Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

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.