But those trivial things where cast aside by the pounding feeling her hearth gave her. Damn the consequences, damn the old fart if she could once more stand by Charsi, to feel her small hands in hers and to lay beside her in bed watching her sleeping rythem(?). Reaching for the ring with one hand, she said not a word, nor did she speak when she slid it down onto her finger. A tingling sensation spread across her body as the ring came to rest on her finger. She adjusted the ring with one hand, and to her surprise she felt herself visibly tremble as she did.
As she was about to ask the man what awaited her now she became aware of the sense of raw power flowing trough her veins. A burning lust for bloodshed and mayhem boiled away in her mind. Never had the warrior from the north felt such raw power fill her body. Almost as if by instinct she reached for her axe, but found it not to be there.
'I see you have made acquaintances with the powers within the ring. Good, very good! Those very powers will grant you the strength to do what you wish. But know this, take heed when the wyrm comes!'

'Wyrm? A fancy name for the bastard who started this bloody mess. Or is there something else you have causally failed to mention' The half troll asked glaring at the wizard with suspicion in her eyes.

“No I have not, I trust you have heard the old legends and folk tales? About creatures so massive and so powerful that armies crumble under their wrath. And kingdoms perish in ashes and flame. Their lust for blood and gold, and their scaled bodies being lifted into the air by great wings.”

“By the gods man! Do you think me a fool? The tales of old men and drunkards seldom carry much truth in these realms. But I will look out for any such 'beasts', just in case.”
Her response seemed to have bitten home with the old man, he let out a deep sigh and spoke in a suddenly weary tone.


“ I do not blame you for viewing my words with a sceptical view. But I do wish you would heed the warning I gave you, the drake is coming! There is no doubt about it. The destruction unleashed by the mad throne robber would alone be enough to draw its attention. But the beast comes not for plunder, fresh prey or material gains. She hungers for revenge too, I have for many long years quested for the answer to the riddle of her sudden act of departure from her lair near the top of the world. With means most foul did the king and his henchmen inflict great suffering upon the beast, and forced her to do their bidding. And in doing so their nearly ruined her mind, she is for all intentions mad with grief. But by some unknown miracle or divine intervention the bond that held her to their service where broken a few nights ago. Her wrath will not stop burning for a long time to come.”

This open hearted and frank statement of something similar to despair, or maybe just the weight of many long years pressing down upon him made Ashild behold the man with a new sense of understanding.
She looked upon the ring with a new sense of urgency, and looked at her host in this dream scape with her ice blue eyes and spoke.
“Then tell me what I must do to ensure that my beloved Charsi lives to see a new sunrise, no matter the cost to myself.”
While Ashild walked in the realm of the spirits and dreams the nuns and monk tending to her wounds where working hard to save her, although they did not know that someone else was already giving them a hand in making sure the brown haired tempest of destruction survived. They cut away the bloody padding under her armour, pulled gore stained boots of and removed the other cloths she wore under the heavy armour.
The wound in her side seeped blood in a slow trickle that dripped down onto the white marble floor. While the wound in her shoulder where being carefully mended and sown shut after the bolt had been removed by a steady handed monk. For hours the servants of the church toiled away until every wound, scrape and cut had been tended to, then they summoned two of the temple guard to aid them in getting the unconscious woman into a bed that stood beside a great fireplace.
As the nun whom had been given the task of sitting vigil of the sleeping royal consort had finished making sure the patient was comfortable, she took her seat near the fire and sat there sorting various medicinal herbs.
Under the sheets Ashild began to twitch, as if someone where preforming some sort of rite upon her mauled form. The only clues to this where the occasional low moan or slight movement of closed eyelids.

The duke of Kaupang stood with his men as they cut down the filth that dared to set foot in this place. But the number of men that wore his colours where now a far cry from the number of men whom had been with him when the walls first fell.
But by the gods had they given the enemy a bloody nose, great mounds of enemy dead lay before them and the steady rise and fall of axes, swords and hammers added to the tally of the dead with each fall of the steel.
He swung at a man with his pole axe and caught the black clad warrior in the side. His foe fell backwards and howled in pain as the gore stained steel crushed bone and cleaved flesh after having ruined his armour.
Then suddenly a shadow fell over him and as he turned to face his new foe he knew he was going to die now. Because there before him stood the looming and horrid figure of the Draconian Marshal, his blade gleamed with a evil light and his face mask set in a grin that displayed dark iron teeth.
Before the proud and noble lord could raise his blood stained weapon to defend himself the foul blade found its mark, driven home by the hatred, the burning fury and cold murderous joy his killer carried in his dark hearth, as he watched the duke of Kaupang gape in horror as his sword ended his rebellion.
As the duke slid down from the cold blade his men cried out in horror and rage, and as if a collective madness had gripped them hurled themselves at the foes with no sense of fear or wish to survive. Despite taking many of their foes with them the last few men of the household regiment of Kaupang fell before the hammers, axes and swords of their nemesis, whom walked over the dead and dying without taking notice of the ones that had given their life’s for the royal cause.
With the death of their lord all resemblance of order vanished from the ranks, and the battle went from two ordered lines of men hurling themselves at each other to a mixture of men fleeing and those whom where determined to die standing their ground.
The few of the banner guard that still lived closed ranks around the banner of Kaupang and meet their deaths with grim faces and silence.
But the common soldiers showed no such attitudes, when the battle turned many where gripped by despair and fled the fight, seeking to reach the second gate, and thus evading death for a time being at least.
But in doing so they only invited mayhem and bloodshed to follow in their wake.

If a spectator to this gory and bloodstained chaos where to look down from up high in the sky he or she would have seen the great breach in the wall, where the war machines of the armies of Kels had made a great hole in the once majestic and sturdy wall. Beyond that the great heaps of dead and dying men would be seen, the moaning of the dying and wounded mingling with the sound of weapons rising and falling as they where dispatched by the waves of blood thirsty Kelsmen that now swarmed into the city that lay beyond those massive walls.
The fight had gone from a valiant defence to a rout, the fleeing soldiers of the royalist army ran with blood pounding, and their enemies at their heels.
They left behind the poor common folk that had seeked shelter in the town that where now being put to the torch.
But to say that the enemy now had free reign and all was lost would be wrong. From the second set of walls arrows and crossbow bolts zipped down and cut down many of the men that where hell bent on plundering and all out mayhem. There where also those whom tried to rally their comrades and to try and stop the advance of their foes.
The Draconian marshal stood and watched the smoke begin to billow up from the burning town houses and other buildings. His blade had drunk deeply and his armour and dark robes where splattered with the deep red stains left by blood and gore. He had thrown away his face mask. And his horribly mutilated face was for all to see. But it was his eyes that spoke of the burning hatred bordering onto madness that raged in his dark hearth as he ordered his men into the city. With a voice from beyond the grave he spoke.
“ Move into the city, slaughter all inside and bring me the beating hearth of the whore they dare call queen!”
His underlings motivated by the promise of plunder, women and vengeance did not hesitate to attend this task with unholy zeal.


Charsi gulped for air as she felt her legs sting with pain, running in armour was damned hard. But that paled to the other reasons that made her almost wet herself with fear and panic. She and the remainder of the men holding the breach in the wall with the two dukes had reached the second gate. And now she tried to catch her breath and ready her mind for a new bloody fight for this gate too. The scene of Einar dying at the hands of that black clad mongrel made her bile rise, and she suddenly felt very sick. Bending over she vomited and tried to rally her herself, in the background she could hear the barking of sergeants and the calm and steady voice of the old duke Thorvald that tried to form what remained of his men into a somewhat decent battle line.
But from beyond the gate and down in the now lost castle town the stench of burning flesh and the screams of the unlucky souls to be trapped down there with the army that was surely making ready to try and breach the second gate there was noting to be done for.
Those thoughts made her gag once more and she felt the sting of bile in her mouth.
Her whole form reeked of blood, sweat and fear and the smell of it all did not do much for her. But as she stood there feeling ready to just let some Kelsman hack her down and be done with it all. She heard the faint but distinct sounds of the great slaughter that where unfolding behind that massive gate.
The screaming and wailing gnawed at her nerves, and made her blood itch with a lust for the death of those devils that where running rampart amongst the defenceless.
Feeling a surge of strength she did not know she had in her, the batherd and bloodied queen stood up and drew her sword.
Her mind where a tattered mess, and she was sure at one point in the not to distant future the horror of this madness would leave her a weeping wreck. But she knew she needed to be strong, and to keep her guard up. She owned Ashild and her other companions that as well.
As she brooded over those things a familiar voice reached out to her.
“My queen, are you wounded?” The man whom had spoken where the old duke of Noregard, he looked ragged and battered but his eyes still glimmered with a will to fight.
His armour was covered in blood and the sword he carried seemed to have seen heavy use in the desperate fight near the first gate and in the fighting withdrawal back trough the city to the second gate.
The response he got from the young queen was about as grim as she herself looked.
“I do not know Thorvald, nor do I think that any wounds I may have will be my biggest worry. I fear the enemy will bring that gate down before I drop dead” the gore stained woman said and used a rag to wipe blood of her face before gulping down a large cup of water handed to her by a pale looking serving girl.
“Hmm I see, I would still feel better if you would allow someone to look you over. Cant have you missing the last piece of this dance of death” the old man said and looked at her with eyes that showed his genuine worry for her.
So with a mixture of weariness and perhaps the weight of all those whom had died fighting to hold the walls Charsi allowed herself to be examined by the healers that looked almost dead from exhaustion themselves. As they removed her battered armour and looked the young queen over her mind drifted to Ashild, and she wondered if she would ever she her lover again.
But the longing for her lover, and the baying horde at the gates would soon cease to be her biggest and most lethal problem at hand.

The sky was dark with the gathering storm clouds and thunder rumbled far away of the mountains as the drake Cuelebre soared high above the mountains below. She had feasted on both horse and man, and she was for the first time in many years not plagued by the feeling of hunger. But the fiery hatred towards those whom had imprisoned her, those whom had kept her chained up like a mere wild animal still burnt bright as the first time those cursed chains had been locked around her neck.
As she soared in the company of the gathering storm she could have been mistaken for grinning from ear to ear, but the grin revealed great teeth. And pieces of armour, weaponry and bone stuck between those massive fangs.
Then a opening in the clouds below revealed to her something that made her blood rise. Down there she could see smoke rising, and the massive walls of a citadel that seemed to be under siege.
She had pieced together what her prey was looking to achieve, but that the fools would gather themselves in one place for her to bathe them all in flame was surprising to her draconian mind. But then again, humans did lots of things that made her wonder how they had managed to evolve from whatever primitive creature that had spawned their wrenched race.
But she knew that she would need to pick her moment to strike, even for a drake like her death could come calling. So merely growling she began a slow descent down towards the great mountain peaks that looked down onto the besieged citadel.
They would never seen their death coming, only the sound of her massive wings and the burning fury she intend to unleash would be their warning.


In the church where Ashild lay, the nurse that sat watch over the sleeping royal consort looked up from the heap of medicinal herbs she had been busy sorting, and preparing for use later on.
She could have sworn she had heard the massive warrior woman moan in her sleep, deciding that it was better to see if she had by some divine miracle awoken or if it was mere dreams troubling the wounded woman.
Getting up from her wooden chair and walking across the cold stone floor with her back to the fireplace that kept the worst of the night cold at bay she stood by her side, and layed one hand carefully on the forehead of her charge.
It was like touching a warm rock heated in the fires of a camp fire, as she reached for a cold cloth to wash the sweat away and to provide some relief from the fever that no doubt was raging inside the poor woman.
As she was about to start her care her hand was suddenly gripped by a battle scarred and bloodstained hand. She cried out in shock and fear and then she starred directly into the wide open eyes of the woman named Ashild.
Even if the grip of the brown haired woman hurt the nurse, whom was experienced in dealing with those wounded in battle could see that the fever still hung on, but still she called out for someone to come and help her with the sudden awaking of the royal consort.
The doors where opened and several robed monks and nurses entered the room, and gathered round the bed where their charge lay.
As they began to examine her and discovering both to their amazement and somewhat worry that the grievous wounds the woman had suffered where already beginning to mend, and that her fever seemed to receding.
But in their amazement they failed to notice the rind on her left hand, the dark stone set into the gold swirled with light and what seemed like golden coloured mist. As the mist and light continued to swirl and glow a strange light began to appear in the mist.
But this was not seen, or if it was maybe the ones tending to the feverish woman thought it noting more than a piece of jewellery from some strange part of the world.

Ashild felt as she was watching herself from above, she could feel the hands of the nurses and monks tending to her mauled form as they examined the wounds she had felt healing since the moment they ceased their examination and care of her. And left her to rest in silence and with the now somewhat stressed nurse at her side.
But she could also sense the presence of something else around her, it was if she was in the company of some ancient and massively powerful spirit. She could feel this being reach out to her and touch her very soul, and the notion of just that made her almost cry out in primordial fear. But someone she sensed that whatever was reaching out to her was not of a hostile mind.
She suddenly sensed a shift in the mood of the spirit as images began to form before her eyes. She could see the whole citadel burning, the smoking remains of armies ground to ashes. And to her horror the mutilated corps of Charsi laying in between great piles of dead and dying men.
This nightmarish scene where then drowned out by a earth shattering roaring followed by the beating of massive wings, and a sense of utter dread.
Then she saw it, scarlet red as the morning sky after a bloody battle and with eyes that radiated pure hate and burning madness the beast landed on top the of the crumbling wall and let out a rolling wave of flame and black foul smelling smoke.
Then the vision passed and she felt the being that shared this state of limbo in time with her almost make a demand. It did not speak but she felt its thought non the less in her mind. '
“What do you say? Will you allow the day of fire and despair to be fulfilled, and to condemn your loved one to such a undignified demise....Or do you wish to fight with all your strength and maybe stand a chance to feel her embrace once more.”
Then the pain bit down hard, and in a fever driven nightmare she screamed, making her caretakers almost jump in shock and surprise.
For within her body the transformation had begun the moment she had answered the spirit.
Cuelebre took in the smell of the carnage that had unfolded both outside the now broken walls of the citadel. And in the gaping breach in its once imposing walls, the smell of carrion made saliva drip down in massive foul smelling drops as she allowed her eyes to drift down to the immense city of tents and pavilions erected down upon the bottom of the great valley the citadel overlooked.
Her sense of smell informed her that there where gold to be found down there, and in great amounts. The treasure would be a modest beginning to her new horde of looted and stolen treasures she decided.
Such where her dreams of rebuilding what she had lost that she almost lost her self in dreaming, but the wind blowing hard on the mountain top she had landed woke her from her moment of solitude.
“Let us dance then wrenched beasts” she growled as she began to spread her wings and took flight.
With a roar so loud, so fierce and filled with so much unrestrained animalistic rage she dropped from the sky like a hawk, her massive wings propelled her trough the air like a massive bird of prey. She swooped low over the tree tops as smoke and fire began to seep out of her great nostrils as she banked hard to one side and rose up over a low mountain top.

The first sign of her coming to both noble defenders and to those whom seeked to end their resistance was the gale that came out of the mountains, it was a wind unlike anything else those whom felt its embrace had ever felt. As it swept along the corps filled streets and now silent ramparts of the outer wall a deep rumbling could be felt, it steadily grew until it exploded into a roar that made the very ground shake and men to look to the sky in utter dread.
Then came the sound of something ancient beyond the understand of mere men flying trough the cold air carried upon great wings.
The first ones to feel her wrath was those whom where still either resting, or preparing down amongst the countless tents and shelters erected down on the valley plains. The scarlet terror struck like a mountain bear striking a hunter that has angered it. Men and women screamed in utter terror as she flew low over them and bathed them in fiery doom and death. Arrows zipped up to greet her but those that struck her could never hope to pierce her scales, not did those foolish enough to insult her in such a way live to take aim again.
As the great beast swooped down low and crushed men, horses and carts in her massive jaws she felt a surge of pure unrestrained lust well up inside her. Oh what she would not have given for the company of a massive male drake at that moment of slaughter and fire.
She rose up and turned in the air and looked down upon the trail of ruin she had left behind, the great camp was a blazing inferno by now, the fires had spread and she could see the pitiful humans scatter before her wrath and seeking to flee into the mountains.

In the citadel utter mayhem reigned now, men where shouting in fear and confusion as the great beast reduced their camp to ash and cinders. That mixed with the raw primeval fear a dragon awoke in all but the most cold hearted or brave of men.
As her shadow eclipsed those fighting in in the burning remains of the castle town, and those whom where attempting to beat down the the second gate, and thus breaking open the last obstacle to their victory there where those whom looked up at her and felt noting in the way of fear. The black clad Draconian knights gripped their blades and made ready to greet the foul beast when it decided to land. Leaving the lesser men of the army to either flee or take their chances with the rebels. Whom where also looking to the sky with fear gripping their hearths and minds.

The marshal of the Draconian guard stood and watched the beast engulf a whole column of foot soldiers and knights in a torrent of fire and smoke. His features expressionless as the screaming of burning men filled the air, but his air of utter emotionless where disturbed when he heard a voice he knew all too well call out to him.
The voice belonged to the coward of a king he had been forced to serve, to watch over as the spoiled whore son ruined the land with his mad schemes and deranged ways. To think he had ever thought of the now wine soaked fool as a man worth swearing his sword to. But oaths where not easily broken, now even for one whom had raised his sword against the old king. And killed countless of those whom had sought to make him pay for his betrayal.
It was at that moment he decided it would no longer be allowed to continue, let the drunk oaf spill his swivel first thought. So to make the shock of what was about to come so much more unpleasant.

King Erik looked worse for wear, his cloths stained by sooth and he reeked of smoke and the stench of charred flesh hung heavily around him. Although the throne robber himself had escaped the fiery carnage without any wounds those whom had swarmed around him, jousting for his attention had been blessed or maybe more fittingly cursed with less luck than their monarch.
Many of them had been reduced to ash or horribly burnt as their tents and pavilions had gone up in smoke.
The man look on the verge of going mad, his eyes wide and he coughed as he swore most foul and seemed to want to call down the wrath of the gods themselves upon the collections of foes arrayed before him.
With eyes red from the acrid smoke and a shaking to his voice he addressed his marshal.
“The beast....the drake! She is loose! How in the nine circles of the abyss could this happen! YOU SWORE SHE COULD NOT ESCAPE HER CHAINS!” the now clearly deranged monarch shouted with a almost panicked voice at his marshal and the surviving nobles in general that had taken refuge inside the breached walls alongside their king.
The marshal to his credit kept his silence as his king continued to berate him.
“You who swore to serve me unto death, to enforce my will and obey my every command. But you failed me! You failed the lands of Kels and thus you are of no further use to the kingdom. For your failures you will be hung, drawn and quartered when this madness is dealt with”

when the mad king, whom had fallen from the heights of power when the scarlet beast came down to let her fiery breath sweep his massed armies away, had finished speaking it was the turn of the marshal to speak with his cold voice that seemed to come from beyond the grave. His eyes seemed to radiate the promise of a fate far worse than death.
“ Oh my king, you no longer hold any sway over me and mine, My oath to you where noting but a hollow lie! I would rather carve my own hearth out, and toss it onto the sacrificial fires than to serve you with honour and pride.”
Pausing to bark a command in a guttural tongue, that sounded more like the angry snarls of a beast than words spoken by a man.
The surviving Draconian knights drew in unison their cold steel and began to walk slowly toward the nobles, common soldiers and assorted consorts and women that had fled with their king from the mayhem that lay behind them.
“Treason! Treachery from my own beloved guards. So your scheme has been for the throne you mutilated devil!” the king spat , and with drunken bravado and perhaps fear gripping his black hearth drew his own seldom used sword. As the now disgraced king, and his shirking court of honour-less dogs faced betrayal and their own bloody demise, someone else was also suffering.

Ashild screamed as the pain kept on ravaging her body, and the searing heat that had begun to emit from the ring made her arm feel as if it had been dipped into molten iron.
Driven almost mad by the pain, the fear and the feeling of despair the warrior woman began to push herself up from her sick bed, her caretakers whom tried to force her back down, discovered much to their surprise and shock that the woman they tended to still had considerable strength in her body.
With one backhanded blow she sent a nurse reeling while a monk dropped to the ground when she head butted him. Those whom did not feel her murderous strength fled before her, deciding that between she more than likely was a lost cause. And that to risk injury trying to save her broken mind was futile when the very floor shook as the beast that had come down from the mountains flew over and let out a fearsome howl of glee as she spat fire down onto those whom covered below her.
She stumbled out of the room she had been laying in, and when she did the smell of smoke, brimstone and the raw scent of fear washed towards her primeval senses. Deep inside her she could sense both the legacy her father had given her, and that of the thing that was even now transforming her body, causing her her to weep and moan in pain.
But even in this ravaged state she would not lie down and die, taking one painful step after another while the fever and the transformation that now began to show in several ways tormented her body she staggered out onto the open courtyard with its white marble floor that once had been pristine and decorated with ornate mosaics. But now it was covered in the bodies of the dead and sooth blew trough the air as the distant roars from the great dragon sounded over the fading sounds of battle coming from the walls and the last gate still in the hands of the royalists.

As the tormented and haggard woman looked up with eyes that where filled with tears, and she felt the barely mended wounds she had sustained sending fresh waves of agony trough her body. With a scream of despair and with that last act of defiance she allowed the spirit that had resided inside the ring she had on her hand to overwhelm her.
The pain was such that she in between the waves of fresh pain felt something warm trickel down her legs and pool beneath her now prone form.
Memories started to swirl past in her mind, she saw the man that had tried to claim her as his bride. She saw herself desperately fighting his drunken advances of, and her own hands driving the blade into his guts.
Then the warrior witnessed her tribe judge her, and forever condemn her to a life alone in the windswept wild. Then more recent memories passed her by. She thought that this was the last moments before her death. Then she saw the memories of the thing that had resided inside the ring for so very long. But the being that had escaped its prison inside the ring had other ideas, it could feel the presence of the dragon that had layed waste to this place. The transformation already under way now started to show, her hair started to fall from her head.
Sickening sounds of bone, skin and flesh being ripped and broken apart by the force of the change filled the air. And with the sound similar to thunder the courtyard became awash in a eerie pale light that would have burnt the eyes out of anyone foolish enough to look on.
Then the light began to fade, and in place of the wounded and battered woman there was now something truly more massive.
A great body covered in pale almost golden scales that ended in a long powerful tail, and with strong limbs that ended in talons that could rip a man apart with the slightest move dug into the now stained and pitted marble. Above this great wings unfolded.
The head of this beast that had once been a warrior woman from the north was scaled as the rest of her new body, with teeth like great knifes and eyes that where unsettling blue and human in their appearance.
Then as the pain subsidised and the sensation of raw power began to be felt the spirit spoke to her.
“Now I have granted you my true form, and the means to save your lover. And to end the tyranny one way or the other. How you do this is up to you” the aeon old being said with a voice that sounded like the cold wind that used to sweep over the north lands.
As if to answer her now silent ally the beast that had once been Ashild howled and began to beat her great wings, and as the draft from the wing beats began to fan the flames that had taken hold in the war torn monastery. The fleeing nuns and monks looked up in dread at the beast that now joined the mayhem in the skies above their heads.
Meanwhile this dreadful new actor took the stage the last of the still living royalists, and their kindred looked down at the remains of the Kels army. The fighting had died down when the beast had swept down from the mountains and unleashed her fiery wrath. That and the sudden disappearance of the black clad knights alongside their king had seemingly robbed the soldiers of Kels of their will to fight on. Instead some fled while others took the chance at looting and robbing what remained of the smouldering castle town, and its inhabitants that had not made it to safety beyond the last gate still to stand.
The royalists however did not break into cheers of victory or relief to see their enemies mill about, instead they looked to the skies and felt dread gripp their guts. For the great scarlet beast where now returning to the citadel she intended to claim as her new lair. Behind her the farm lands and the utterly ruined encampment of the once massive armies of Kels where noting more than a ash and carcass strewn field of sorrow.

Charsi stood beside the old man and those of the nobles that had survived the battle so far, she was almost half dead from exhaustion and she felt her guts churn with the mixed sensation of worry and a sense of impending death. But still, she had to play her part as the queen these brave men had died to defend.
Now all that remained of the once proud regiments that had been at their command at the start of the siege was a fewer than four badly mangled ones. And those where not knights in shining armour and equipped with their noble war horses. There where also the as expected sole survivors and wounded of other fighting units, but not enough to oust the enemy. Of the Boyars there where less then a hundred still alive and in any shape to lift a sword. Those iron willed warriors had bought the rest of those alive enough time to flee and regroup. But in doing so they had been badly bloodied. Now the survival of their knightly order looked grim.
Their ad hoch leader was a young man, with a face set in stone. But with eyes that showed his grief for his now dead comrades that lay as crow fodder. But he stood by her side as she spoke with the lord of this ruined citadel.

“Damn this war, damn these wrenched walls and trice damn that beast! I would give my very soul for a single moment of clarity and peace before I die here like a trapped beast!” the old duke said as he looked down at the soldiers of Kels acting like rabid dogs. He had seen all the hard work laid down by countless of his underlings ruined, his lands set ablaze by a false king. And his old comrades die on the end of a sword. One would not be wrong if one thought the old man had reached his limit of endurance and will power
Then as he looked up his face went from a slight shade of pale to as if he had seen the goddess of death appear before him.
Those around him looked up and saw the great scarlet beast break of her hawk like dive and climb up. As the dragon rose up back into the air she let out a howl unlike anything those below had heard, it seemed a mixture of anger and most unsettling of all fear.
Then from behind them the sound of stonework collapsing mixed with the shouts and screams of the ones gathered in the grounds of the keep where joined by a unearthly scream of defiance.
As the scream died down the sound of something massive and godlike rising into the air carried by strong wind drowned out all other sounds.
As the assembled humans looked up a pale beast rose up from what had been the temple where the wounded and sick had been tended to.
The young queen however did not need a wise man, or a prophet to tell her whom that great beast was. In her still beating hearth she knew all too well who that was. She drew her sword and headed for the stairs leading down to the courtyard, as she did panic caught hold of the battle weary men and women. And all hell broke loose amongst the royalists that now had reached their breaking point, the appearance of yet another beast of old legends pushed them over the edge. And tumbling down into the abyss that awaited them all. The only one to keep his wits and follow his queen where the Stygian Argai. He walked with a purpose and his head high. As he walked behind her he could hear her speak in a low voice as if speaking to someone unseen or far away.
“Fear not my beloved, one way or the other we will be together once more. You do not walk the path of sorrow alone, I am done being afraid.”

As she rose up trough the air, and looked down upon the burning ruins beneath her the pale one felt anger swell up in her massive chest. Looking up again she could she the one that had helped push this place to the edge of oblivion.
Her scarlet foe hung in the air and looked at this would be rival for her domain with a unearthly fire smouldering in her eyes. Smoke billowed from her nostrils and her paws flexed the great claws they ended in.

very few where the records that could claim a legitimate observation of two such great beasts doing battle, but such things where the last things on the minds of the mortals that watched the two demi gods clash in the sky above them. The events that followed would one way or the either find their way into the realms of legends and sagas of those that survived this madness.
It started with Cuelebre diving like a hawk to greet her foe that was rising to greet her with talon and fang.
They crashed together with bellows that shook the walls, and made men scream in terror. Great maws snapped and claws that would have killed a ox with a mere prick raked along scaly skin.
Ashild roared and accepted a bite on her left shoulder just as she dug her claws into the flank of her foe. Her veins boiled with a animalistic rage that felt like someone was driving white hot lances of steel trough her great body.
As Cuelebre released her grip on her shoulder and the two combatants pushed back from each with powerful strokes of their massive wings it dawned on her. Even if she somehow managed to beat her foe, and somehow avoid sustaining mortal wounds herself she would be trapped in this form. But instead of despair or grief there was just silent acceptance of her fate.
So it was then her mind, in silent cooperation with the spirit whom she shared this body with that the plan to strike down her foe came to be.

The scarlet drake felt her anger simmer within her whole form, never had she faced such a foe that now hung in the air a mere bow shot from her. How and where this wyrm had come from was not something she cared to think about. Nor did she in her mixture of hubris and blood lust care to think of her foe as anything more than just a dragon. But she knew that her foe was not some young and foolish drake, her body now carried the evidence of this, no this was a beast just as old and devious her self. But as even as she was thinking this her foe made her next move.
It began as a deep intake of breath, as one may do before lunging into battle, massive lungs drew in huge quantifies of air. And with the sound of a avalanche a great gout of flame rushed fourth from her maw.
When the other serpent saw the coming storm of fire rolling towards her she swung sharply to one side, and avoided the worst of the heat and damage. But the flames still stung her like a sharp blade biting her flesh.
She let out a cry of rage and answered her foe in kind, summoning all her hellish fire ina long rolling tide of fiery death that failed to strike the intended target, and instead slammed into the citadel below. Engulfing a massive section of the already ravaged castle town in flames and thick smoke.
Now the beast that had seen aeons come and go truly enraged. She speed towards the upstart wyrm and slammed into her with the force of a hurricane rolling in over a small ship caught at sea.
But as she did she came to realize her dreadful error. For the other serpent began to speak with a voice that was distinctly human, and from her mouth came a chant the scarlet beast had known to exist. But never dreamed of hearing spoken by a wyrm or any other living soul for that matter.
She tried to push away, to get clear of this mad one and to escape the fate she knew awaited them both now. But even as she tried she could not. In stead the cold embrace of fear took hold and did not let go of her mind.
Then in a brilliant white glare that blotted out the sun, made the air tremble with raw power and the scarlet beast wail in utter terror the spell took effect.

Down amongst the ruined houses and heaps of corpses the silent forms of the Draconian knights stood gathered around their master.
He stood with blade draw and a evil gleam in his bloodshot eyes, before him the king that had once ruled from his stolen throne over the lands of Kels stood. Shaking with fear and outrage over this betrayal he found himself on the receiving end of.
Around him lay the butchered remains of his court and his loyal soldiers. Cut down by his very own house hold knights.
The king spat at his soon to be executioner as the dark one raised his sword to strike him down in cold blood.
But the blow never came, instead all those whom still lived inside and outside the ruined walls and smouldering ruins where bathed in a eerie pale light radiating down from the sky where the two great beasts had been locked in a struggle of life and death. Along the unearthly sounds came a scream of absolute terror and fear from one of the great serpents.
Then the Draconian lord seemed to feel something grip him with great unseen hands. The man that had once been a noble soul screamed in horror as he fell to his knees, from where his eyes should have been blood began to flow and as he fell to the cold ground gripping his throat while his men looked at the king that pissed himself in fear. Instead of hacking him apart they turned as one and left him there, in silent unison the dark ones began to make their way away from this place.
Behind them they left the fallen form of their master, now that his dark soul had departed this world these men where freed from the bonds that had tied them to his service.
When they reached the slopes that would have taken them down to the remains of the ruined army encampment they formed up into neat lines before kneeling down with steel drawn. Then in silence the last men of the Draconian order freed themselves from this world. Leaving behind a line of still black clad corpses for the vultures to feed upon.
Such ended the the blood soaked days of the order of the Draconian. Lost to shame and disgrace.
They where not the only ones to be blinded and feel the cold hands of utter terror grip their hearths as the two beasts up in the sky disappeared from sight for a brief moment.
The young queen and her few remaing followers and supporters all stood on the walls and looked on, their minds already all but broken by the sheer loss of life and bloodshed.
But instead of falling back into the panic that had threaten to overwhelm them when the second great beast had risen up to the skies they simply felt a strange sensation of peace and tranquillity take hold of their hearths.
Their queen fell to her knees, with her eyes closed in silent morning when she realized the fate of her lover. Whom had made the ultimate sacrifice for her, tears of mourning and a feeling of closure now slowly began to take hold in her hearth. She knew she would never feel her touch again, or lay naked by her side when the sun rose up from beyond the mountains and the last of the mist disappear as the sun bathed the lands in its warm embrace, while they lay under warm furs.
With sorrow in her voice she spoke to those around her that could her trembling voice.
“Goodbye Ashild, may your spirit find its way back home to the icy lands you once called home. And I will see you again when my remaining days are spent, and life leaves my aged and mournful body.”

Such ended the days of Ashild of the north lands most scholars agreed upon in later years after the realm was rebuilt. And the new queen had taken her seat as the new ruler of the lands of Kels, but some individuals of a varied nature did not agree with this. For those whom had dared venture back across the now desolate mountains and silent valleys that had once been the lands of Noregard. They could tell stories of a shadow that would occasionally sweep across that bleak realm with ice blue eyes keeping a keen watch for any signs of danger. Or maybe looking for a sign of her lover

That was worth the wait! Some really powerful descriptive tracts in there, picked out with nice individual details. Although it was quite a long episode, it flowed nicely.

Epic ending. Top work!

Glad it lived up to the expectations!