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The cold driving rain hammered down like the floodgates of heaven had opened, and the rumbling of thunder and the wrathful crack of thunder and as if displaying the wrath of the gods to the puny humans and other mortal creatures that dwelled below.
In the almost endless pine forests that ran from the great mountain ranges that separated the desolate hinterlands that lay beyond them, from the more civilized and settled lands of Kels, a lone figure sat perched upon his horse as he guided the stallion as best he could down the muddy forest road. Every now and then he would glance back as if expecting to see some shadowy figure stalking him. But no such thing materialized and the lone man and his horse drove on.
He was soaked to the bone and almost half dead from exhaustion but he could not stop, no he had to press on. Rest he would do when he reached the small hamlet that he knew lay across the next river, there he could seek shelter and take stock of what he had seen amongst the lonely mountain crags and supposedly abandoned ruins of a once mighty citadel.
He was sinewy and fairly tall, his dark hair and swarthy skin tone spoke of what blood flowed in his veins beside that of a Kelsman. That added to his sullen tone and demeanor revealed that he was in fact of Pictish origin too. His cloths where made of wool and fur and his feet where clad in sturdy leather booths, while a cloak made of thick sheep wool gave him a appearance of a homesteader, or perhaps a trapper. But the longbow and half empty quiver and his long sword plus the scale mail he wore suggested otherwise.
His horse was like its rider a somewhat wild and untamed creature of the wilds, it was not like the proud war horses that knights rode, or the elegant horses nobles rode upon. No this was a beast that had been born and breed by the Picts that dwelled in these lands. Therefor it suited its rider perfectly.
This rugged man whom had seen his fair share of hardship and bloodshed, now found himself cursing his rotten lot in life that had seen him sent into the desolate mountain ranges, and otherwise uninviting lands that once had been a thriving and wealthy part of Kels. Until the flames of civil war and madness had consumed it, along with the gods knew how many lives. Remembering those dark days he suppressed a shiver.
He recalled climbing those dark and unwelcoming mountain ranges, and the eerily silent woods that had slowly given way to ruins and traces of the battels fought there in that dark chapter of history.
Not being one to fear man or beast, he had still felt a cold dread seep into him as he explored those now uninhabited tracts of land.
And now he found himself looking at the roaring river that separated him from the relative safety of the hamlet, and the wilds that lay behind him. Even if a rather unpleasant crossing lay ahead of him, Brage now allowed himself to relax and dismount his equally weary horse that need to rest just as much as he did. He looked at the quickly darkening skies and the roaring waters that lay ahead of him.
Gripping the reins in his left hand he began to make his way down to the river, with his horse following him with its shaggy head hung low.
The water was icy and made him curse the gods, the rain and the whole miserable world in general as he fought to keep his balance. But he was accustomed to crossing rivers like this, so after much discomfort and now absolutely ice cold to his beating hearth he took comfort in that he would before sundown be behind thick walls, and hopefully with a mug of beer in hand.
“Curse this damnable weather” he muttered as he remounted his horse and tried to blow some life back into his numb hands.
Fishing a strip of tried and very salty meat out from the now all but empty saddle bag he began to chew as he looked for any signs of life in the empty fields and copses of trees that dotted the landscape alongside the road. But there was noting except the wet and rather miserable forms of the feral looking cattle that the settlers along Thunder river kept.
Their long shaggy coat of wool kept the rain out, while their foul temperament and long sharp horn kept wolves, bears and would be cattle thief’s at bay for the most part.
“ At least I don’t stink like a barn yard” he said and grinned while looking at the cattle that stood and followed him with their beady eyes as he rode past the pasture.
His moment of amusement was shattered when the low growl of a cattle dog could be heard from up ahead.
He looked up and half expected to see a scrawny youth gripping a spear or bow looking him over, alongside his trusty hound. But no such youth materialized, but the dog however did.
The dog was a massive brute, its thick fur black as coal and its cold eyes that seemed to issue a challenge to anyone whom dared cross its path. But there was something about the hound that made Brage look twice, it was breathing hard and its spiked collar had tufts of hair on it. And its yellow teeth where stained with blood.
Clearly the brute had run into something that now most likely was either dead or where running hard for its life.
He looked around to see if its owner was anywhere to be seen, but he could not see anyone nor did it seem like the beast was waiting for anyone, it looked more like it was simply catching it breath before resuming the hunt or returning home.
Steering his horse past the hound while keeping one eye on it, just to be on the safe side the bone weary man pressed on along the muddy road.
Some time after wards he came over a gentle hill, and laid eyes on the place he would rest for the night, before him lay a small and rather forgettable hamlet, it was a cluster of wooden houses. Built with whole logs of sturdy pine and oak, and the roofs covered in peat.
Smoke drifted up on the now increasingly biting cold wind and brought with it the smells of cooking, warm bodies and other homely aromas. As he rode down he could see a few of the houses had light streaming out from the small windows. So clearly there where folk awake and about, witch meant a bone weary traveler and his weary horse could find shelter from the storm that was hot on his heels.

As he rode into the courtyard of one of the largest houses, and dismounted he was greeted by a tired looking man that emerged from the stable, and looked him over. The man seemed more interested in returning to his slumber.
“Greetings man, do you have room in your stable for a weary horse and rider?” Brage said and stood there in the driving rain waiting for a response.
“Aye laddie I got that, but may I suggest that you head indoors for a warm meal?”
“Sounds like a good idea, how much for a bed and food? Noting to expensive I hope.”
“No a few coins should go a long way, we don’t get overrun with folks this time of year” the man said and yawned as he lead the horse into the stable.
Walking across the muddy yard and opening the door that lead into the warmth of the inn, and the long awaited company of other people, and the sounds of people talking.
But he realized that he would be all but alone here too, for inside there where just a few patrons, a lone serving girl that also seemed to staff the bar alongside taking orders from customers, be they hungry or thirsty.
The other guests where a mixture of farmers, a few traveling merchants whom seemed weary to the bone and tired of the daily struggle and a few other men that had the look of woodsmen about them.
Walking up to the counter he fished out his coin purse from under his scale mail.
“A stein of beer and some hot food if you got any and a room miss” he said and placed five large silver coins on the counter.
The girl whom was a rather chubby one smiled and said hello, and took his coins before pulling a solid looking beer stein down from a shelf and tapped beer into it. The beer was dark as earth and smelled faintly of herbs and a hint of honey.
“ Today’s dinner is fish stew and potatoes alongside bread and butter darling” she said and promised to bring him the food as soon as possible.
As Brage sat down with beer in hand on a solid oak chair, with his feet resting on another one he cursed himself for loosing his pipe weeks ago. He could have murdered for a good pipe now to calm his tired senses down.
The food arrived, heaped high on clay plates, and he found himself grinning from ear to ear. The food smelled divine to him after weeks of eating noting but dried meat and what else he could find in the gloomy woodlands he had traveled in.
Eating like a starved wolf he dug in and used the loafs of bread as cutlery to shovel the hot food into his mouth in between taking deep gulps of beer to wash it all down.
When the plate was licked clean and his mug empty the lean woodsman sank back into his chair and pulled a deep breath of satisfaction.
He wiped his mouth and signaled for a new mug of beer, and decided that would be his last one. No need to get hammered on the strong ale, when he was so damned tired. He could already feel the warm spreading trough his body and his strength slowly returning to him after the large serving of home made food.
As he sat there in silent contemplation and tended to his gear, lost in his own mind someone interrupted his silent moment of relaxation.
Olav whom was a good and pleasant enough fellow did however, despite his rather polite inquiry received a cold stare from a pair of eyes that viewed the world with suspicion, and the man with swarthy skin and dark hair seemed to take a measure of him, before answering him with a low voice.
“Pardon me good man, but you don’t look like a local. May I ask where you come from? I only ask out of curiosity, we rarely see folks that don’t live around here when autumn is around the corner.”
the speaker was a man of average height and build, with hair the color of copper.
“ No I am definitely not a farmer, cows seems to dislike me for some reason. And I come from across Thunder river, crossed it today for the first time in months. Been wandering the wilds I suppose one could say.”
“ Did you say you came across the river? By the gods man! What drove you across the river in the first place?”
Realizing that subtly was perhaps the best way to ask a complete stranger what he did across the Thunder river the man changed his tone.
“ Where you hunting? Or tracking some outlaws? I don’t mean to pry into your affairs but still. Indulge a bored peasant will you?” he finished and pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat down, as he did so he also called to the barmaid for a new stein of beer for himself.
“Oh and where is my manners, my name is Olav.”

“Good evening then Olav, I’m Brage of the border marches. As for what I was doing beyond Thunder river, well I consider that personal and, therefor as you surely understand I wont share it. Now I can tell by the conversation you had with your fellow villagers that you are merely here to see if I am a source of potential trouble, so rest assured. I am not.” Brage finished and took a long sip from his second stein of beer and looking Olav in the eyes.
“I see well pardon then, no offense intended. And I was actually more interested in just general conversation but I do get your point, I wont ask about a mans personal affairs anyhow.”
No need to apologize, I have been devoid of company for some time. That and being weary to the bone helps to make a man a bit edgy.” the newcomer said and set down his stein.
“Did you happen to see any Picts by the way, our community has few eyes and ears to warn us about any potential trouble brewing. And we have a standing policy to pay for any helpful news, either in coin or in supplies” Olav said, clearly unphased by the rather blunt answer he had gotten from the man across the table. It dawned on Brage that these men where not soft nor helpless but they still had a sense of honor, witch appealed to him.
“No I saw no signs of the Picts anywhere near the river, I only saw a few totems as far as signs of there ever having been picts there. But I did meet however a massive brute of a cattle dog near the fields that is closest to the river. Evil looking thing”
At the mention of the dog and hearing its description and where Brage had meet the beast, Olav became visibly pale. As if someone had drained the blood from his face and replaced it with ice water.
“This dog.... Did it happen to have a spiked collar? What where its behavior like?”

Sensing something was clearly not as it should be, Brage tensed his body out of habit, and maybe his Pictish blood did it for him. He knew a mere stray dog would not make a man that lived near Thunder river, and the wilds that lay beyond it loose his nerves.
“Aye it had a collar on it, leather and studded with cruel looking spikes. As for how it behaved, well it merely barred my path for a moment before I rode past the thing. I kept expecting a sheepherder or someone watching over the cattle to call the thing but no one did do that.” the woodsman finished
“ Tell me Olav what is it about a mere stay cattle dog that makes you look, as you have seen a saber tooth cat. Something tells me that you have problems, of the dark and foul kind.”
To these words the aging man simply nodded and said in a sudden almost exhausted sounding tone.
“What do you know about the witch doctors of the Picts, and their dark arts man?”
At this mention of his somewhat distant yet close blood relatives Brage bristled, and his hands sough his weapons out of pure instinct. His Pictish father had loathed the heinous rituals and practices of the witch doctors of the other tribes. And had spent no small amount of time and effort in learning his own son how to best deal with these nefarious mad men.
“ I know more than I would like to know, you mean to tell me that there is one of those zealots running wild in these parts of the woods.” the woodsman said in a dark tone as his demeanor changed from mellow and somewhat relaxed to a far more
primeval state. His eyes narrowed and seemed to bore into Olav whom felt the whole transformation rather unpleasant.
“ Aye.... We are not unfamiliar with the odd raiding party or even lone Picts stealing across the river to steal our cattle or try to drive us from our homes. So that is why as you rode into town, you where watched by several hidden archers.”
taking a moment to drain his mug and wipe the foam from his beard he continued.
“ Of course you are not a blood crazed savage so they did not loose their arrows. But its a sad day when we have to have a permanent watch set up to keep those dogs away. However the last weeks had been... eerily different from anything I have ever experienced in all my years living here.”
“What exactly changed?” Brage said as he sat reclined in his chair. Toying idly with his hunting knife as he listened to the story.
“ Where to start, well first our life stock started to get picked of by some unseen predator, we lost some sixty sheep a half a dozen cattle alongside a good number of cattle dogs. All in the space of a few weeks, now this close to the wilds beyond Thunder river we are used to strange beasts coming and going. But this... it was unlike anything we had ever seen or let alone hunted.”
Calling for a third beer Olav turned back to his conversation partner with a haunted look now on his face plain for all to see.
“ Myself and about a score of other men plus hunting dogs tracked the beast, after it had killed a ox just north of here. We expected it to be a kraite or a bear, but no. the beast was something far, far worse.”
“Something worse than a blood crazed bear, or a kraite. What could be worse than that?”

“ Aye we picked up the trail some distance from the fields to the north, it was rather easy to follow as the ground was muddy and wet from days of rain. It lead us towards the dense woodlands that border the lands that belong to this hamlet. As we made ready to began the last leg of our hunt, and the men and myself readied our weapons, the beast made itself known with a roar that made my blood freeze, and it drove the dogs mad too. They bolted like stung with hot iron.”

Good to see another one of your fantasy offerings again, Trondheim! I liked the leisurely pace of the opening - some nice vivid desciptions in there ... quite evocative.

I was also pleased to see a village where the inhabitants seem competent and capable of looking after themselves!

Bring on the big gribbly beast ...

 Necroagogo wrote:
Good to see another one of your fantasy offerings again, Trondheim! I liked the leisurely pace of the opening - some nice vivid desciptions in there ... quite evocative.

I was also pleased to see a village where the inhabitants seem competent and capable of looking after themselves!

Bring on the big gribbly beast ...

Well it felt as a good change of sugject really, good to take a break from all the grim darkness.

And yes, the big beastie will be comming along shortly

“So I assume you pressed on without dogs? Or did they come to heel?”
“All of them keeping on running, no matter how much we called. So we went on without them, in hindsight we should have done as them and fled while we still had the chance to do so.”
the next batch of memories clearly caused the man a good deal of anguish, and Brage did not press the issue either, for he sensed what would be the likely conclusion to all this doom & gloom.
“ So we entered the woods, and spread out. Each man a good ten meters from the next, with bow or spear ready. We walked for a good amount of time, but we walked as if on needles, the very woodland was as if devoid of life. No bird sang nor did any beast stir, not until our prey saw fit to reveal itself as we reached a small glade. “
“Its thunder like growl made myself and the others whom where with me, grip our weapons and feel a shiver of ice worm its way into our bodies. Then as a evil spirit emerging from the darkness of the night it came. Its body was the size of a fully grown farm horse, its body was covered in a dark brown fur that where both thick and very coarse, almost the hide of a boar, its great paws ended in curled talons stained by dirt and the blood of our livestock, its immense maw filled with yellow gruesome looking teeth and a long pink tongue that hung out, while its breath joined the morning mist. But its eyes.... Oh how those ruby red orbs burnt with savage cruelty and blood lust.”
Seemingly physically ill by retelling his horrid experience Olav seemed on the verge of vomiting, or gasping for air, his face now the same color as a dead man and his hands gripping the beer mug as if afraid t would drift of he continued.
“ I don’t remember whom shot first, but a arrow struck it squarely in the chest, but the bite of steel seemingly only enraged the beast. It came like a landslide of violence, and barreled into us tooth and claw leading the way. It gutted a man with its paw before leaping like a leopard onto the next. Burying him under its immense weight, as it did we others tried to strike it down. But it seemed like it was gifted with the ability to predict our moves, or maybe it was because we all where scared and almost panicked by this.... abomination that had killed two of our comrades so fast. So needless to say, things went grimly, I awoke alone and grievously wounded. The beast had struck me, but my mail shirt had saved me from the worst, but still it gave me a nasty wound. One that almost killed me.” the man finished, and as if expecting to be meet with skepticism folded up his thick wool shirt, and pointed to a still bandaged and very unpleasant looking wound that ran from below his collar bone and down towards his belly.

“You need not tell me more man, I believe you. “ said Brage and felt himself both horrified and yet curious about this beast, the creature that had slain almost a dozen men. Whom all had been used to using them, both against man and beast. It clearly was something from a dark nightmare taken physical form.
“But I have one question though” he said and looked Olav in the eyes and pulling out his coin purse, willing to part with his remaing coins if need be.
“Do you have any idea what the thing was? “
His conversation partner looked somewhat provoked by the request, but he held any bitter reply.
The answer he seeked came not from Olav, but one of his fellow patrons. Whom by the look of his cloths and physically state had spent much time in wilds.
“Aye man, what killed those poor souls and almost gutted Olav was no mere blood crazed beast. I have seen its kind once before, although that one was dead as a door nail. It had run afoul with a pack of kraits. But before they offed it, the damned thing killed half of their numbers. What he saw that day was one of the great apes that stalk the woods and foothill across the river. The damned savages there worship them. Hell they are even rumored to sacrifice captives to those damned things.” the man finished before spitting in disgust on the floor under his feet.
“You mean to tell me that a monkey is the source of all your grief?” Brage said and raised an eyebrow in somewhat disbelief. He had never seen, let alone heard about any such creature. But then again, who knew what lurked in the wilds beyond the river he himself had crossed not long ago.

“Aye but they are not like the monkeys of the south lands, these devils can walk like a man if need be. And they dwarf even the tallest man, and they have a bestial cunning that rivals anything I have ever seen before. That and their taste for man flesh.” the man said as he sat down and pulled out his pipe, witch he stuffed and lit.
Brage did not answer him, instead he nodded and took stock of all this. If there was indeed a beast like that lurking around the hamlet he knew he could not ride on, the beast would likely lay in ambush along the single road that lead away from this place.
“Hmm so I take it that you have not hunted the beast after that dreadful day? “
When his question was meet only with hard glares and a deathly silence he knew the answer to that at least. The people of this place had developed a fear of the dark woods, and wished not to loose more of their kin and friends to its hungry maw. That much he could understand and respect.
Deciding he needed to sleep and rest, the traveler rose from his seat and payed for his meal and drink. Offered a respectful nod to Olav and payed for his drinks while he was at the counter, and told the bar maid to give the man what he wanted, leaving behind a single large and very heavy golden ring as payment the half Pict wandered up the stairs and left the common room behind.
Meanwhile the night dragged on, and the village folk slept behind their barred doors, and a dozing half Pict slept with one hand on his sword hilt, someone else was wide awake and busy with their own tasks at hand.

In the darkness of the silent woodlands where now only the night creatures stirred, a lone pale figure walked across the mossy forest floor. Her features where as cast from ivory and her hair hung loose around her, almost as if acted as her clothing. But any man foolish enough to linger near her would see that she wore finely spun silk like cloths, that clung to her ample figure.
Her gossamer like cloths, while numerous silver ornaments decorated her fingers and hair. Pausing under a massive pine tree the woman cast a long and hawkish gaze around her as if expecting company of foes, or perhaps friends.
When she had settled down and sat with feet crossed and her great mane of dark red hair enveloping her and acting as a thin cloak, Time passed and the stars glared bright above her.
Speaking to no one or perhaps a unseen listener that lurked somewhere in the woods, watching her near naked form. Perhaps with lust pulsing trough that individual body and mind.
Her body although beautiful was also marred with numerous gruesome scars, that bore testament to the things she must have survived in times past. She was breathing heavily as she paused beneath a massive oak tree that stood silently watch in the darkness of the night. One hand went to the simple yet beautiful pendant that rested between her breasts.
“Curse you, curse you all!” the woman spat as she sank down onto the wet moss, that soaked her and made her thin cloths damp. Her angry outbursts was followed by a deep breath and a slow shake of her head and a few tears dropped from her face and down onto her chest.
This outburst of emotion was replaced with the mask of cold seething hate that normally sat on her beautiful face, once more she became the eerie creature of the night that the tribes of the woodlands feared and hated. The one that they vowed to tie to the totem and exact their gruesome revenge upon the gods be willing, but so far their efforts had failed and only been rewarded with death and other far worse fates.
Her eyes now glimmered with a inhuman glare and as the symphony of the dark night carried on she drifted ever onwards into the woodland, a savage grin forming and parting her lips to reveal sharp predatory teeth.

Brage woke just before dawn broke, and walked down into the common room intending to purchase rations and other supplies before he left this dreary place behind him. His body felt renewed by sleep, and the fact that he had slept under a roof and away from the elements for once.
He was surprised to find it devoid of anyone, not even the serving girl or the inn keeper was to be seen. That and the fact that the room was not illuminated at all made him suspicions, and he did not like that particular feeling.
Drawing his blade he took one cautious step forwards and called out “ Anyone here?”, his question was meet with noting but silence and once more he called out but received no answer this time either. As he made for the door his foot struck something soft laying on the floor before him, kneeling down to investigate he almost immediately realized what the object was. It was a life less body of a man, and the fact that his hands came away bloody told him that something was indeed wrong, very wrong.
Cursing silently to himself he crept forwards, silent as a jungle cat towards the door and put one hand firmly on the door handle, and pulled it open cautiously.
Peering out he saw what he suspected, for there in the courtyard several white painted men clad in noting but loose fur trousers stood with bloody weapons in hand. Before them lay several townsfolk, tied firmly with ropes and gagged with strips of cloth showed into their mouths to keep them quiet.
Brage knew these pale devils all too well, for they where the tribal warriors of the white wolf tribe that had sworn allegiance to that devil of a witch doctor, that had managed to unite the tribes to the north. And now clearly had dared to come down south to spread they mayhem.
He also knew what fate awaited those poor devils that lay hog tied on the ground, the distant gleaming light of a fire also told him that at least one house was burning.
Dropping his heavy wool cloak he took a deep breath and stepped out of the door, with blade in hand and called out to the Pitchs.
“Ho there you pale worms! Finally grown a pair I see. Daring to kill the unarmed and defenseless! Or are you just still the cowards I know your kind to be!” he finished and grinned devilish to the warriors that had spun on their heels to face him.

One of them yelled something in their own tongue and pointed one bloody stone axe towards the lone sword man that had emerged to fight them.
Not that his fellow warriors needed any goading into battle with the hated men of the west, they yelled in excitement and unholy glee as they swarmed towards him.
But they where not prepared for their welcome at his hands, the long gleaming sword flashed in a serpent like strike, and the razor sharp edge struck one of them in the neck, the blade parting his head from his shoulders and sending it tumbling to the ground.
Then the fight began in earnest, they surrounded him and came at him wildly and without fear for their own life’s.
Brage loathed the Picts with every fiber of his whole body, these fiends could not be reasoned with nor made to see reason. They only understood one thing and that was cold sharp steel.
He had never expected them to be able to slay all the sentries that the villagers had set out in silence, and thus being able to swarm the town without anyone raising the alarm. How they had done it he dared not consider now, for he was too busy avoiding their axes and returning their blows. Dropping low to avoid a lunge from one man he came up and swung his blade in a wide arch, and caught two of his foes unprepared. The sword gutted one man and bit deeply in the leg of the other, a savage fist blow struck his shoulder and made him jerk back. He repayed his assailant by severing the limb and killing the warrior with a back handed slash.
As he barely avoided a axe blow from one of the remaining warriors and twisted to the side to avoid another blow, he was however struck hard in the ribs by a brutal blow from the leader of these woodland devils.
However his scale mail saved him from any serious injury and he repayed the strike with a brutal overhead blow of his own.
The sword struck the man in the head with a sickening crunch and cleaved the shaven skull down to the teeth, blood and gore sprouting as a ghastly fountain of some sort.
His foe pulled the sword free and took one menacing step towards his now remaining foe, for the other Pict had turned and fled when their leader had been struck down.

Brage grinned his teeth like a wolf upon seeing this, kill their strongest man and the rest will turn and run he thought. His foe too seemed to reconsider his chances of fighting this devil with his now gore stained blade.
But before anyone of the two could act, someone else ended the fight for them.
Suddenly the painted warrior began to stagger and blood started to seep from his mouth as he fell face down with a long shafted arrow between his shoulder blades and another logged in his left buttock.
Then the sounds of men running and dogs barking madly could be heard, and Brage caught a glimpse of a small band of Picts running like whipped dogs past the courtyard of the inn.
But they did not get far, for the sharp twang of bow strings and of dogs whom had caught their prey filled his ears.
Then the archers came into view, about two dozen men armed with long bows and spears slick with blood stopped and surveyed the scene in the courtyard before them.
So he was wrong Brage mussed, for these was most likely the sentries that the Picts had slipped by. At least there where some comfort in that he thought, a few less dead men to bury.
He recognized the leader of the men as the man whom had stabled his horse and raised one gore stained hand in a greeting, the man however did not return the favor. He simply nodded to his fellow combatant and trudged after his comrades.
As the dawn gave way to day the people that had survived the raid took stock of the passing night, and began to mourn their dead. Of a population of around three hundred souls all in all, some eighty had been slain and another forty wounded in various forms by their assailants. Five others where missing but presumed dead as the house those five had dwelled in was now a smoking ruin at the edge of town.
The elders of the town shook their heads and mutter under their breath what a abject catastrophe this had been for the town, and how much these damned savages had managed to ruin as they had tried to take the peasants by surprise.
But the men of the woodlands had underestimated one thing, and that was the many dogs that the people they intended to rob and kill kept, and it was their angry barking and vicious nature that had alerted the men that kept arms of their foes.
That added to the keen archery skills of the watch and others, and their steel weapons had also aided their chances. But these things where a slim comfort for those whom had lost loved ones.

Brage knew they would rebuild, new children would be born and slowly the memories of the raid would fade. But he could help shake the feeling of doom that hung over the place, he knew this close to Thunder river no western man was safe from the predations of the devils on the other side.
Therefor he wasted no time in departing the stricken place either, he did not feel too sure that the Picts would return in greater numbers and finish what they had started the previous night.
And he did not intend to end his days as a sun bleached skull outside the hut of some damned savage.

'A landslide of violence'.

That's a really nice turn of phrase - I may have to steal it!

As I said before, it's nice not to see the hero acting in a vacuum - villagers living that close to a hostile neighbour had better be able to take care of themselves, dammit.

Keep it coming, Trondheim!

Feel free to steal, I would only be flatterd if you did. Glad to hear that you enjoyed the story so far, Il try to have a new part in the comming days

As he left the stricken village behind and once more took to the road, Brage steeled his nerves and took a deep breath to steady himself. His skin crawled with unease and it felt plain wrong to take to the roads so soon after the mornings bloodshed, but it could not be helped. He needed to press on and make it to his destination that lay far to the west.
So with one hand resting firmly on the hilt of his sword and the other gripping the reins of his horse firmly he cleared the last hill and the village vanished from sight and sound.
His senses stood on edge as he rode in good speed past the cops of trees and other potential hiding places, and he could swear he felt paranoid. But he knew it payed in the end to be this careful when traveling this god forsaken part of the kingdom.
Too many lives had been lost along these lonely roads and silent woods to bandits, Picts and wild beasts. And he did not intend to join those now dead fools.
Overhead dark clouds brewed and swirled and soon a deafening roar of thunder heralded the coming of yet another rainstorm, cursing the weather and all other things in general that was wrong with the world he pulled his cloak thither around him and prepared himself for another miserable day in the saddle.

While the lone traveler and his horse thundered towards the west, and the civilized realms of the men that dwelled there. Something or someone else was waking up from a deeply unpleasant dream.
Her limbs felt stiff and cold and her mouth tasted like copper mixed with sour blood. Stretching her acing limbs and feeling the dampness of the forest still clinging to her body.
Shuddering with cold and unease the woman with the dark red hair and somewhat unfitting choice of wardrobe looked around herself. Looking around she saw noting but the damp and silent woods and the enormous trees that stood as silent sentries, watching this tiny figure huddling at their feet.
Her thoughts of revenge still burnt bright in her, but they where somewhat dulled by a new feeling that seemed to flow trough her body and fill her cold limbs, and more importantly her hearth.
It was a strange feeling of belonging to these silent lands and having been here long, long ago.
The ritual she had undertaken last must somehow have stirred these unfamiliar feelings that now welled up inside her, but she did not forgot the primeval urge to seek revenge and the blood of those that had wronged her and her loved one in their time of need.
She barley remembered waking up many, many days ago in the gloomy and eery woodlands far from this place, she remembered a day filled with fire, screams and agony. The feeling of despair and the fear to leave the one she had loved behind, and she remembered the hideous face of her foe that had awaited her outside the walls.
With a slow, almost lazy pace she rose to stand to her full height, and became aware that she knew what needed to be done to ease her own sense of unrest and worry. When the moon rose once more, and the stars graced the lands below with their light she would begin her sojourn to the capital of the west.
As the almost naked woman stood there lost in thought, she did not see the several fur clad men painted in white that now stalked trough the undergrowth towards her. Lust burning in their eyes as they gazed at her ample breasts and shapely figure, barely hidden behind the gossamer like cloth that cover her.
But the Picts being creatures of the wild places of the world, could sense what the woman they gazed upon was capable, and therefor stayed their hands. They slipped away unseen and unheard, their fury still burning bright, but they knew better than to strike at someone like the woman they had just seen in the deep woods.
For they where attuned in some strange way to the beating pulse of the lands they dwelled in, and could sense when someone walked the path of the witch, or was marked out by one of their primitive gods form either glory or infamy.
So therefor these white painted wolfs of the woodlands where in many ways far more sophisticated than what the men of the west and the lands to the south east gave them credit for.

As the day began to wain and the wind began to chase away the rolling banks of rain, and fog that had enveloped the lands Brage began to feel himself grow weary. A whole day spent in the saddle left its marks, and he felt the need to stretch his limbs and lay down beside a warming fire.
So as the grey sky hung above him, and the cold wind sang its mournful tune amongst the trees and the gentle rolling hills he looked for a place to rest.
It took some time to find a suitable place, away from the cold draft and sheltered from prying eyes. His resting place was in the shadow of a immense boulder that lay resting in the forest edge, a bow shot or so from the road.
It was clear to him that few men came this way, for the birds paid close attention to him. Unsure if he was a danger to them or nor, and the wild boars he had seen not long ago had stood silent in the meadow, and glared at him with little or no fear for his deadly bow.
With his ample supply of firewood and a adequate bedding of moss and branches he knelt down and took out his fire steel, with practiced ease he struck it and soon he had a fire going, feeding it wood and feeling his body start to relax he listened to the choir of the wild lands and slowly drifted of to sleep.
His dreams where filled with unease and a sense of urgency, and he twisted and turned in his uneasy sleep as he lay beside the now low burning fire.
In the dead of the dark night he awoke, to find his camp fire noting but embers. As he was stoking the flames and adding more wood to it, he sensed someone watching him from the darkness beyond the light of the fire.
Keeping one eye on the darkness beyond the campsite he bent down low and grabbed his bow, and notched one arrow and drew the bowstring back.
“If you don’t wish to be shot where you stand come into the light. Slowly and with arms raised! I will count to four!” he finished and drew back the bowstring and took aim.

No reply came from the darkness, instead the soft sound of paws upon the moss and a looming shape emerged from the darkness, with eyes that fixated him.
He had expected a wander or perhaps a bandit, but not this. Not by a long shot, for the thing that came into view was that hound that had meet him outside the village, the hound glared at his raised bow, almost accusing him for wanting to harm it and promptly sat down on its hind quarter.
A long pink tongue hanging from its mouth as its breath became mist, its fur was dirty and the dog looked less threatening now than the last time they had meet.
The hound let out a low whimper and weakly wagged its tail as if seeking permit to creep closer to the warmth of the camp fire.
“Come on then boy, if you have trailed me for a whole day you deserve to warm your bones too” the man said and looked at the enormous dog that seemed more wild animal than companion of man.
Its spiked collar was missing and so was part of one ear, so clearly the dog had meet some unseen foe since they had last meet.
“Now what drove a beast like you to follow someone like me then? If your hoping for rich spoils I must disappoint you friend, I have but dried meat and other goods. But let it never be said I allowed a guest at my fire to starve.” Brage finished and sat down on the opposite side of the dog and reached for his saddle bag.
He could feel its hungry eyes track his every move and breath, and as he fished out the dried mutton meat and sliced of a solid piece he could see that the dog was drooling, and its massive maw was hanging half open in barely restrained hunger.
Hurling the piece over the fire to the dog, he was not surprised when it reared up on its hind legs and caught it mid flight.
Settling down with its price the animal began to chew and seemed to savor every chew and the sensation of having food once more between its paws.
He sat and watched the dog as it finished its meal of dried mutton, and he could almost imagine it saying to him that he should give him the rest of the damned meat, could he not see hat his guest was hungry still? Laughing softly to himself he did just that. Throwing the large piece of mutton leg that he had intend to last him for a few days, he was rewarded with the sound of breaking bone and a pair of eyes that fixated him as if to say thank you brother.
“Eat up dog, gods know that I hate mutton anyway so its better that you take it.” he muttered and felt safe enough to lean back against the stone behind him, and close his eyes once more.

The human fell asleep once more and the dog whom had not been by its now dead master when it was a puppy sat there, motionless and ears raised. It felt its massive strength returning as the meat rested heavily in its gut, it had followed the man more out of a whim than anything else.
It had no pack members that stilled lived, and master was dead. Killed by the white painted wolfs of the the woods.
The other men of the village had feared the enormous hound, that had reverted to a almost feral existence after the Picts had killed the old forester that had owned the hound.
Prowling the woods and preying upon whatever it could run down it had become a creature to be feared and avoided, although the only men to feel its animalistic rage was the lone Pict scouts that stole across the river to observe the farms and hamlets.
Many of those young men became prey, and found their life’s snuffed out by the massive jaws and the terrible strength that the dog possessed.
But perhaps the days of hunting alone was over? Maybe it had found a new pack member and a fellow hunter to share kills with, time would tell if its trust was well placed.
For now the dog was content with resting beside the warmth of the fire, and keeping its keen ears open for any signs of the white wolfs or some other more deadly creature of the night.
Dawn brought the promise of a coming storm and the last legs of the autumn. Winter now stood awaiting its turn to dress the lands.

Brage awoke feeling something heavy resting on his lap, expecting to find a branch or lump of moss he found the head of the dog resting peacefully on his knees, the animal lay silent and watched him with eyes that spoke volumes to someone like him.
Clearly he had earned a new comrade last night, and he was pleased to see that the hound had not touched his other supplies or startled the horse that stood nearby and was busy savaging a bush of some sort.
“Suppose I need to name you then? Hmm well Dread fits you fine. You certainly would make any would be sheep thief dread your wrath eh?” he said and patted the animal on its head.

Didn't expect it to turn into a buddy/road movie with one man and his dog!

Are we going to see much more from Dread's perspective? That could be interesting!

Well I wanted to experiment with an alternativ partner for the main person. And yes, that you will indeed

The day began with a heavy fog that remained for many hours as he made his way down the muddy road, it only lifted when the wind returned. Although the change was not welcomed, for it was a biting cold wind that came howling down from the far north. And whom brought with it the threat of snow, he felt a sense of urgency now and a need to get further west before the snow came.
He for one did not intend to trudge trough snow with a horse in tow and noting in the way of winter supplies at hand.
He looked around to see where Dread was and also to look for any signs of potential trouble in these lonely woods, he spotted the dog trudging across the meadow that lay to his left.
The dog had its nose planted in the mud and seemed intent on finding something or someone to sink its teeth in.

“Always hungry eh” Brage muttered as he steered his horse around a deep puddle of mud, just as he had said those words the sounds of said hound drew his attention from the puddle.
He had not pegged Dread as one to start barking at the wind, or a passing crow so he looked in its direction while halting his horse.
It did not take long however before the things that had earned Dread’s ire. For there lay several figures on the muddy ground, surrounded by crimson and the signs of a very recent fight still plain to see.
The hound circled the bodies while growling and eyes scanning the edge of the nearby woods, its dark eyes seemingly scanning the wood line for any hidden archers or observers. Its lips drawn back and its yellow teeth showing as the dog showed its poorly hidden dislike for these things.
As Brage drew near he saw that several of the still forms had been riddled with arrows, the long slender arrow shafts sticking out of the bodies.
Dismounting to get a closer look he stood for a moment to take in the scene before him.
In addition to the still and obviously dead forms of a dozen or so men there was also the crimson colored figures of a few women and a child no older than ten summers.
As he exterminated the bodies closer he noticed that the men seemed to have died fighting or they had been struck down before they could draw steel.
The women however had been less fortunate, he did not need to see more of such horrors and looked away in abject disgust.
The bodies where not older than a day or two, for there where still few signs of any scavengers, so therefore he suspected that the ones that had done this dark and foul deed was some distance away by now.

He knelt down by by one of the bodies, and turned the muddy corps over. The face of the man was one of fear and shock, noting he had seen before. But it never got any easier still though, the man was middle aged and well fed by the look of him.
Two arrows had struck the man below the collar bone on the left side, and the arrows had punched trough the bone and flesh and now could be seen jutting out of his backside.
Feeling the arrow tip he gripped the shaft, and with one violent push he drove the arrow head cleanly out of the wound.
Bits of flesh and blood stuck to the arrow head but it told him all he needed to know as he saw the flint tip gleam dully.
“Trice cursed dogs!” he snarled and got back to his feet while wiping his hands on his pants. There was no doubt about the ones that had waylayed this party of travelers, and doomed them to this miserable ending to their already miserable life’s.
Knowing what fate awaited the dead if left laying about here Brage grinned at the thought, but he drew his hatchet and went to work breaking up the abandoned wagon that lay in between the dead travelers, the sound of his hatchet and the breaking of wood soon filled the air as he worked on the kindling he needed to build the funeral pyre for the dead.
Some time later a spire of black and rather unpleasant smoke rose towards the sky and the woodsman stood silent and watched the funeral pyre.
Satisfied that the dead was tended to and that he had done what he could, to help them pass onto whatever afterlife awaited the dead Brage returned to his horse and swung himself into the saddle with practiced ease. He raised the hood of his heavy wool cloak and turning his horse westwards once more he kicked the animal into motion.
As the pair of unlikely companions where now back on their course to the west, and yet had to encounter any foes beside the elements, and noting more dangerous than building a funeral pyre for slain travelers one would be forgiven for thinking that their luck would continue. But fate however and others had different ideas.

From under the cover of the dense woodland that bordered the meadows than ran along the road, something was shadowing them, hungry and blood tinted eyes observing the journey of the lone rider and his great hound.
A great maw opened to reveal dagger like teeth and massive human like paws gripped the soft moss beneath the great creature as it observed its next meal. It belly growled and it let out a low growl of frustration due to the fact that the meat it had intended to feast upon where now burning and filling the air with the sickening smell of burning man flesh.
The great ape slunk back into the darkness of the woods and continued to stalk its prey, sensing that it soon would be able to lay an ambush for the man and horse. Gliding trough the dense woodland like a grey ghost the beast hunted its upcoming meal.

As Brage rode on and the pillar of black smoke began to disappear behind the trees, he became lost in thought once more. Although he kept one eye and ear open for signs of trouble, as he sat in the saddle he became aware of one thing that made him pause.
The sounds of birds had vanished from the woods that now had once more closed in around him, that itself was not uncommon but still he felt somewhat uneasy by this. And therefore he lay one hand on his sword hilt and prepared to draw it if need be. One could never be to cautions in these lands, experience had taught him that, and if not the slaughtered party of travelers would have done so.
Then a low menacing growl from Dread made him aware that there was definitively something amiss, knowing that a mounted man was vulnerable in the woodlands. He dismounted and took one cautions step towards the forest edge with his sword in hand.
“ if anyone is hiding I suggest you make yourself visible before I send my dog after you!” he called out with a firm voice, hoping to either make whomever was lurking in the woods come out or to reconsider whatever they had planned for him.
He waited for several heartbeats but no reply came and the woods remained silent as the grave.
But looking to his comrade for the road he knew something was not as it should have been, for the dog seemed to teeter on the edge of fight or flight.
Its ears seemingly tracking some unseen and unheard observer with the keen senses animals posses, and its lips drawn back.
“What you hear boy?” Brage said as readied his bow and took a cautions step away from his now nervous horse that was stamping its hooves and with eyes flaring from fright.
He was not afraid of any beasts that haunted these woodlands but now he was feeling his hearth beat faster and his mouth turn dry.
Then as Brage had just drawn his bow ready to let fly, a howl that seemed to shake him to his very bones filled the woodlands. And made crows and other birds caw in fear and dismay of being disturbed as they left their perches high above.
Dread began to bark as if struck by madness and the great hound seemed to shiver with a mixture of anticipation of the fight to come, and sheer animalistic fear.
“Gods help us both!” the woodsman muttered as he prepared himself.
Then with a great bellow like a charging bull the beast came for him. Its dark fur gleaming with drops of moisture and its great paws ending in crude and wicked looking talons gripping the ground beneath its paws.
It charged straight for the man and probably expected the puny creature to flee like most others did when confronted with one of the great forest apes.
Knowing the man could not outrun it the animal barreled into the horse, who screamed in abject terror and pain but only before a brief time. The beast used its ungodly strength and massive bulk to break the neck of the horse like a twig between its great fists.
Howling in pure animalistic glee the beast turned around to face the two in its own mind, puny prey objects that remained.
But if it thought that man and hound would go down easily, it was sorely mistaken.
Brage had used the precious few heartbeats that he had at his disposal to draw his razor sharp blade., and to his relief his now sole renaming companion, the enormous hound Dread still stood at his side. Teeth barred and a low and menacing growl in its barrel like chest.
Calling to perhaps distract the beast or trick it into making a mistake or two Brage yelled to it.
“Oy you overgrown piece of horse murdering filth! Come and taste steel!” and somewhat to his surprise and perhaps regret the beast seem to take offense to this.
For the great ape howled and beat it hairy chest and came on like a enraged bear, with teeth barred and filthy claws tearing up the soil as it charged.

He barely avoided the first swipe of his foe, and dodged a second as Dread lunged to one side, and began circling. Seeking a chance to sink his great teeth into the great beast that threaten his master.
Then suddenly, one of the great paws found its mark and sent the woodsman reeling. Even if it has just been a glancing blow, and the man had time to thank the gods that he was wearing his scale mail before the beast lunged for him.
He brought up his sword up and was rewarded with a howl of pain from the beast, as the sharp edge drew a bloody line across its chest.
Then as the beast came at him once more but more cautious now, he saw a familiar form come like a thunderbolt and the snarl of his great hound distracted the beast as it felt a set of teeth buried themselves in its neck.
Dread hung on for dear life, and used every ounce of his great strength to pull and tug as he hung there, and struggled for purchase on the great hairy back of his foe with all of his four paws.
The great beast howled in frustration and pain, as both steel and tooth took its toll on it. But it was far from beaten, with a violent shake it finally managed to dislodge the snarling hound, and rewarded its four legged foe with a backhanded blow that sent it reeling across the muddy ground.
Then it turned its fury upon the man that dared to offer such ferocious resistance.
And with a blood curdling scream of berserk rage the beast sank into its bottomless rage and came for the man.

That's one bad-ass ape! Nice graphic fight scene, with the little vignette beforehand showing some insight into Brage's character. A good read, Trondheim!

'For the great ape howled and beat it hairy chest and came on like a enraged bear, with teeth barred and filthy claws tearing up the soil as it charged.'

Now that's what I call a line!

Agreed all round with Necroagogo, keep it coming with this twist of a tale.

Many thanks both of you, glad to hear that my tale meets your standards

Standards?...What standards?.....No way, I've Got standards? Oh yeah.

Brage saw the ape hurl Dread like a child throwing a rag doll and the yelp of pain from the hound told him that his companion had not so lucky with his landing.
But the towering and bloody figure of the great ape took most of his focus, for the beast was now deep into its blood rage. And he knew that a already dangerous foe had just gotten a lot more deadly.
He dived to one side and avoided a brutal downward blow, and barely avoided a second one that would have either killed him or seriously wounded him.
As he fought to keep clear of both fang and claw he realized that he would likely die here, if he did not manage to end this fight soon.
Then as he had just slashed the beast across the shoulder and tried to backpedal a blow from his foe caught him squarely in the chest and sent him tumbling along the ground with the wind knocked out of him.
He came to a violent stop when he slammed into the carcase of his dead horse, and he felt a sharp and very unpleasant sting from his ribs as he did. Feeling a wave of nausea roll in over him as he tried to regain his footing and for a few moments more escape his own demise he found that his strength had abandoned him.
And like a daemon spawned in the fires of the abyss itself his foe closed in for the kill, with gore stained claws and a mask of absolute fury upon its hideous face.
However sometimes fate or perhaps some other force changes the fate of men and beast, for as the towering ape that had devoured scores of men and other prey loomed over his beaten and bloody prize a new actor entered the stage.
The beast sensed this new arrival and turned to face it, its rage still burning hot in its veins and its massive body still spoiled for a fight with anything or anyone.
But it would find itself hard pressed when faced with this new foe, for like a brooding avatar of some dark god the figure emerged from the gloom of the woods.
A mane of long fiery red hair decorated with bronze and bone talismans, pale skin marred by many gruesome scars and eyes with yellow pupils paired with a towering height and a build like a tribute to the infamous half troll tribes of the north added to her aura of raw power.
In one hand the warrior gripped a great axe, that had been forged to resemble the head of a wolf and with a long and straight handle made from some dark metal.
She did not speak as she began to spin her axe in a figure of eight as she stalked forwards like a red furred hunting cat from the south lands.
The ape wived this new foe with a bloodshot eyes, but even in its bezerker rage it recognized this female a far more imposing and worthy foe to devour than the man and his savage dog.
Howling madly it came at her, massive fists clenched into mallets that would have dented the amour of a knight, or slain a horse with one terrible blow.

She watched the ape come and saw its terrible madness burn bright in its ruby red eyes. She smelled the stink of its sweat and the reek of carrion and blood.
As the beast lunged for her in an follow up to its initial flurry of blows and wild lunges, she gripped her axe and with a savage how that rivaled that of her foe, using the axe head as a hammer she struck the beast squarely in the jaw, knocking loose teeth and drawing a yelp of pain and surprise from the animal.
But her now wounded foe never had time to repay her, for as the beast recoiled from the brutal blow, and was about to give ground to its foe, she lunged forwards, and using her almost inhumane strength she swung the axe high and struck like a viper.
With a sicking crunch of bone and a fountain of cranial matter and blood the axe cleaved the thick skull of the ape and dug deep into its neck, before stopping when the blade stuck bone deep down.
As the beast slumped to the ground and blood spilled out from the gruesome wound the towering woman gripped the axe shaft and with one mighty yank pulled the weapon free.


Watching this spectacle of martial prowess and sheer inhumane strength where Brage, whom by now was beginning to drift into unconsciousness. His breathing was labored and he felt blood beginning to pool under him, he fought to stay awake and tried to reach for his blade, but the man felt his strength beginning to fail him.
A low whimper to his side drew his attention before he finally succumbed to unconsciousness,Dread stood by his side, looking worse for wear but still alive.
The dog licked the face of his master and whimpered as the dog undoubtedly realized why his master was not getting back up on his feet to meet this new foe.
So despite being wounded and weary from the fight the dog readied itself to defend its master from this new potential foe.
Teeth barred and a low menacing growl rising from its chest the great hound glared bloody murder at the woman whom had put away her axe and where walking towards the duo.

She watched the great hound limp to stand by its master side, and she knew that it would not think to rip her throat out if she had made the wrong move, not that the animal looked fit to do any fighting but she respected the warrior spirit of the animal.
The man clad in a well made scale mail shirt and with heavy leather boots and gloves alongside well made but rough looking wool cloths looked far worse, he was pale and a pool of dark red blood could be seen forming under him. The great beast had clearly harmed him after all, his blade lay disregarded by the side of the road and gleamed in the sunlight that had pierced the sky above.
Speaking with a deep voice that fitted her great figure she sought to calm the dog, so that she could perhaps save the man from passing into the realms of death.
“Rest easy hound, I seek not to harm your master or you. Please stand aside and let me pull him back into the world of the living.”
As if looking deep into her soul the dog locked eyes with her for a moment before giving way, albeit somewhat reluctant.
“You have my word hound that no harm will come to you or your master.” she said while kneeling down and rolling the man over, so that he rested on his backside.
Drawing her own dagger she began to undo the heavy mail shirt and with some difficulty she pulled it over his head as carefully as she could manage with regards to his wounds.
Cutting open the heavy wool shirt she was pleased to see that it was not as severe as she had feared, a single albeit long and rather nasty looking wound ran down his side, but it had not broken any bones or pierced deep into his body.
Content that he would withstand being carried some way away from this place he lifted him up with both arms, and almost carried him like a mother sheltering her child the great red haired woman began to make her way to her own campsite.
It was from there she had woken to the distant baying of a hound, and the sounds of battle that had sounds trough the woodlands, Looking back to the hound she said.
“Come on then, no reason for you to remain here and beside any wounded warrior is welcomed at my campfire, no matter how they look.”

Dread watched the strange woman, whom was unlike any other he had ever seen or smelled approach his master after he had limped out of the way. She smelled like the deep woods and faintly of brimstone for some strange reason.
As she lifted his master effortlessly and began to walk away he was torn between staying here and nursing his own wounds, or to follow his master and this strange female.
In the end it was not a hard decision and with a low whimper he hobbled after her, his great pink tongue hanging from his mouth as he panted heavily.

When she reached her campsite that where inside a small cave once occupied by a great bear. She layed the man down and began to tend to his wounds. That meant stripping of most of his cloths, and pulling of his boots.
This task she went about almost effortlessly as she had tended to wounded warriors before, but that had been a long time since now, some old memory of her and a raven haired woman sharing a campfire in a cave resembling this one made her pause as a single tear dripped down her gore stained face.
Cleaning the wound and then sowing it back together with a bone needle that she kept on a thread under her shirt using sinew she hoped to mend the damage done to the man by the great ape.
As she did so, something dawned on her. This man that lay half naked and unconscious before her had Pict blood running in his veins, that made her grin and almost curse herself for saving his hide. But he did not wear woad nor was he clad like the average savage soul from beyond the borderlands.
She also tended to the hound that had limped into the cave as she sowed the bloody and battered man back together, she gave it a mixture of herbs mixed with warm water to drink and stitched its wounds as best she managed while the dog lay perfectly still and allowed her to do so.
The herbs had soothed the animal but still, with such a great hound one could never know, admiring its powerful build and its almost mail like fur she understood why a man traveling in these dangerous lands kept such a beast.
“You are a hard one ain’t you lad” she said and ran one hand along its head before scratching it behind the ears.
“Sleep now and rest, you and your master are safe from harm here.”

content that her two injured and rather unexpected guests where safe for the moment, and not in danger of dying from their wounds she rose to her feet and walked outside the smoke filled cave.
She was in dire need of a wash after the bloody work she had done, and taking a chance she stripped of every piece of clothing and plunged down into the cold water of the stream that ran a bow shot away from the cave.
Her long red hair floating around her like the wings of a great bird soaring high in the skies, and her pale skin where riddled with goosebumps from the cold stream, she did her best to wash away the blood, sweat and gore. She also tried to wash her deerskin shirt but it seemed the blood had soaked into the very hide of the thing so she gave up upon getting all the blood of it.
Pleased with her efforts she rose from the deep pool and waded ashore, the cold air making her nipples grow hard and making her hurry ashore There she dressed herself and tied her wet hair into a knot with practiced ease, the charms made from bone and bronze gleamed dimly in the light of the autumn sun as she made her way back up to the cave.

Nice new entery, and good to see Ashild's return. Will there be a short tale perhaps to explain why she left the side of her lover and is back in human(ish) form?

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
Nice new entery, and good to see Ashild's return. Will there be a short tale perhaps to explain why she left the side of her lover and is back in human(ish) form?

Yes that there will be, as some of my regular readers will remember something rather dramatic happend with Ashild the last time I used her in a story. All will be explained in due time

Welcome back Ashild! It'll be interesting to see the dynamic between the two characters develop ...

It took almost a full day and night before the wounded man woke from the deep and murky depths of unconsciousness.
He woke to a unexpected feeling of warmth and soft bedding underneath his backside. Looking around and realizing that his wound was stitched up, and that he was very much still alive he allowed himself a deep breath of relief, when the great ape had struck him down he fully expected to die on that muddy road deep in the middle of nowhere.
But that also raised several questions that left him feeling rather uneasy, particulary as his sword was not at his side, and his other belongings where also nowhere to be seen.
The gloom of the cave also added to this sense of unease, as he tried to get up to orient himself a familiar panting made him turn his head, and to his relief he saw his hound looking him over as if inspecting a side of beef.
“Oi you greedy mutt! I ain’t dead yet so keep your appetite” he muttered to the dog that padded over to him and seemed to have been patched up as well.
He patted Dread on the head and took comfort in that whomever had saved him had won the trust of the dog, witch in itself was a indication of the nature of his unseen savior in his time of need.
It was at that moment that the memories from the dreadful encounter with the great ape began to come back to him, the sight of the beast towering above him ready to make a meal of him. And then the arrival of that towering warrior woman whom had dispatched the animal with one gruesome strike of her axe.
“By the gods I wonder where that one went of to?” he muttered to himself, as he managed to get up while clutching his side.
“Anyone here?” he dared to call out as he looked about for his sword and bow. He noted that his shirt was gone and that his scale mail had been removed, that did not cause him much grief. Since it had been ruined by that blow that had almost killed him, But his sword however... that was another entirely different matter.
Seeing how he got no response he took a few more trying steps, and found that his knees although somewhat wobbly carried him well enough.
Looking down on the wound he was amazed to see that it was neatly stitched together and well cleaned. So clearly his savior had some understanding of how to care for wounded witch was comforting to know at least.

Suddenly he noticed that Dread was glaring at something behind him and not being one to let someone sneak up on him, even when he was in such an reduced state he turned to see.
To say the man was shocked would not be wrong, for there stood a woman that loomed over him, she was an imposing sight to behold. Her long red hair decorated with bone and brass charms hung like a mane around her broad shoulders and down across her ample bosom that where concealed behind a thick mail shirt. Her skin although pale showed that she had lived in the wilds for some time, and her eyes seemed to pierce his very soul as they looked him over.
On her hip hung the great axe he had seen her use to slay the ape and thus saving him from a bloody demise.
He was seldom one to feel dwarfed by any man or woman, but this one definitively made him feel somewhat worried. She was clearly a very skilled fighter for such an aura as she had only those whom lived and prospered by the sword had. It was an almost predatory aura yet not one of outright hostility towards the world at large, just a willingness to spill blood at the drop of a pin,
Summoning his nerves he took the bull by the horns so to speak.
“My thanks for saving my life and that of my comrade, I must say it was some rather impressive axe work you displayed. My compliments on your style fair lady” he said and nodded in respect to his caretaker.
“No may I ask to by witch name you go? I would like to know the name of my savior” he finished and awaited her reply.
She answered with a surprisingly soft yet hard voice “ Ashild is the name that was given to me by the shaman of my tribe in the ice wastes of the far north the day I was born into this world, and you do not need to thank me for saving you. No man deserves to become the meal of one of the great apes, and yes. I have some skill with both axe and spear” she said as she sank down onto the stone floor of the cave and looked at him with those glimmering eyes.
Not waiting for him to reply she continued “ I tended to your wounds as best as I could, you will be stiff for some time. But the wound will be closed in a matter of days, I smeared a herbal mixture that will speed up the healing and prevent any sickness setting in the wound. Now you need to eat, outside over the fire there is a pair of rabbits cooking. Make sure you eat every scrap of them, I hate having to feed a picky eater”
Nodding his thanks, Brage made his way out of the small cave and slumped down by the fire and reached for the sapling that had been used to hold the rabbits as the roasted over the low burning fire.
Cursing the food for being so damned warm to the touche, and the lack of a knife to help himself he decided that sometimes one just needed to wait while the food became more manageable. But his now growling stomach made him reconsider that idea, and soon he was eating like a starved man. The meat was not very tender but it did the job of filling his belly, and he could feel the warmt spreading into his limbs and that his body had truly needed the meal.
Dread sat and watched this, his own belly rumbling but the dog did not make any noise as his master devoured both of the hares with all the manners of a wolf.
He was pleased that master still lived and that he seemed to be in good form and mood, although the dog probably doubt cursed him for being so greedy.

“I see manners are lost to you as me” Brage heard Ashild say as she exited the cave and came to sit on the other side of the fireplace, she seemed to be amused by his hunger and utter dedication to the meal.
“Well yes... pardon that I don’t normally eat like a starved wolf, well at least when not in company of others.”
To that she simply smiled, and revealed a set of sharp teeth that gave her a almost inhumane look as she sat there and gazed at him.
“Don’t worry, I am not going to devour your soul or anything. My teeth are part of the legacy one gets for being half troll and half human. You are not the first to look at them, nor will you be the last. And beside, I am not the only one here with mixed blood in my veins...” she finished.
“ I know what it means to be of two different people, it is not always a positive thing I can agree with.” he said as he finished gnawing the meat of the last rabbit leg, and with one somewhat move throwing the bones to Dread that lunged at this gift with a great hunger, and with saliva dripping from his massive jaws the hound devoured the bones to the very last scrap.

“So to what place where you traveling before being waylaid by the beast? “ she asked as she lit a pipe that she had pulled from a leather pouch.
“I was traveling to the west, with word of the state of the borders of the kingdom and the general lay of the land so to speak. I was hired as a scout for the crown some time ago and where planing to collect my pay and seek other forms of employment, had enough of being cold and miserable in some unnamed mountain pass or some godforsaken wood to fill a lifetime” he said and spat into the fire.
“What about you? Seeking new employment as a sell sword? Or simply wandering?”
To this question he got no immediate answer, he could see that she was thinking up a reply. So he deiced to not press the issue, no need to tease a sleeping dragon and what not he thought to himself.

“Wandering and searching for someone I used to be.....close with years ago, I suppose she has found someone else by now to be perfectly honest. But still I want to see her again” the woman said and let out a puff of bluish smoke that slowly rose towards the sky before being swept away by a gentle breeze.
“I suppose a steady supply of coin would be good, but its not a thing I crave any longer. Gold and silver lost its appeal long ago.” she said and closed her eyes for a moment, as if recalling some old memory that struck a cord with her.
“ But now I crave traveling company, and you are in no shape or form to travel alone just yet. So it seems we are stuck with each other” she said and rose to her feet.
“There are cloths in the back of the cave. They should fit you, I also placed your sword and bow there. You mail I had to ruin to save you from bleeding out.” she said and paused for a moment.
“ it seems you are in need of a new horse as well, seeing how you last mount meet an untimely demise. But I have no horse to let you ride on and there is no horse traders for many leagues around here, so I suppose until we find you an replacement you are walking. “ she said as she got to her feet, and headed for the cave to begin packing her few belongings.

Now left to his own thoughts and the rather smelly tender love and care courtesy of Dread, whom seemingly had forgiven him for not sharing the rabbits.
The dog rested its massive head on his shoulders and let out a low whimper and gave him a look that could only be described as sympathetic.
He patted the dog and in his own mind he came to the conclusion that he was after all alive, and his savior was not sore on the eyes. Altogether she seemed a bit rough around the edges, and he made a vow to never make a remark about women being weak around her, but there was something else about her too, something that gave him a rather uneasy tingling that ran down his spine and ended in a slight shiver.
It was clear to him that she was no fool, and in addition to her very impressive skill with the axe, and her knowledge of tending to wounded men. She also seemed to posses a very keen mind capable of some very deep bouts of reflexion and judgment of character.
Having spent most of the day since he woke from the deep and trance like sleep after he had fallen unconscious speaking to her, he had formed a solid opinion on his rather mystic savior.
As she bent down and packed the few things she had with her in a satchel made from wolf skin, and all but loosing herself in that familiar routine she thought of the man she had saved, and in some ways burdened herself with. He was clearly a well seasoned and experienced frontiersman that had seen much hardship and how deep into the darkness of savagery man could fall, he also was skilled with a blade since very few people knew how to use a sword as he carried well.
Yet there was more to him, just as it was with her than meet the eye at first glance, few men would willingly spend time in the wilds that lay beyond the frontiers. Where now only the ruins of a desolate land and the remains of a brutal civil war had all but torn a land apart almost thirty years ago. The same war that had been her own source of torment and much, much sorrow.
No noting good came of thinking about those dark days she knew, and quelled the growing unease within herself that always swelled up when those memories came back to her.
She had discovered that much when she had looked trough the contents of his saddlebags after she had tended to his wounds, and the man lay in deep, deep sleep.
The maps and the rolled up sheet of paper had given her some clues to why he was riding hard for the west, but she could be wrong too. For all she knew he could be what he claimed to be, and not some servant of the crown sworn to utmost secrecy and speed. Time would reveal these matters she decided and closed the satchel and hung it across her shoulders.
When she emerged from the gloomy cave she saw that he was standing up, and had somehow managed to get himself dressed. The shirt she had given him was a bit to large for his lean frame, but it did the job, and with his thick wool cape draped across his shoulders he looked every bit the frontiersman he no doubtless hoped to come across as. He looked leaner without his armor, but she imagined he was glad not having to wear it while his wound where still healing.
“So I take it you are intent on beginning the walk to the west then?” he said and glanced at her packed satchel and the campfire witch he had taken the liberty of putting out. Nodding she hefted her axe and slid it into the leather strap that rested on her hip.
“Aye that I do, we are at least four days away from the nearest hamlet due west, but I suspect we may pass a homestead or two as we go. Do not hesitate to tell me if your wound starts to bleed again, I have enough things to deal with it should it do so.” she finished and stepped by him, and in a almost casual move she handed him his sword and bow.
“You may be needed these before the days on the queens road is over, the woods are no longer safe for anyone.” she said without explaining that statement further.

Brage stood for a moment and watched her as she walked onwards into the direction that the road lay, then he shouldered his quiver and bow and strapped his sword belt back onto his own waistline before setting after the red haired woman whose swaying hips would perhaps enthralled a lesser man.
“Come on lad, no reason for you to stand around all day looking smug” he said teasingly to Dread whom shot him a glare and came trudging after his master and pack mate as they followed their new companion onto the awaiting road that lay ahead of them.

So what happened with Ashild in the past then? Does Brage think he's in with a chance? Imagine how mixed up the offspring would be!

Well I intend to explain that in due time, but I can say as much as sorcery and a hint of Draconic involvement was to blame. And no, Brage is a man not governd by his groin, witch a lot of fantasy heros seems to be

Nice to see a new entry. Ashild says it's been 30 years since the civil war. what I wonder has she been at all this time?

As the unlikely traveling companions where beginning their long march towards the west, and more civilized lands and the onset of the bitter cold Kels winter drew closer, and closer with each passing hearth beat. There where those whom already felt the change in the air, both in terms of loyalty and of the seasons.
When the would be throne thief had been slain and most of his dishonorable supports had either been killed, or fled to some far away lands the then young queen had ordered the capital of her now war torn and ravaged realm purged of all signs of the foul traitor.
She had gone to great lengths in breathing new life into the city, and trying to restore the sense of a unified kingdom once more. In many ways she had succeeded while in some success had been slow to be seen.
The taxes had been a necessary evil to help the rebuilding but had been met with angry growls and protests from those whom now had to pay more than they felt inclined to do so, but none dared to openly oppose the tax collectors and their armed escorts as they collected what the crown needed.
The people where still scarred by the savage civil war that had raged for the better part of almost ten years, and when it had finally come to an end her subjects started their slow return to a peaceful life, by a royal decree all those whom appeared in front of a oath sword judge with a grudge to settle was given the chance to do so, either by steel or by the ruling of the royal law.
Even so many grudges where slow to die and there where still those whom nurtured a burning hate deep within their chests.
Farms had been burnt, cattle and sheep stolen, eaten or simply reverted back to the wild. And wheat fields lay barren after their owners had fled or been killed by raiders, so therefor famine had also been a problem until the land was resettled and a new generation of farmers could take up the plow to help feed the kingdom and its starving masses.

She felt exhausted and spent as she sank down in the chair that stood by her solid oaken table, allowing herself a moment to simply relish the feeling of silence and the absences of the bickering nobles, court servants and what not that seemed to plague her when the royal court was in session.
More than once had the queen wished to smack the oafs hard with an armored gauntlet to make them keep quiet so that she could speak uninterrupted. Or to have her personal guard that hailed from the frozen and savage province of Vanaheim drag them outside and put their heads on a spike, but she knew that even if she could simply command them to keep quiet and don’t plague her with such nonsenses as land disputes, or some argument over trade agreements she needed to hear them out. For a ruler that governed trough fear was no true monarch and thus no better than a warlord whom ruled by the sword and fear alone.
She now had passed into her late forties she was still a formidable woman to behold when she was angered, or when she had to lead her armies against the predations of the savage Picts or the ever opportunistic city states that shared borders with her kingdom.
The queen was not one to spend her days in lavish luxury, instead she kept to a strict and almost brutal regime of physical and mental exercise, for a woman whom sat on the throne needed to be hard as iron, and as soothing as silk when the situation demanded it.
Over the years her personal attendants and other had suggested that she should allow herself to relax more, and not wear herself out while beating younger men senseless on the training field, or occasionally being beaten senseless herself when she sparred with one of the hulking sea born warriors of Vanaheim.
She had refused these suggestions with a scowl and some sharp reply, but she knew that it was not just because she wanted to keep herself fit and able.
For it was well known amongst the nobles of her inner circle that the queen was a emotionally scarred and vulnerable one. She had tried several times to find comfort in others, or to try and fall in love again but to no use, for her hearth still bleed for a red haired woman that had been lost to her so many years ago. But this was a secret guarded most deeply by her inner circle, for the common man and noble had no reason to know this.
The queen had however not forgotten that one day she would pass on and the throne needed to be handed over to someone else. Therefor she had adopted at that time a young and orphaned girl, whom now was her most prized joy and pride.
But now queen Charsi felt no need to see her adopted daughter, instead she craved sleep and the peace that it brought, and beside she could not wait to be out of these fashionable cloths. She hated all the glitter and fashion but she suffered that in silence, as a monarch needed to look the part too.

Getting up from her deep and plush chair proved harder than expected but she prevailed and soon she had begun to prepare for bed. But as she stood brushing her hair, that had begun to show a few grey hairs here and there a knock on her door disrupted her peace.
“What in the seven shades of devilry is it now then” she muttered as she put down the hair brush and went to the door and opening it so that she could peer outside to see whom where outside.
Peering out she looked right into the chest of the towering form of her most trusted guard and commander of the royal palace guard, the man whom resembled a bear more than man stood there in his trade mark suit of armor and one hand resting on the great two handed axe he always carried.

“Pardon mistress but lord Askhaug demands to see you, even if we told him that you did not wish to be disturbed. But he refuses to listen! Do you wish to for me to “suggest” to him that he should wait until morning? Or do the queen wish to see him at this late hour.”
The now somewhat less than regal looking woman swore under her breath, and then answered her guard.
“Let him in then, or else he will never keep quiet. But him alone! No one else!”
“Yes my queen” the towering warrior said and bowed his head in respect for his queen.
As she wrapped a silk blanket around her shoulders and took a deep sip of the chilled wine, and sat down the ornate glass goblet the footsteps of the man that had demanded to see her filled the silence of her personal quarters.
“I pardon having to disturb you my queen at this ungodly hour, but I have something that I dread could not wait until morning.” the man said and almost if placing something made of precious glass placed a scroll of rolled up parchment upon the table before him.
Lord Simon Askhaug was a pale and skeletal man, with a hawkish nose and lips thin as two red lines of ink. Renowned for being devoid of any sense of humor or willingness to mingle with most of the nobility of Kels whom he held few warm emotions for.
During the war he had been one of the most infamous leaders of the royalist cause, leading several regiments in daring raids and bloody ambushes that sowed mayhem and fear amongst those whom had sided with the throne robber. Although many whispered that he had little love to spare for the queen and her followers, but none the less. He served without complaints and took to his tasks with great determination and zeal.
But those whom spoke ill about him also knew that he was a relentless foe and possessed of a mind as keen as a sword edge, so therefor few where willing to voice their dislikes for the man in public.
“I am inclined to disagree with you Simon, as personal experience tells me that unless there is an enemy army at the gates, or a knife wielding madman on the loose, most things can wait until I have had a chance to sleep for a few hours.” the queen said in a weary tone.
“ Most of the time I would be inclined to agree with you my lady, but now is not one such moment in history, I received this report from a man that dose certain shady tasks for me. At first I suspected it to simply be his report of his findings. But when I read these words I realized otherwise. “ he said in a flat tone and handed the parchment that where sealed with wax and his own letterhead.
As the queen read what where detailed in the closed letter her face changed appearance, it went from simply weary and slightly annoyed to one that gleamed with to one that gleamed with worry and perhaps fear.
She sank into the chair that stood beside the table, clearly deep in a swirl of thoughts before answering her chancellor.
“ Send word to all the border forts and to my thanes that hold those lands. Tell them to increase their patrols and stay alert to any signs of trouble brewing.”
Taking a long and deep sip of her wine and setting the goblet back down she closed the discussion.
“I will address the court come the morning, but as of now you are to send men to watch those we know harbor ill feelings towards the crown. But make sure it is done as discretely as possible. I don’t want those damned nobles to have any reason to start growling if this all turns out to be a passing thing”
“As you say my lady” the chamberlain said and departed the chambers of his queen, duty speeding his walk as he passed the silent forms of the palace guards that loomed in the dimly light halls and corridors.

Lord Simon Askhaug walked with a gloomy look on his face down the dark halls of the palace, the whole place seemed to tingle with intrigue at times. And he took the responsibility to stamp out any major ones very serious, he did not care what the petty nobles and gentry said about him. Only that they obeyed their queen and feared his wrath should they stray from the path of the just and loyal.
But he was deeply worried, for the amount of ill omens had been growing steadily the last few months, and with winter closing in fast and the savages stirring along the border, things could spiral into mayhem all too quickly.
“May the gods speed your journey Brage” the chamberlain muttered as he paused to look out over the sleeping city that lay in the shadow of the palace, and guarded by the immense walls of the city.
He knew that it was a almost hopeless mission to send any man on, but he could not think of anyone better suited for the tasks he had given the man over the years, in return for making sure that the crimes the man had been charged with was wiped away.
Even if the relationship between the two was not a particulary warm one, they both knew that they depend on each other in a almost twisted way.
As the man whom had been given many rather unflattering nicknames by the people he dealt with approached his own personal quarters he became aware of the very faint sound of footsteps coming from behind him, on a almost seconded nature and one learned by a few attempts on his life over the years he gripped the hilt of his sword, but carried on walking as if unaware of anything abnormal.
As he paused in front of the solid oak door that separated his own chambers from the halls that lay outside and where about to look discretely over his shoulder he heard the sound of soft leather boots against the hard stone floor and the unmistakable sound of steel being drawn.

As a cat the hawkish man leaped out of the path of the unseen assailant, and thus narrowly avoided the broad bladed dagger intended for his back.
Simon swore profoundly as he scrambled backwards to get clear and thus being able to fend of this mad man, he also drew his own sword and held it firmly in one hand.
With murderous zeal driving his actions the assassin came for him, his dagger aimed at the left side of the man he sought to strike down, the knife wielding assailant seeing that his prey where armed and seemingly not intent on dying quietly.
Simon dodged a wild swipe and parried a second then using his sword he forced back the knife wielder, whom to his dismay drew a second dagger from his person and came at him hard and fast.
The clang of steel meeting steel rang out for a few moments, witch seemed like an eternity to the now rapidly tiring chamberlain.
He felt blood trickle down his face and his whole body seemed to burn with exhaustion, he knew he could not hold out for long against the blistering speed of his assailant and his spinning blades.
Then a strike with the pommel of one of his daggers the assassin stunned the man he sought to slay, following it up with a viscous headbutt that sent Simon stumbling to the floor with blood gushing from his ruined nose and several deep cuts the assassin loomed over his prey, gripping the sword that the prone man had wielded.
As he lay there bleeding and with his body screaming for a chance to recover Simon looked up at his soon to be killer.
“Come on you coward, kill me if you have the guts for it. And run back to the devils that hired your dark soul.” he said and spat at the feet of the dagger wielder that seemed angered by this, and rewarded him with a brutal kick to the ribs.
Raising the newly procured blade the masked one prepared to end this matter and vanish unseen by all but his soon to be dead target.
But before the blow fell however someone whom the assassin had forgotten to account for interrupted his dark deeds.
Like a thunderbolt the massive form of the captain of the palace guard struck the knife wielder with his massive two handed axe, the weapon sent the man spinning like a toy tossed by a child, leaving a bloody smear along the marble floor before striking the wall beneath the window looking down onto the courtyard below.
Gurgling blood the man tried to rise but with numerous bones shattered and a great gaping wound in his back the man took one last pained breath before his head slumped down onto the floor.
Only moments after the sound of more men running and the angry shouts of the now alarmed palace guard whom where mobilizing, this alongside the low and controlled voices of the sisters of mercy that had been summoned to tend to the wounds that the now unconscious and bloody chamberlain had suffered at the hands of his would be killer.
The captain of the guards, whom had slain the assassin and had served the queen for many long years surveyed the smear of blood and the signs of the struggle that had taken place before he had struck down the knife wielder and shook his head.
“Send word to the queen, and get someone to mop up all this trice cursed blood! And I want to know this damned scoundrel managed to worm his way into the palace! And armed no less!”

I feel a revolt maybe coming the Queens way. Plus nice to see the return of a fair few characters from the last saga. That Captain be a hardy old boss.

Charsi's done well for herself. Any chance of a reconciliation? Pretty please?

Brage sneezed and cursed the foul weather that seemed to be stalking him, as he now journeyed to the west with his two traveling companions.
The road was a sorry excuse for its kind, the foul mud and the added misery of being soaked to the bone and the faint sting of his own wounds.
He felt sorry for himself and wished for noting more than a warm cozy inn with plenty of beer and food at hand, or failing that a camp fire and a warm fur to warm his bones with.
At least he was not alone in his misery he mussed and looked to his side, where Dread trudged beside him, head hanging low and ears dipping. The hound seemed to also wish for warmer weather and a break from the rain and mud.
And leading the parade of soaking wet travelers where the redheaded warrior woman named Ashild, she seemed unphased by the ghastly weather and the cold wind that sung it mournful tune as it swept trough the tree tops overhead. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other he trudged onwards, and hoped that she planned to stop soon for the night, he would really hate to fall behind like some small child.
Ashild stopped at the crest of the hill, and looked back down at the man that where keeping a steady pace up the muddy road they had been following the entire day. He was not one for quitting it seemed, even if she suspected that his wounds hurt like hell. And that he really should have had a horse to ride, thus saving his strength and speeding his recovery. And then there was the massive beast of a hound that seemed to follow her with eyes that looked right into her very soul.
She had decided that the animal was no fool and that it suspected what blood beside human that flowed in her veins.

Looking to the grey sky and the heavy rainclouds that hung low, and draped the woods and hills in a fine shroud of mist she knew that they needed to stop soon for the night, because further exhausting their strength would do no good.
While she waited for the man to catch up to her, she reflected on the looming question that hung in the air. Witch was whom and what was stirring up trouble along the frontier and deep within the lands of Kels judging by the rumors she had heard when she had ventured into the few major cities that was to be found in this part of the realms.
She also dwelled with the memory of a raven haired girl, with fair skin and kind eyes and a laughter like a warm summer breeze that had stolen her hearth all those years ago.
That was one memory she had decided to see in the flesh before too long, if the gods where willing.
The labored breath of Brage and the stench of wet dog roused her from her train of thought.
“ So then my esteemed traveling companion an slayer of apes. Where do you think we could find shelter around here? I am not fussy about the place I rest my head but I would prefer it to be somewhere at least partially dry.” he said and spat while suppressing a sneeze once more.
“In there, we sleep under one of the giants of the woods this night, it should be dry enough for us all.” she said and pointed to a immense tree that stood some way into the woodland beside the road.
“Oh how charming, I just hope that I don’t end up with a branch falling down and reducing me to a red stain on the ground” Brage said and followed her into the woods.
The tree in question was a massive pine tree that was probably centuries old, and whom had seen countless passing of the seasons.
Beneath its massive limbs a thick layer of old and dry pine needles offered the trio a welcomed relief as they sunk down, weary to the bone and in need of rest.
“See if you cant find anything to get a fire going with, I will make the fire pit” he said and began brushing away the pine needles and using his hands to pull away the small roots and soft soil beneath. She nodded in silent agreement and got back on her feet, feeling somewhat sore, hefting her axe in one hand she went about gathering the firewood they needed to warm up and get some heat into their bodies.
Some time after she returned with her arms full of firewood and her hair decorated with pine needles and other things that had become stuck in it, a small fire blazed away and sent a spiral of smoke up amongst the branches overhead.
Dread had watched the red haired woman get back up, and brave the rain once more. Despite feeling his wounds sending small waves of discomfort, the great animal rose to his feet and padded after her. Protecting the females of the pack was a task he took most seriously, and beside he liked this one. She reminded him of someone else, that had cared for him and taught him how to fend for him self in the wilds. But that was just a memory now, sniffing the breeze that blew the dog growled.
The wind carried with it many smells and such, but there was one that made the massive hound bar his teeth. For he smelled wolves and those where his most hated foes, the ghost like animals that always prowled these lands. Ever ready to pounce upon the cattle he was supposed to guard, or the helpless sheep that where defenseless against such powerful predators. But he knew that they feared him and his raw might, but the grey coats where a long way from here. And therefor he did not sound the alarm, instead he brushed himself against the red haired woman and felt that she knew he was on guard.
When the wood collecting duo returned to the makeshift campsite the hound slumped down, feeling the weariness seeping into his very bones, casting one last look at his two pack members he drifted of into sleep.
Brage sat silently with his back to the gnarled and weather worn tree, while stuffing his pipe with the last of his tobacco. The ritual of cleaning the bone pipe, then stuffing it with the strong smelling herbs and finally setting a a spark to it made him feel at ease, there was something oddly soothing with the whole affair that made him cast of the shackles of weariness and the sting of his wounds.
As he did this he felt the cold gaze of Ashild observe his every move, but not in a unfriendly way. There was something distinctly different with this one he could tell. But what that was beyond the things that could be made out from her physical appearance and behavior was yet to be discovered.
“ You know, I have to say that I find it distinctly odd that a sell sword. And one that is half troll and half human, and so skilled with her weapon is trudging trough the wilderness instead of selling her trade in the heartlands of Kels or in one of the other Kingdoms. Hell I imagine even the Stygian throne or some of the city states in Thessalonia would have payed you well.”
Pausing to let out a puff of pale blue smoke he continued.
“ And beside that obvious and rather odd matter I also find it weird that you travel on foot, now I am sure that you have a good reason for it. Then there is the matter that you seem way more knowledgeable about the current state of affairs in Kels than most people are! I am not saying that it is suspicious but I do find it odd I have to say. Oh and then there is the fact that you carry a necklace studded with gems that is worth more coin than I dare think about.” the frontiersman finished and awaited any potential reply from his mysterious companion.

The barrage of questions and speculations seemed to sink in, without causing any at first visible signs of annoyance or a unwillingness to answer. Instead the half troll seemed to think hard about what she should say.
Then in a low tone she began to reveal what she knew, and why she wandered these lands whom was all but forgotten by the wider world.
“I was cast down into oblivion and darkness by a wielder of the dark arts thirty years ago. I lost my mind and my body to the horrific changes invoked by that foul deed of evil. For thirty years I anguished under its ruinous power until the spell was broken by some means I know not of. After that I spent the better part of a month lost in the wilds, wandering around like a broken shell of a woman until something restored my mind and gave me back my sanity along with a few precious relics of the past life I once had.”
looking now at her own feet with her long legs curled up she continued, but with a faint crack in her stoic tone.
“ After I had been set free and the cloths I wear and the silver trinkets I had been returned to me I set out for the hearth of the realm I fought to save from the evil that wanted to lay waste to it, but as I did things where revealed to me and I was awarded a new goal. One that will see me either dead or standing on the broken and mangled corpses of my enemies. Even though I have few memories of those dark years I know that the necklace I carry alongside these other trinkets are somehow bound to my own faith, witch I believe are to be found to the west”
“Sounds very dark and gloomy to me, never been one to appreciate sorcerers and their dark arts. They never sow anything but mayhem and misery. If we come across that vermin as we go Il lend you a hand so to speak, just don’t expect me to fight a summoned dragon or some other devilry” the man said and let out a deep breath.
“ Don’t worry, the one whom cast the spell died when it reached its crescendo. But evil still remains in these lands and will rear its ugly head once more and I own a blood oath to a woman that I hope still lives.”

As the conversation died down, and Ashild seemed to drift into sleep and her great frame stretching out beside the fire Brage sat motionless and brooded over the dark tale his companion had told him. The mentions of sorcery and other devilry made his skin crawl and a distinct feel of unease settled in his weary bones. He had encountered such mad men whom practiced the dark arts before and he had after those events sworn a oath to avoid their ilk when he could. But now it seemed that he perhaps would see more of those madmen.
Then there was the mystery of Ashild, even if she had given him parts of her story and reason for for heading towards the heart lands of Kels there was something that unnerved him.
She was indeed a personified mystery that would need some time to decode so to speak, but he felt that she intended him no harm.
Patting Dread on his head and pulling his heavy wool cloak around him he felt sleep begin to tug at his mind and soon he was drifting of into the dream realm.
Morning brought a pause in the rain, and a promise of better weather. The wind had shifted and the sun was peering out from behind the few clouds that remained, he felt energized by this small boon of respite and got to his feet, feeling his body thank him for a night of sleep and rest beside a fire.
“Good to see that you have decided to wake up, I was beginning to wonder if I had to drag you to a stream and throw your snoring arse into it.” said the half troll and grinned to him, she had clearly been awake for quite some time.
“Well pardon my heavy sleeping hearth then your majesty! I will change my devious menfolk ways to better suit your whims” he said in a slightly annoyed tone.
“No need for it, you needed the sleep more than I did” she said and out the last of the embers that still smouldered in the fireplace.
“But we should be on our way, we need to make use of the break in the weather. I for one would like to reach somewhere they have warm food and beer” she said and picked up her own cloak and began making her way down to the road with Dread close on her heels.


Meanwhile the unlikely band of travelers continued the arduous journey to the west, there was a storm brewing in the royal court following the attempted murder of the chamberlain.
Noble men and women gossiped, and other persons of various degrees of power and wealth looked to make themselves and their families safe from such a grisly fate.
The queen herself had barely left the Temple of Mercy since her faithful servant had been taken there, and her royal guard maintained a heavy presence in the temple district.
Queen Charsi sat on one of the marble benches that filled the main chamber of the solemn temple, witch where hardly similar to the other temples that lay in the same part of the city. Hardly any ornate art decorated the walls or costly tapestries hung on its stone walls.
The sole piece of costly decoration was the great stained glass window that sat above the altar that stood at the far end of the room, and from where the priests and priestesses addressed the crowds of worshipers and faithfuls when they held mass.
Her mind boiled with all manners of thoughts and she felt almost sick with worry. She had for some time known that unrest was brewing in her lands, and that some of the followers of her predecessor still looked at her with very unkind eyes, but she had not expected something like this to unfold.
Now however she had all but lost one of her most important supporters, and the royal court was afloat with rumors and whispers of treachery hung heavy in the air.
Draining the last of her wine that one of the sisters of mercy had brought to her when she had asked for something to drink, she got to her feet and looked up at the great work of art that was the glass window that displayed the lore of the temple order, she never ceased to be amazed by the dedication these silent and for the most reclusive men and women showed to their cause and belief, it was certainly something to be admired and respected.
“Captain! Send word to my council members and make sure to wake everyone of the drunken sods that makes up my court from their slumber! I need to address the crowd and sooth their minds so to speak. And one more thing, leave a cohort of men behind to guard Lord Askhaug!”
“Yes my queen, I will dispatch men to wake them, and do not worry. He is in capable hands here. No devil will manage to sneak by my men, I will leave my finest men here” the giant of a man said before bowing to his queen.
Just moments afterward his hard voice rung out and summoned his men and giving them their orders.
As the royal procession moved trough the capitol none dared bar their path. The men of Vanaheim formed a curtain of steel and muscle around the royal carriage, while the mounted Druzina horsemen kept the crowds that stopped and looked at the procession.
The common folk understood that something grim must have had occurred since the queen had so many of her best troops with her as she returned to the palace.
They where not used to see this spectacle, and therefor many looked on with worry clear on their face, some began to whisper that perhaps the threat of war hung heavy in the air, or that some other unseen evil looked to menace the lands of Kels once more.
Inside her carriage the queen sat in silence and seemed to ignore the worried look on the face of her chamber maid.
Pondering the ill news that had come from the border, and the almost successful assassination of Lord Askhaug she looked grim as death, her face hard as stone and her grey eyes resembling a rolling thunderstorm.
As the procession came to a halt in the great courtyard of the palace whom seemed far less inviting now and her maid stepped out and offered her hand to the queen, those whom where assembled to see the queen return from her vigil over the wounded man saw something they had not seen since the last time war had come to Kels.
The monarch who normally greeted her subjects with kind eyes and a gentle voice was gone. And instead they where meet with a woman who seemed devoid of warmth and kindness. Walking flanked by her towering royal guard and the now dismounted Druzina, she seemed more akin to a ice goddess, devoid of compassion and care.
As she walked up those stairs that she had walked up countless times her eyes flared with anger, frustration and perhaps grief, but none of the royal court that had assembled outside the palace to see their queen return from the side of her wounded chamberlain dared speak to her now.
Instead the wealthy and rich kept their tongues and bid their time, for when the queen sat upon her throne. And the various noble folk where given the chance to speak their piece she would have to bear it with all her royal calm.
Sometime later when the queen had taken seat in the throne room, and a serving page had brought her something to wet her throat she faced the royal court.
They filed in in accordance with their standing and claim to power, the major landowners and retainers to the crown walking first and the lesser nobles and merchant lords came in behind them, some with greed in their eyes while some came simply to be seen and to be noticed by their peers and other whom may wish to see them hold their own against the queen and her council.

Missed this update somehow! I want to see more from the hound's POV ... what's his backstory!?!

Np, I have been somewhat hinderd by work and a nasty case of Nugle provided illnes. But I will strive to have a new part up in a few days, and I will try to deliver that, thanks for the comment

As the assorted crows of people found their place in the grand court hall, and the royal palace guard took up position in front of the throne, with their weapons resting in their gauntleteted hands did the queen herself appear.
She was followed by her chamber maid and the nobles that made up her inner circle and the representatives of the order of the Druzina and the representative from the Temple of Mercy that walked with her features hidden from sight under a ornate cape with a hood that hid her features from the eyes of the people around her.
A number of nobles, all whom where of substantial power and wealth stood apart from the other members of the court, their faces set in a definitely unfriendly tone as they watched the queen took seat upon her throne and gestured to the herald to call for order and silence in the room.
When it descended upon the crowd and before Charsi could speak one of the nobles whom where clad in garb more fitting a warrior than a nobleman attending the court seized it.
He was a man of a powerful build and with a long mane of dark hair set in a top knot, his face marred by scars and two eyes that was completely devoid of warmt or mercy.
His name was Haakon Daggerhorn and he was the lord of the province of Heidenheim that lay next to the border of Thessalonia.
The bloodline he belonged to had been one of the fiercest supporters of the would be king that had been slain at Dunheim long ago, and thus he had long been suspected of being a less than loyal servant of the queen. But none dared to say that to his face, for he was one of the most skilled and feared fighters in the whole of Kels, but he also possessed a mind as sharp as a razor and political skills second to none. Although he had relative few friends in the court he was generally respected, at least face to face by his peers.
Despite his somewhat questionable loyalty, he had served as the guardian of the border that ran alongside his lands with great zeal for almost a decade after he had taken power after his adopted father.
Now he stood almost eye to eye with the queen and in clear defiance of the normal etiquette of the court.
“ What in the name of all the nine layers of the abyss is the meaning for this unheard and frankly disrespectful summon? I was entertaining relatives and honored guests in my humble abode when your dogs came prowling, demanding that I drop everything I have in hand and report to the royal palace. And what greets me here? I am forced to wait a full night and half a day before you decide to grace us with your presence! And for what? The result of some infighting between your own ministers!”
The queen rewarded the noble with a icy glare before answering him.
“ I do pardon that someone of such high esteem had to be away from your mistress and soft bed, but I do not care what you feel and think yourself entitled to! You are a servant of the throne and therefor you will obey when addressed by the royal household guard! Further more when someone tries to murder my chamberlain and leaves a trail of bodies in their wake I believe that most sane folk would stand being forced to wait, while I offer my respect to the wounded and his kin folk!”

Not seemingly phased by the icy tone of the queen the steel eyed noble simply returned the favor and replied.
“What befell that old fiend was sooner or later going to happen, being the royal executioner dose not make a man popular, let alone liked. No he did seed his own almost fatal run in with the dagger of a assassin. I say he was living on borrowed time for all the grief he caused!”
As soon as he had spoken those very words, a gasp escaped many of the people assembled in the throne room.
It was generally understood amongst the members of the nobility, that one could speak his or hers mind within reason, or disagree with the monarch over a lot of matters. But this was not one of those things, for it was common knowledge that the queen was fierce in her defense of those she considered her friends and allies, no matter what walk of life they hailed from.

Now even Count Haakon Daggerhorn understood that he perhaps had been too liberal with his words. He felt the eyes of the court upon him, and therefor he dared not flinch when the queen glared daggers at him, and he suspected that it took all her self control not to order him cut down where he stood, or dragged of chains to the darkest and deepest dungeon that she had at her disposal.
Her voice was hard as glacial ice when she replied to his outburst and clear disrespect for her chamberlain and herself and the throne, while her face was set in a look of simmering and unveiled fury.
“ I would have understood if the wife I know you have waiting for you in Daggerhorn was with you here in town, and not some painted prostitute that you had hired for the night! That a man whom has a wife that has stood faithfully by his side for several years is forced to be chained to such a dishonest and outright venomous soul as you lord Haakon I find most displeasing to think of! Further more you may wish to remind yourself that its by my good grace that you are allowed to rule the lands your father held before he payed the price for his ill deeds!”
As the queen said those last few words one could have heard a pin drop onto the floor, those whom stood near the now humiliated and reprimanded lord looked at him with something akin to perhaps bewilderment or loathing, while some perhaps thought the man had been needlessly humiliated by the now very animated queen that simmered with anger.
“Show some bloody manners and I may yet find the will to let this incident pass without any further harm to your name and reputation” she finished and glared at him.
The offending man did as told and took a deep bow as if bowing before a fair maiden.
Some of the older members of the court shuddered when they saw the look on the face of the nobleman as he bowed his head in submission to the queen, but not a word escaped his now sealed lips.
His eyes however said all those whom dared look into those wells of darkness and churning hatred needed to see, those same old men and women remembered how his father had looked when his blood was up and for many of those persons it was a deeply unpleasant blast from the past.
His small band of friends and close allies seemed to reflect his feelings, for they too had their faces set in hard tones as they followed their humiliated comrade out of the throne room and towards the stables where their horses waited alongside their armed retainers.
“That spiteful and ghastly harlot will pay for having such a venomous tongue” one of them said to Haakon as they entered the stables and made ready to depart the palace grounds.
A mutter of agreements and supporting opinions of the queen where added by the other members of the band of powerful men that had mounted their horses.
“Don’t waste your energy on cursing that devil in the guise of a woman, she is not to be underestimated. She possesses a mind that is as intricate as any labyrinth. And she still has scores and scores of followers flocking to her when darkness threats to engulf the lands.” the simmering lord of Daggerhorn said and gestured to his retainers to get moving.
“ Go back to your mansions or townhouses and wait for news, I will send word of any new development with our plans!” he almost growled as he departed the palace stables with his retainers taking their place behind their master and lord.
As the nobles departed and the city as a whole began to fall silent as the evening drew closer to night, a cold wind began to sweep trough the city and its many streets. The wing sang it its mournful tone and brought with it further promises of the winter that was not far away.

In the throne room those whom had not departed and returned to their homes or sleeping places for the night stood in small groups and discussed the scenes that had unfolded this night, most agreed that it did not bode well for the day to come when the queen and the court at large would reconvene for more discussions and debates.
Their eyes also fleetingly fell upon the queen whom sat silent on the throne and seemed to be lost in her own deep train of thought, no doubt pondering how to deal with the rather hostile lord of Daggerhorn and his supporters and allies.
As the groups of various persons of wealth and power took their leave the queen sat still in silence with her face drawn in worried tones.
Her seclusion was disturbed by the low voice of one of her guards.
“My queen, do you wish to retire for the evening? Or should I send for food and drink?”
The guard was one of the Druzina, the famous order of knights that unlike many other orders only recruited their squires and knights from the wild and savage nomads that called the great roiling steps to the far east their home. These man whom rode into battle upon horses that was just as wild and uncivilized as their masters, the riders of the Druzina where known for their mastery of the bow and the lance. And their claim to be the most skilled horsemen of the world was regarded by many to be a legit claim, although not all agreed on the matter.
Charsi rose from the seat she had occupied for far too many hours as far as she regarded and answered the guard whom had taken three steps back from his monarch.
“ If you would be so kind to follow me back to my chambers I would be very grateful.”
No sooner than having spoken those words the guard, whom clearly was someone of rank in the Druzina barked orders in his harsh and guttural native tongue and the men he had under him formed a solid wall around the queen, while her royal guard lead the procession, their massive frames casting deep and long shadows in the dimly light halls of the palace.
Surrounded by such men she allowed herself to relax and managed to let go of the constant need to look over her shoulder, an almost unwilling reflex she had adopted after the attempt at the life of her chamberlain.

They soon reached her chambers and the guards parted before her like the sea as she opened the door and stepped inside. The Druzina remained outside with most of the men of Vanaheim, only the captain of the palace guard and his two senior officers where allowed past the door and into her private quarters this time.
“ Do you wish for us to remain here my lady? Say the word and we will remain to watch over you as you rest your mind and body” the captain said while kneeling before her, a habit she had tried to get the men of Vanaheim to abstain from, but the oath bound warriors where adamant when it came to their ways and culture. She hesitated by in the end she knew that she should take no chances with her life, as more assassins could be lurking in the shadows.
“Yes captain, I would be most at ease if you remained here. I don’t feel like tempting fate, just in case.”
“Your will be done my queen!” the man said and rose to his feet, his axe scraping along the floor tiles as he did.
With the three towering men of Vanaheim guarding her like a dragon guarding its hoard the queen removed her formal court clothing, and crawled into bed, where she felt the weariness of the day wash over her at last. The last thought that passed by in her mind before she was fast asleep where the face of a tall and red haired woman that had stolen her hearth so long ago.


Dread where running at full speed, his long pink tongue hung from his mouth and his breathing was labored as he barreled trough the undergrowth, his eyes where burning with hate and blood lust as he chased after his prey, the white painted devil would not escape his wrath. No the pitiful human would die screaming with his teeth around its neck, he could almost taste the warm blood of his foe now. And the human was growing tiered and panic would soon take hold he knew.
Leaping over a fallen tree and dodging a low hanging branch the hound closed the distance between his prey and him.
The Pict who was running from him was not a warrior, the youth was barely fourteen summers old, he had gotten lost and wandered for days looking for his clan that called the woodland home, but instead of finding his kinfolk he had meet this forest devil that seemed intent on running him to the ground, he could feel the cold claws of fear gripping his hearth. Yet the boy ran on not willing to give up, but his weary body could not take much more, and his pace was faltering. Then suddenly a tree root snagged his foot and he fell face first into the cold moss. As he scurried back onto his feet while spitting blood and moss a bloodcurdling howl filled his ears and out of the brushes came the great beast. White foam dripping from its maw and its ghastly eyes fixating him.
The boy scrambled backwards, trying to stave of his bloody demise soon to come. But to no avail, his body was spent and his legs would not carry him onwards.

Dread gazed at the mewling pup that tried to get back up and growled, this was not the prey he had hoped to sink his teeth into. But he was not picky when it came to killing the white wolfs that had killed his old pack, and slaughtered his own offspring when they had come for him the last time.
With one last snarl he rushed forwards, and like a possessed sunk his fangs into the neck of the Pict that wailed in terror and pain.
His great paws pinned the whelp down and his blunt claws raked the all but naked form of his prey. Shifting his grip he started to shake the pup like a terrier shaking a rat until a sickening sound was heard as the shoulder he was gripping in his maw was torn of.
The prey was silent now. Shock, pain and blood loss had killed the youth.
As the great hound spat out the piece of bloody and mauled meat licked itself around its gore stained mouth.
Lifting one of its rear legs the hound pissed on the remains in one last act of hate and rage. Now thee was one less of the white ones to threaten its master and pack.
Leaving the carcases to the crows the hound left the scene of carnage behind and began retracing its steps to the rest of its pack, his nose leading him back to them.

“Where in the nine hells did that dog go?” Brage swore as he looked around for the mentioned dog, Dread had taken of like a stung horse into the woods while baying like mad.
“I swear if that oaf has gone chasing hares Il be deeply annoyed” he said and let out a deep sigh.
“Don’t worry, a beast like him will find us before we ever find him. And beside, he was probably hungry and took matters into his own paws so to speak” said Ashild as she took a deep sip of water before handing the water skin to Brage whom also drank deeply of it.
They had covered much ground, and where now resting in the remains of a long ago abandoned farmhouse, both of them where muddy and weary to the bone. But took comfort in that the rain and fog had lifted, and that it seemed the weather would stay this way for some time. The only potential hindrance was the threat of snow and the onset of winter.
“ I think we will reach some sort of civilization soon, the roads shows more signs of travel than anything we have seen up to this point. Memory serves me correct I think we are about a day away from the provincial capitol of Kaupang.” said Ashild as she chewed the last piece of dried meat.
“ Kaupang eh? Well I suppose anywhere that can put a roof over my head and warm food in my stomach will do. Even if its populated by superstitious farmers and inbreed nobles.” said Brage and spat out a piece of sinew from the piece of horse meat he was chewing on while he stood and looked around for any signs of the dog he had come to care for.
As he did he caught sigh of a familiar figure that came padding out of the woods and with a clear course for him and Ashild.
“Speak of the devil eh” he muttered and felt some sense of relief wash in over him at the sight of Dread.
“What did I tell you, a dog will always come back to a master that it cares for.”

Be careful what you wish for, eh? I know I said I wanted to see more of Dread but, wow ... that hound's pretty badass.

Queen Charsi appears to have failed Elementary Queensmanship 101 ... never humiliate one of your lords in front of court and let him live! N00b mistake that'll come back to bite her.

Roll on the reunion between Ashild and Charsi!