Tales
These are the stories told by bards in taverns across Vikingr.
Collecting the Dead
Griz ducked back behind the moss covered roots still wet from the morning dew. He looked upon the battered humanics gathered below him on the wooded ridge. They were eight now, all that was left after the battle the previous evening against the encroaching thicket wolves. Yarnill, their settlement, had a particularly good breeding season that year which doubled the Ungulvine in their pastures. Damn cattle must have attracted the attention of this pack.
He wished he could take his weary brothers and sisters home so they could rest but their job wasn’t over. This encounter was sloppy. The number of humanics that fell was sure to attract a Valkyrie. Hopefully just one. A chill went down his spine as he remembered what two Valkyries did to his group the last time he encountered them. His scarred arm burned with remembered pain.
Those avian whores steal the dead. Our dead. A tear streaked down his blood stained face as he thought about those who didn’t receive their final rights. Not this time. We are going to bring them all home.
…
A crack sounded as a dark streak parted the clouds drizzling upon the meadow below. She seemed to be spiraling directly into the earth when at the last second two large powerful wings sprouted behind her graceful feathered frame and halted her descent. With several vicious strokes she landed to fulfill her duty.
…
Everyone held their breath as the thief plunged toward the dead not further than a few moments sprint away from their concealed positions. They would not let their brothers and sisters be taken to the wrecked hall of Valhalla no matter the cost. Those with nets made sure they had the proper grip and steeled themselves. If they hesitated for even a second they would be taking more of their own home upon shields.
…
Huang faced her ambushers and let out a shriek as the first hook barbed net lacerated one of her wings. In that instant she realized the damage was too severe. There was not escape. This was a fight to the death. Fortunately the first assailant had slipped on the approach throwing off his aim. She folded her wings and dodged a sword strike thrust toward her. They were slow. Blood soaked her beak and plumed breast as she swiftly punctured a hide armored neck. The body crumbled with a cry of anguish as she tossed it aside and drove her talons past a shield into the chest of the next who dared prevent her from carrying out her charge.
…
Griz gritted his teeth as the Eitr laced cry pierced his companions. Damn, he cursed as its essence found purchase in several of them. He knew even that second of paralysis meant his friends were going to die. The cursed thing moved with inhumanic speed and laid two of their number at its clawed feet in an instant.
…
She was about to buffet the attacking group with her remaining wing when the second net enveloped her completely. As blades pierced her body she locked eyes with an enemy for one last screech in her death throes. Her vision faded as she hoped Hugin and Munin would lead her into death.
…
Only six now. Five considering Grith hadn’t recovered from the last cry of the Valkyrie before it died. It would be some time yet before he pieced his mind back together. They had to craft makeshift sleds to bring everyone home. But they were bringing everyone home. For the first time in several years the families of the fallen could mourn and put their loved ones to rest. Despite his overwhelming sorrow he found peace. They can be slain he thought to himself. They can be slain.
The Bound Warrior
Somewhere in the realms of Vikingr there exists a putrid field watered with the blood of the fallen and decorated with their remains and shattered gear. Each corpse represents a failed attempt to lift the curse of the bound warrior. It stands watch over this field from its Horgr, an altar of bone.
Long ago a foolish warrior was tricked by Nidhoggr into trading their soul for victory against their foes. But the price was a cursed existence and only the warrior’s immeasurable fury kept him from having to obey Nidhoggr’s whims.
The warrior sends Ravens to the nine realms bearing the message of his challenge. “He who can slay me and offer the glorious death denied may claim the spoils of this field.”
The warrior has stood on its altar for a thousand years. The field contains enough gear to equip an army and enough Eitr infused weapons to make the Dverger jealous.
To The Last
Leayn crept slowly forward through the rubble. The hot breath on her neck and low rumble emanating from the Myrkwolf directly behind no longer put her at unease. Just two winters ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about slicing Vrok’Tar’s throat. Now what was left of her clan relied on his pack to guide them. The old feud between the mutts and her kinsmen didn’t matter now as they closed in on their prey. They needed each other. This would be the last chance to claim the revenge that was rightfully theirs.
…
Arguz winced as the Eitr starting tearing out of his tattoos joining the other dim wispy threads woven around the congregation at this broken hall. His adoration for Domiz kept him strong and concentrated.
He has delivered us through so much hardship and now we are finally going to be rewarded. Tyr wouldn’t turn his back on his faithful now!
Arguz, viewing his own bloody body and the almost filled runes at his feet, knew the weave was almost complete. He just had to focus a little while longer to end the suffering. Those were his last thoughts as he collapsed gurgling. His hands gripped the arrow piercing his neck.
…
Suddenly Domiz’s drifting thoughts returned to his mortal form but they were not the only thoughts now in his head.
TOO SOON.
He watched a volley of arrows cut a swathe of death into his hooded flock. He wanted to yell out but couldn’t. His sight gazed on an arrow protruding from his chest but he was not the one feeling or moving his body. They were now floating above the pedestal and bristling with cords of condensed Eitr. He could sense the other being surge with anger and press up against his consciousness crushing it.
DEFLECT.
A burst of thunder exploded and scattered the next flight of arrows harmlessly into the crevasses of the surrounding ruins. Their faithful were now at arms but outnumbered and in a weakened state. They were being slaughtered.
…
The Myrkwolves’ timing was flawless. They faded back into their corporeal forms from the shadows as the first volley cut a direct path to the Mystic. They still had a chance to slay the vessel before the ritual was complete. The three quickest wolves forced their way through the brief gap in bodies and the stinging of blades. The rest of the pack collided with the cultists that cut them off. The trio opened their jaws in anticipation of the blood to come as they tensed to launch themselves up at the Mystic. This was their time to restore honor to their pack. But that chance was torn away and with a crack of energy time stood still when the being snapped to face them.
…
DEATH.
…
Leayn slid her blade from the split skull of the last cultist in her way and watched in horror while the Mystic husk wove Seidr with inhumanic swiftness the moment before it was set upon by the ferocity and fangs of her allies. The torrent of lightening seared away the flesh from it’s own body. If it still felt it showed no sign of caring. The wolves were torn asunder and the smell of burnt flesh, hair, and blood filled her nostrils. Doubt started to shake her will. But she still had a trick of her own and the fallen wolves had provided an opening to close the distance. She could not let their sacrifice go unmet so she dashed forward toward the monstrosity. Her muscles ripped and burned as she twisted her body to put all her strength behind the strike she brought to bear against the transforming demigod.
…
FOOL.
Domiz felt his consciousness slipping away. The pace his life force was draining increased with each Seidr they wove. As a protective barrier congealed between them and the she-Alfar he stopped resisting his possessor and his last thoughts faded with joy.
I have achieved my destiny! And then Domiz was no more.
FINALLY.
The Shard smirked at the incoming attack. IT would toss the puny creature aside and end this.
…
At the final moment Leayn muttered the incantation her father, their king, taught her with his dying breath. The last syllable left her lips and suddenly her weapon focused the Eitr swirling around them to its blade and sank through the protective Seidr driving deep into her mark. The Seidr shield shattered as the sword plunged through to its hilt. She watched with satisfaction as the light fled from the eyes of the creature that had slain her family.
…
DEFEAT.
There was a brief pause of calm before the surrounding air was sucked into the mortally wounded Shard. The following eruption decimated the field of battle as all the Eitr concentrated in the demigod burst.
…
She was broken. Her body could not lift from the rubble she was thrown into. All her victorious kin were strewn about before her. She was proud. The soft rumbling she had become accustomed to was off to one side but she could not find the strength to turn to face her friend.
She struggled. Are you hurt?
Not as bad as you fierce one.
Am I the only one left?
There was no answer from the beast. She reached out and ran her fingers through Vrok’Tar’s warm fur. He always hated when she did that. Like a common feral he would always growl. He let it pass this time.
You know what I am going ask.
Yes. It is the way of your kin.
Please. She limply motioned toward the sheath in her boot.
…
Leayn choked on her own blood as Vrok’Tar helped plunge the dagger into her chest with a wet thud. Briefly she fought the searing pain until it subsided to allow a final whisper of thanks. Using the last of her will she pulled her protector in close so he could hear.
Your pack has fulfill its oath. Our lands are now yours.
She fell back into the embrace of death with a smile.