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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!