07-18-2010, 07:50 AM
I have provided translations of the danish and old norse for those who can't understand said languages. 
Mercy wasn't at very high regard. Women were raped; men brutally slaughtered, and from time to time... men were also raped. But in the end, you either died or you were raped and then killed. Or you were raped and thralled. Or, you were molested and thralled. The options were few, and those which were weren't optimal to say the least. Since the big men with long beards had arrived at the northern coast, the english life had been terrible. They had come in big ships, laden with many men. The ships were shaped in forms of dragons and seamonsters; they seemed like a courier with a notice of what their creators came with, a warning of the pending death. The men which the dragon ships carried had long unchecked hair and long beards, blue, ravaging eyes, and powerfull limbs. They carried big axes, and swords of various lengths. They carried massive round shields – paintings of the monsters they arrived in embedded upon them. They were relentless, merciless, and ruthless. Nothing survived which shouldn't survive in their opinion, leaving a coast – and soon a country – ravaged by the fires of war, unpopulated but flies.
”Bjorn!” a small man yelled. He was very small for viking standards; he didn't even have 'big' muscles. He was standing by a big fire, in the midst of a snowy plain. ”Yes?” a bass voice replied. ”Come here, you lump of meat!” the small man grunted. A big man came walking out of a big shrubbery nearby, carrying as many berries as his arms could hold. He had black, unchecked hair and beard, with bushy eyebrows. He was massive, unlike his small friend. They were the perfect counterparts; one was small, very small, and the other was large, unchallenged in size. The big man, Bjorn, looked at the smaller.
”What is it?”
”I saw something move inside the forest before”
”You completely sure?”
”Of course I am completely sure, you bastard!” the small man yelled. Bjorn dropped the berries by the fire and shifted his weight, lending a hand to his axe-shaft. He looked nervously around him. The smaller man picked up his shield, and began walking towards the forest. ”You coming?” he asked with an unpatient tone. Bjorn walked across the fire place and picked up his own shield. He followed. After ten steps or so, Bjorn stopped.
”Kjeld?”
”Yes, Bjorn?”
”What about breakfast? I never got to eat those berries”
”Shut your hungry gap, there is weaklings to be killed – blood to be shed, loot to be taken! This is all more important than you're berries. You can have a good, warm, dish of oatmeal when were done. ” Kjeld shook his head and moved on. ”Come you lazy dump, lets not waste time.”
Howard had spotted them in the distance. A small man and a giant man. Heading towards the forest, heading towards the village, heading towards... heading towards him. And Cathrin. Howard had looked for others, but it seemed that it was only those two. And if it only was, they could wreck enough havoc even though they got killed. The men of the north weren't to be underestimated. Howard had learned that when his wife and three children were killed. Now his life was only worth living because of Cathrin, his cousin. He and she had only barely escaped death, or even worse, inthrallment, when the invaders came to his old village. He had seen it burn in the distance, the fumes of smoke rise to meet God. He tried to examine the pair in the distance. It was hard, as far away as they were. But he had come to agreement with himself that he had seen the outline of a shortbow on the small mans back, along with a shield. He couldn't see if he had any mêlée weapons, but he was absolutely sure that he big man carried a double-headed axe. The biggest one he had ever seen. Howard jumped from his perch in the tree. He ran towards the village, into the forest.
”There, it something moved again!” Kjeld pointed. Bjorn narrowed his eyes, tried to spot the movement Kjeld was so excited about. He couldn't. ”Sorry, mate, but I don't see it” he said, still scanning the area where his mate had pointed. ”I Lokes navn!* Can you even see a pig if it attacks you?!” Kjeld shook his head, and walked on. When they reached the forest edge, Bjorn looked up. ”So, we go into this forest because you think you have spotted something move. Right. It's obvious that something moves when the birds leave their nests. You should be the one drinking from Mímir's Well, not Odin!” Bjorn said. At the same moment, two ravens flew directly over them and over the tree-tops, soon vanished from vision. Kjeld looked up at the big man. ”How dare you question the ways of Odin! He even traded his one eye!” he spitted on Bjorn, which face became a bloody red. ”I haven't questioned Odin, I have questioned you!” he spitted back. Kjeld's face didn't turn red, it turned some sort of bluey-purple. He jumped him. They rolled around on the ground, unarmed and brawling. Their weapons had been discarded a little into the fight; it would be unfair if Bjorn suddenly brought his axe down on Kjeld, and it would do little good if Kjeld should happen to be right. After a small time, Bjorn and Kjeld rose again. The little man's face was clearly battered, with both eyes half-closed and blood coming from his mouth and nose. His hair was bloody. Bjorn though didn't seem to have taken much damage, granted his size. His nose bleed, but it nooses began easily to bleed. A single hit in the face would cause it. To conclude it, and put his victory stamp all over the scene, Bjorn looked up to the sky and raised his axe. ”Thank you Tor, for the might to win this fight! Thank you Odin, for the deception to win this fight! Thank you-” ”Shut up, pig. Lets move on and check what it was moving in there. ” Bjorn's eyes stared raging on Kjeld, as the little, stout man entered the forest. He picked up his bag, and continued after him.
*”I Lokes navn!” translates to ”In the name of Loki!” or ”In Loki's name!”
After having walked in an hour or so, Kjeld looked up at Bjorn from his half-closed, purple eyelids. ”D'you see that?” he pointed. Bjorn could see what meant. A big hole in the ground just fives meters ahead of them, obviously a trap supposed for animals. It had some sort of disguise, but nothing but a few leaves ontop of three wooden branches. ”So you were right after all, hm?” Bjorn said, chuckling. ”Whats so funny?” Kjeld asked, his face a mixture of blood, anger, and wonder in some sort of creepy grimace. ”That, even though I won our fight, you turned out to be right. ” Bjorn stopped to think for a moment. ”Why did I even follow you into the forest? I won!” he exclaimed. ”Yes you won, but you'll lose your life soon if you keep yelling! And, I don't know why you followed. You're dimwitted, thats what you are!” Kjeld concentrated on the path ahead. He drew his bow. ”Now, we'll do it right old style. We move up all close to the wood border, still out of sight. The first group you see – charge. There'll be more than enough loot and women for both of us. Let's go.” Kjeld moved ahead, crouched. Bjorn followed, also in some sort of crouch. But Bjorn crouching didn't make the big difference from Bjorn standing, because his gigantic size made it hard hiding. ”I see a group now,” Bjorn said. Excitement could clearly be traced in his voice. ”Two women, a boy – about fifteen I guess, and a girl about the same age. En meget smuk en af slagsen.* ” Kjeld looked across at Bjorn. ”Pervert... Hammer, Linen, Fire. If I win, I get her. If you win, you get her. ” Bjorn eyed Kjeld suspiciously. ”Alright then. ” Bjorn changed position to face Kjeld, and they began. ”Hammer, Linen, Fire!” they both mumbled. Kjeld won; Linen beats Hammer. Bjorn's face turned into a mishmash of emotions, and he turned around.
*”En meget smuk en af slagsen” translates to ”A very beautiful one of the kind”
Howard looked awkwardly at the two men. The big one said something, and pointed at Cathryn and the group she came with. He said something, and then the little one agreed. Now they seemed to be playing some sort of game, using their hands. It looked like the little one won. Howard smiled for himself. Maybe a little reward would fall his way from the king, because of his bravery in saving a village. He had taken a group of ten men from the village with him, five equipped with bows and five equipped with pitchforks. Howard signalled to the bowmen. He had a bow himself to. He positioned two men with pitchforks on the small mans side of the path, and three men with bows. He then positioned three men with pitchforks on the big mans side of the path, and two men with bows, three including himself. He waited. All ten had hidden very well, now they just waited for the right moment. Howard was sure that they'd break out from cover and try to ambush Cathryns group. And Howard showed right.
Bjorn had decided that if he couldn't get the girl, he'd take the women. They weren't as beautiful as the girl but hey; they were women. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the right moment. Kjeld signalled. ”På dem!” he called. Bjorn charged, axe overhead. Kjeld merely stood up and put a arrow on his bowstring. Bjorn couldn't have the women.
Howard made the attack signal. All ten men broke cover, the men armed with pitchforks confronting the targets at first. The small mans reaction was funny. He just went nuts, throwing the bow in the ground and them stamping on it. Then he attacked the two men. First, he went crazy all over James, the biggest of the two. After a second or so, they were both on the ground fighting in a big whirl of snow. Sigismund, the other one, put out the little invader by hitting him in the head with the stump end of his weapon.
The bigger mans reaction was more serious, to say the least. Greg, one of the men told to confront him was cleaved in two as soon as the man turned around. Howard had used the wrong strategy. He had thought that the intruders would surrender when they saw the men, but no. They were, afterall, dragon tamers. Phill and Wick had jumped the man, but it didn't help very much, Wick being pulled off a moment later and his head stomped to a bloody mush in the snow. Howard didn't wait any longer. He ordered all the archers to fire on the man, even though they'd hit Phill. This was a win or lose situation, and if they didn't shoot the man now, they'd probably lose. All six archers fired. Four of the arrows hit the man, one missed entirely and hit a tree. The last hit Phill just beside the shoulder blade. Both men to the ground, the snow turning red with blood beneath them. James and Sigismund carried the little man ontop of the big man, and the archers helped carry Phill and Wick.
Kjeld woke up a lot earlier than Bjorn, finding himself in the unlucky situation of being tied up in a little hut. Made of stone, he noted. Unlike home. Beside him, a little fire raged in a fireplace with a connected chimney. Bjorn wasn't visible. Oh damn it. Odin forgive this. Kjeld had told Bjorn to charge, himself and he blissfully unaware of their situation. Hadn't they always learned to always have control of the situation. They hardly had now... And why had Bjorn and him been so unfriendly to eachother? They were best friends and Kjeld had been just about to take a part of Bjorns loot. It was him that began. Kjeld spitted tried moving closer to the fireplace. It was a tad cold, wasn't it?
Howard entered the house. Phill and Wick had died of their wounds. Greg never stood a chance. James had only taken minor wounds, but some of them were so deep they went into the bone. Dragon-men nails were long and sharp, apparently. The big man had somehow survived all four arrows. One had hit in the arm, and one in the leg, granted, but it was still some sort of feat to survive four arrows. Howard looked up. Ah. The little one was awake. He seemed to stare at him. His blue eyes and blond hair and beard seeking him. Seeking his death. Which Howard was sure would come if they'd ever get to come free. He walked across, to the fireplace. He dragged out a chair from a table which stood in the corner. He turned towards the little man. ”What is your name?” he asked.
The door opened. Kjeld stared at the man who came in. He knew this was the man which had caused his and Bjorns capture. He was sure of it. He studied the man, through his half-closed eyelids. He was quite tall, nothing special though. Not very broad shoulders, and black hair. Lack of beard. He didn't seem to have any particular big muscles anywhere, just like one of these people. Without the guts to be able to fit. Kjeld grunted silently. If he just got the slightest chance to beat this motherfucker son of a bitch, he would certainly do it. Revenge for the vanquished; revenge for Bjorn. Bjorn. What had happened to Bjorn? Had he been killed? Had he been captured like himself? It could hardly be worse for the pair of them. Yet Kjeld had thought up a couple of scenarios making it worse. One would be that they were let free and forced to return to Danemark og Norge. There they would be humiliated, and they might as well commit suicide or sacrifice themselves up in Uppsala. Another would be that a bigger group of their mates should come by the place in the same way as them in a coincidence. Driven by lust for women and loot and plunder. They would pillage the place and burn it. Burning Kjeld and Bjorn too, if they were too lazy for searching the stonehouse. Of course Kjeld didn't know how the stonehouse he sat in looked from the outside, but if it looked just a tad wealthier than beggingstyle poor, they'd surely ransack it. But Kjeld had that feeling that it didn't look that tad wealthier than beggingstyle poor. The man walked over beside him and the fireplace. He pulled out a chair. And he asked him something. Kjeld didn't understand. Even though he had been told by varangian Guska to learn the foreigner speak, Kjeld hadn't. He also knew that if he returned to the coast without being able to speak the foreigner speak, Guska would slaughter him and afterwards make a feast to his body. He would toast in Guskas own filthy name and toast to Kjelds death.
The man didn't seem to answer. His face was a grimace of puzzle and uncontrolled anger. ”Do you understand what I say?” Howard asked. The man didn't seem to respond. Howard rose and walked closer to the fireplace. He took a log from a basket beside the fireplace and put it in the fire. The fire hungrily got at it, the outermost layer of bark quickly turning black and soon went into fire. Howard looked up at the man. He had no idea what to do with him – they might as well execute him. And the other big man? Hm. They could execute them together, when he woke up- wait the little man seemed to say something. What was it... ”Tag til Hél og bliv der, træl!*” that made no sense. He was ofcourse speaking in the dragon language. More excuses to execute him.
*”Tag til Hél og bliv der, træl!” translates to ”Go to Hél(hell in the norse mythology, the netherworld) and stay there, thrall!”
Kjeld was outrageous. He couldn't explain why. He just felt like yelling all his curses at the man. He yelled and he yelled, he even yelled that he could go and fuck varangian Guska up his ass and they could have a merry time together. He was just about turning into some sort of svartálfar* by the color and looks of his face. Kjeld moved the chair so much in his anger, that he, and the chair, eventuelly fell. The man laughed. A menaceble laugh. A... if Kjeld should ever get that chance, this man wouldn't live for more than a minute.
*Svartálfar is the darkelves of the norse mythology
Bjorn didn't get medical treatment like those he had molested, battered and smashed. He was left to die or recover naturally; which he did. He woke up three nights after Howards unsuccesfull visit at Kjeld. Bjorn sat up, and looked around. He had no shirt on, and he was freezing. He's left arm and left leg hurt like... like Fenrir was biting his arm of. Suddenly Bjorn felt a greater sympathy for Týr than he had ever had. That must really had hurt. Bjorn swung his cold legs out over the bunk which he had been lying on. The last he remembered was smashing some mans head into a bloody pulp. Hm. He must had been captured afterwards – or been sent to the Great Hall of Valhalla. He looked around him. It wasn't how he had imagined Valhalla, but it still could be. He went over to the door, placed in the opposite side of the room. He pushed it open, and a fresh gust of snow hit his face. He closed the door again. This definately wasn't Valhalla. He looked around for some clothing but he couldn't. If this was the enemy camp, why wasn't he tied up? Bjorn opened the door again. Two big men armed with a pitchfork each began prodding him. Since when had they been there? Confused? Aw! One of the men had opened one of the arrow wounds in Bjorns chest. He grabbed the pitchfork and pushed the man away. ”Back off, træl!” Bjorn looked at the other. They could easily overman him. And better now when the cold wind had been cooling Bjorn more down that he had already been. He wouldn't let them get him so easily. He closed the door and blockaded it. They would have to come to him. And have a hard time doing so. Again, Bjorn looked around. He placed his new weapon up against the wall and looked around. The building was made of wood. The roof was made of hay. Comfertable to a degree, but home would always be better. But this foreign island had been full of loot until now. Bjorn sat on the bed. Should they knock on that door, they'd get a knock back.
Kjeld had been dragged outside on some sort of platform. He was still tied up. Alot of hay had been put ontop of him; partly to keep him warm, partly to place it somewhere. He could see a couple of men, ten or so, move around a house. They were all armed, three of them with torches, the rest with pitchforks. He heard some of them yell. And then it all happened. Kjeld realized what was happening now. They were burning Bjorn. He, in his anger and regretfullness, broke the ties and grabbed the chair. It was going all to fast for the men to register. Before their mind had noticed it, one of the torchbearers was lying down with a chair in his face. And Bjorn, who had heard his friends raging exclamations and various curses stormed out of the burning house and punched the first men he saw directly in the face. He fell like a stone to the ground.
The village now realized what had happened, and all men and older boys took up arms to kill the two unleashed captures. Bjorn and Kjeld stood, back to back, and fought back the peasant horde. Both had taken on quite alot of wounds, and both stood with a half pitchfork in one hand and a whole pitchfork in the other. ”I guess-” Kjeld paused to stab a man coming to close in the eye with his pitchfork. He screamed. ”that this is what Odin and Tor intended for us. We're-” Kjeld paused again, this time taking a hit himself. He grunted his pain, but didn't scream or otherwise show the pain. He chucked the half pitchfork at the attacker and missed, but hit one behind him. He cried in agony. ”finally going to Valhalla, my friend!” Kjeld said. Bjorn smiled at the thought. They were going to Valhalla as they had always wished; glorious deaths in heroic fight. ”Ready?” Kjeld asked, and kicked a man in the groin, making him fall back. ”Absolutely,” Bjorn said. ”FOR ODIN, FOR TOR, FOR ASGARD AND MIDGARD, FOR VALHALLA!” they both yelled. Bjorn cast himself ontop of the crowd, making the five which he landed upon fall under his weight. He punched another two and made a roundhouse kick to anothers face.
Suddenly, Bjorn felt a stinging pain in his neck, and his breath vanish. What, what was this? This... this...this was death. Bjorn had taken a arrow in the neck, the arrow piercing his airways and suffocating him aswell as killing him.
Kjeld had just gone all berserk into the crowd, killing the three most nearby. Then he was outnumbered and put down to the ground. He felt numerous boots hit his head, ribs, and feet. Fists reaching his nose and eyes, his eyebrows nearly gone in blood. He felt that he was forgotting how to feel pain, how sense life. How to breathe. Kjeld's last spirit of life slipped away under the beating.
Kjeld found himself standing besides Bjorn in a big room with two large beds. They both wore no armour or weapons, but a plain linen shirt and leather pants. They had big boots, much alike those they had used back home in Roskilde. They greeted eachother with a hug, like old friends. Their hair and beards were set and combed. The two battlebrothers shined as never before. Bjorn opened the door in the side of the room. They both walked out into a long, hall, warmed by some invisible fireplace. On the walls axes and shields, armours and various war trophies hang for decoration. Doors were placed numourously in the hall, doors alike that which they had exited from. At the end of the hall, a big wooden doubledoor concluded this section. Bjorn opened and they entered a gigantic hall, with a gigantic table in the middle. By the end closest to them, they could see a old man with long grey beard and hair sitting. On his shoulders, two ravens. At his feet, two wolves. He's one eye was covered by an eyepatch, and the other seemed to wink at them. Bjorn and Kjeld smiled back; they both knew who this was instantly. Odin. They looked around at the table. The table was filled with great warriors and men, all in the same dress as them. They sat eating and drinking, having a merry time. A merry time waiting for Ragnarok to come. Bjorn and Kjeld walked down the long table. It didn't seem to end. Neither did the food ontop of it. Bjorn and Kjeld smiled at they found to seats. They both sat. Infront of them, across the table, a man with blond beard and short blond hair sat. Beside him a beautiful lady, one which beauty matched nothing they had seen.
”Welcome to Valhalla, Kjeld Elvsman.” the man said.
”Welcome to Valhalla, Bjorn Erikssón.” the woman said. ”I am Tor, god of lightning and war. ” the man said. ”I am Freja, goddess of fertility, friendship and love. Welcome both of you.” They both smiled, and Kjeld and Bjorn naturally smiled back. All their wishes had finally come true.
Some place in northern England
793 A.D
December 15th
793 A.D
December 15th
Mercy wasn't at very high regard. Women were raped; men brutally slaughtered, and from time to time... men were also raped. But in the end, you either died or you were raped and then killed. Or you were raped and thralled. Or, you were molested and thralled. The options were few, and those which were weren't optimal to say the least. Since the big men with long beards had arrived at the northern coast, the english life had been terrible. They had come in big ships, laden with many men. The ships were shaped in forms of dragons and seamonsters; they seemed like a courier with a notice of what their creators came with, a warning of the pending death. The men which the dragon ships carried had long unchecked hair and long beards, blue, ravaging eyes, and powerfull limbs. They carried big axes, and swords of various lengths. They carried massive round shields – paintings of the monsters they arrived in embedded upon them. They were relentless, merciless, and ruthless. Nothing survived which shouldn't survive in their opinion, leaving a coast – and soon a country – ravaged by the fires of war, unpopulated but flies.
”Bjorn!” a small man yelled. He was very small for viking standards; he didn't even have 'big' muscles. He was standing by a big fire, in the midst of a snowy plain. ”Yes?” a bass voice replied. ”Come here, you lump of meat!” the small man grunted. A big man came walking out of a big shrubbery nearby, carrying as many berries as his arms could hold. He had black, unchecked hair and beard, with bushy eyebrows. He was massive, unlike his small friend. They were the perfect counterparts; one was small, very small, and the other was large, unchallenged in size. The big man, Bjorn, looked at the smaller.
”What is it?”
”I saw something move inside the forest before”
”You completely sure?”
”Of course I am completely sure, you bastard!” the small man yelled. Bjorn dropped the berries by the fire and shifted his weight, lending a hand to his axe-shaft. He looked nervously around him. The smaller man picked up his shield, and began walking towards the forest. ”You coming?” he asked with an unpatient tone. Bjorn walked across the fire place and picked up his own shield. He followed. After ten steps or so, Bjorn stopped.
”Kjeld?”
”Yes, Bjorn?”
”What about breakfast? I never got to eat those berries”
”Shut your hungry gap, there is weaklings to be killed – blood to be shed, loot to be taken! This is all more important than you're berries. You can have a good, warm, dish of oatmeal when were done. ” Kjeld shook his head and moved on. ”Come you lazy dump, lets not waste time.”
Howard had spotted them in the distance. A small man and a giant man. Heading towards the forest, heading towards the village, heading towards... heading towards him. And Cathrin. Howard had looked for others, but it seemed that it was only those two. And if it only was, they could wreck enough havoc even though they got killed. The men of the north weren't to be underestimated. Howard had learned that when his wife and three children were killed. Now his life was only worth living because of Cathrin, his cousin. He and she had only barely escaped death, or even worse, inthrallment, when the invaders came to his old village. He had seen it burn in the distance, the fumes of smoke rise to meet God. He tried to examine the pair in the distance. It was hard, as far away as they were. But he had come to agreement with himself that he had seen the outline of a shortbow on the small mans back, along with a shield. He couldn't see if he had any mêlée weapons, but he was absolutely sure that he big man carried a double-headed axe. The biggest one he had ever seen. Howard jumped from his perch in the tree. He ran towards the village, into the forest.
”There, it something moved again!” Kjeld pointed. Bjorn narrowed his eyes, tried to spot the movement Kjeld was so excited about. He couldn't. ”Sorry, mate, but I don't see it” he said, still scanning the area where his mate had pointed. ”I Lokes navn!* Can you even see a pig if it attacks you?!” Kjeld shook his head, and walked on. When they reached the forest edge, Bjorn looked up. ”So, we go into this forest because you think you have spotted something move. Right. It's obvious that something moves when the birds leave their nests. You should be the one drinking from Mímir's Well, not Odin!” Bjorn said. At the same moment, two ravens flew directly over them and over the tree-tops, soon vanished from vision. Kjeld looked up at the big man. ”How dare you question the ways of Odin! He even traded his one eye!” he spitted on Bjorn, which face became a bloody red. ”I haven't questioned Odin, I have questioned you!” he spitted back. Kjeld's face didn't turn red, it turned some sort of bluey-purple. He jumped him. They rolled around on the ground, unarmed and brawling. Their weapons had been discarded a little into the fight; it would be unfair if Bjorn suddenly brought his axe down on Kjeld, and it would do little good if Kjeld should happen to be right. After a small time, Bjorn and Kjeld rose again. The little man's face was clearly battered, with both eyes half-closed and blood coming from his mouth and nose. His hair was bloody. Bjorn though didn't seem to have taken much damage, granted his size. His nose bleed, but it nooses began easily to bleed. A single hit in the face would cause it. To conclude it, and put his victory stamp all over the scene, Bjorn looked up to the sky and raised his axe. ”Thank you Tor, for the might to win this fight! Thank you Odin, for the deception to win this fight! Thank you-” ”Shut up, pig. Lets move on and check what it was moving in there. ” Bjorn's eyes stared raging on Kjeld, as the little, stout man entered the forest. He picked up his bag, and continued after him.
*”I Lokes navn!” translates to ”In the name of Loki!” or ”In Loki's name!”
After having walked in an hour or so, Kjeld looked up at Bjorn from his half-closed, purple eyelids. ”D'you see that?” he pointed. Bjorn could see what meant. A big hole in the ground just fives meters ahead of them, obviously a trap supposed for animals. It had some sort of disguise, but nothing but a few leaves ontop of three wooden branches. ”So you were right after all, hm?” Bjorn said, chuckling. ”Whats so funny?” Kjeld asked, his face a mixture of blood, anger, and wonder in some sort of creepy grimace. ”That, even though I won our fight, you turned out to be right. ” Bjorn stopped to think for a moment. ”Why did I even follow you into the forest? I won!” he exclaimed. ”Yes you won, but you'll lose your life soon if you keep yelling! And, I don't know why you followed. You're dimwitted, thats what you are!” Kjeld concentrated on the path ahead. He drew his bow. ”Now, we'll do it right old style. We move up all close to the wood border, still out of sight. The first group you see – charge. There'll be more than enough loot and women for both of us. Let's go.” Kjeld moved ahead, crouched. Bjorn followed, also in some sort of crouch. But Bjorn crouching didn't make the big difference from Bjorn standing, because his gigantic size made it hard hiding. ”I see a group now,” Bjorn said. Excitement could clearly be traced in his voice. ”Two women, a boy – about fifteen I guess, and a girl about the same age. En meget smuk en af slagsen.* ” Kjeld looked across at Bjorn. ”Pervert... Hammer, Linen, Fire. If I win, I get her. If you win, you get her. ” Bjorn eyed Kjeld suspiciously. ”Alright then. ” Bjorn changed position to face Kjeld, and they began. ”Hammer, Linen, Fire!” they both mumbled. Kjeld won; Linen beats Hammer. Bjorn's face turned into a mishmash of emotions, and he turned around.
*”En meget smuk en af slagsen” translates to ”A very beautiful one of the kind”
Howard looked awkwardly at the two men. The big one said something, and pointed at Cathryn and the group she came with. He said something, and then the little one agreed. Now they seemed to be playing some sort of game, using their hands. It looked like the little one won. Howard smiled for himself. Maybe a little reward would fall his way from the king, because of his bravery in saving a village. He had taken a group of ten men from the village with him, five equipped with bows and five equipped with pitchforks. Howard signalled to the bowmen. He had a bow himself to. He positioned two men with pitchforks on the small mans side of the path, and three men with bows. He then positioned three men with pitchforks on the big mans side of the path, and two men with bows, three including himself. He waited. All ten had hidden very well, now they just waited for the right moment. Howard was sure that they'd break out from cover and try to ambush Cathryns group. And Howard showed right.
Bjorn had decided that if he couldn't get the girl, he'd take the women. They weren't as beautiful as the girl but hey; they were women. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the right moment. Kjeld signalled. ”På dem!” he called. Bjorn charged, axe overhead. Kjeld merely stood up and put a arrow on his bowstring. Bjorn couldn't have the women.
Howard made the attack signal. All ten men broke cover, the men armed with pitchforks confronting the targets at first. The small mans reaction was funny. He just went nuts, throwing the bow in the ground and them stamping on it. Then he attacked the two men. First, he went crazy all over James, the biggest of the two. After a second or so, they were both on the ground fighting in a big whirl of snow. Sigismund, the other one, put out the little invader by hitting him in the head with the stump end of his weapon.
The bigger mans reaction was more serious, to say the least. Greg, one of the men told to confront him was cleaved in two as soon as the man turned around. Howard had used the wrong strategy. He had thought that the intruders would surrender when they saw the men, but no. They were, afterall, dragon tamers. Phill and Wick had jumped the man, but it didn't help very much, Wick being pulled off a moment later and his head stomped to a bloody mush in the snow. Howard didn't wait any longer. He ordered all the archers to fire on the man, even though they'd hit Phill. This was a win or lose situation, and if they didn't shoot the man now, they'd probably lose. All six archers fired. Four of the arrows hit the man, one missed entirely and hit a tree. The last hit Phill just beside the shoulder blade. Both men to the ground, the snow turning red with blood beneath them. James and Sigismund carried the little man ontop of the big man, and the archers helped carry Phill and Wick.
Kjeld woke up a lot earlier than Bjorn, finding himself in the unlucky situation of being tied up in a little hut. Made of stone, he noted. Unlike home. Beside him, a little fire raged in a fireplace with a connected chimney. Bjorn wasn't visible. Oh damn it. Odin forgive this. Kjeld had told Bjorn to charge, himself and he blissfully unaware of their situation. Hadn't they always learned to always have control of the situation. They hardly had now... And why had Bjorn and him been so unfriendly to eachother? They were best friends and Kjeld had been just about to take a part of Bjorns loot. It was him that began. Kjeld spitted tried moving closer to the fireplace. It was a tad cold, wasn't it?
Howard entered the house. Phill and Wick had died of their wounds. Greg never stood a chance. James had only taken minor wounds, but some of them were so deep they went into the bone. Dragon-men nails were long and sharp, apparently. The big man had somehow survived all four arrows. One had hit in the arm, and one in the leg, granted, but it was still some sort of feat to survive four arrows. Howard looked up. Ah. The little one was awake. He seemed to stare at him. His blue eyes and blond hair and beard seeking him. Seeking his death. Which Howard was sure would come if they'd ever get to come free. He walked across, to the fireplace. He dragged out a chair from a table which stood in the corner. He turned towards the little man. ”What is your name?” he asked.
The door opened. Kjeld stared at the man who came in. He knew this was the man which had caused his and Bjorns capture. He was sure of it. He studied the man, through his half-closed eyelids. He was quite tall, nothing special though. Not very broad shoulders, and black hair. Lack of beard. He didn't seem to have any particular big muscles anywhere, just like one of these people. Without the guts to be able to fit. Kjeld grunted silently. If he just got the slightest chance to beat this motherfucker son of a bitch, he would certainly do it. Revenge for the vanquished; revenge for Bjorn. Bjorn. What had happened to Bjorn? Had he been killed? Had he been captured like himself? It could hardly be worse for the pair of them. Yet Kjeld had thought up a couple of scenarios making it worse. One would be that they were let free and forced to return to Danemark og Norge. There they would be humiliated, and they might as well commit suicide or sacrifice themselves up in Uppsala. Another would be that a bigger group of their mates should come by the place in the same way as them in a coincidence. Driven by lust for women and loot and plunder. They would pillage the place and burn it. Burning Kjeld and Bjorn too, if they were too lazy for searching the stonehouse. Of course Kjeld didn't know how the stonehouse he sat in looked from the outside, but if it looked just a tad wealthier than beggingstyle poor, they'd surely ransack it. But Kjeld had that feeling that it didn't look that tad wealthier than beggingstyle poor. The man walked over beside him and the fireplace. He pulled out a chair. And he asked him something. Kjeld didn't understand. Even though he had been told by varangian Guska to learn the foreigner speak, Kjeld hadn't. He also knew that if he returned to the coast without being able to speak the foreigner speak, Guska would slaughter him and afterwards make a feast to his body. He would toast in Guskas own filthy name and toast to Kjelds death.
The man didn't seem to answer. His face was a grimace of puzzle and uncontrolled anger. ”Do you understand what I say?” Howard asked. The man didn't seem to respond. Howard rose and walked closer to the fireplace. He took a log from a basket beside the fireplace and put it in the fire. The fire hungrily got at it, the outermost layer of bark quickly turning black and soon went into fire. Howard looked up at the man. He had no idea what to do with him – they might as well execute him. And the other big man? Hm. They could execute them together, when he woke up- wait the little man seemed to say something. What was it... ”Tag til Hél og bliv der, træl!*” that made no sense. He was ofcourse speaking in the dragon language. More excuses to execute him.
*”Tag til Hél og bliv der, træl!” translates to ”Go to Hél(hell in the norse mythology, the netherworld) and stay there, thrall!”
Kjeld was outrageous. He couldn't explain why. He just felt like yelling all his curses at the man. He yelled and he yelled, he even yelled that he could go and fuck varangian Guska up his ass and they could have a merry time together. He was just about turning into some sort of svartálfar* by the color and looks of his face. Kjeld moved the chair so much in his anger, that he, and the chair, eventuelly fell. The man laughed. A menaceble laugh. A... if Kjeld should ever get that chance, this man wouldn't live for more than a minute.
*Svartálfar is the darkelves of the norse mythology
Bjorn didn't get medical treatment like those he had molested, battered and smashed. He was left to die or recover naturally; which he did. He woke up three nights after Howards unsuccesfull visit at Kjeld. Bjorn sat up, and looked around. He had no shirt on, and he was freezing. He's left arm and left leg hurt like... like Fenrir was biting his arm of. Suddenly Bjorn felt a greater sympathy for Týr than he had ever had. That must really had hurt. Bjorn swung his cold legs out over the bunk which he had been lying on. The last he remembered was smashing some mans head into a bloody pulp. Hm. He must had been captured afterwards – or been sent to the Great Hall of Valhalla. He looked around him. It wasn't how he had imagined Valhalla, but it still could be. He went over to the door, placed in the opposite side of the room. He pushed it open, and a fresh gust of snow hit his face. He closed the door again. This definately wasn't Valhalla. He looked around for some clothing but he couldn't. If this was the enemy camp, why wasn't he tied up? Bjorn opened the door again. Two big men armed with a pitchfork each began prodding him. Since when had they been there? Confused? Aw! One of the men had opened one of the arrow wounds in Bjorns chest. He grabbed the pitchfork and pushed the man away. ”Back off, træl!” Bjorn looked at the other. They could easily overman him. And better now when the cold wind had been cooling Bjorn more down that he had already been. He wouldn't let them get him so easily. He closed the door and blockaded it. They would have to come to him. And have a hard time doing so. Again, Bjorn looked around. He placed his new weapon up against the wall and looked around. The building was made of wood. The roof was made of hay. Comfertable to a degree, but home would always be better. But this foreign island had been full of loot until now. Bjorn sat on the bed. Should they knock on that door, they'd get a knock back.
Kjeld had been dragged outside on some sort of platform. He was still tied up. Alot of hay had been put ontop of him; partly to keep him warm, partly to place it somewhere. He could see a couple of men, ten or so, move around a house. They were all armed, three of them with torches, the rest with pitchforks. He heard some of them yell. And then it all happened. Kjeld realized what was happening now. They were burning Bjorn. He, in his anger and regretfullness, broke the ties and grabbed the chair. It was going all to fast for the men to register. Before their mind had noticed it, one of the torchbearers was lying down with a chair in his face. And Bjorn, who had heard his friends raging exclamations and various curses stormed out of the burning house and punched the first men he saw directly in the face. He fell like a stone to the ground.
The village now realized what had happened, and all men and older boys took up arms to kill the two unleashed captures. Bjorn and Kjeld stood, back to back, and fought back the peasant horde. Both had taken on quite alot of wounds, and both stood with a half pitchfork in one hand and a whole pitchfork in the other. ”I guess-” Kjeld paused to stab a man coming to close in the eye with his pitchfork. He screamed. ”that this is what Odin and Tor intended for us. We're-” Kjeld paused again, this time taking a hit himself. He grunted his pain, but didn't scream or otherwise show the pain. He chucked the half pitchfork at the attacker and missed, but hit one behind him. He cried in agony. ”finally going to Valhalla, my friend!” Kjeld said. Bjorn smiled at the thought. They were going to Valhalla as they had always wished; glorious deaths in heroic fight. ”Ready?” Kjeld asked, and kicked a man in the groin, making him fall back. ”Absolutely,” Bjorn said. ”FOR ODIN, FOR TOR, FOR ASGARD AND MIDGARD, FOR VALHALLA!” they both yelled. Bjorn cast himself ontop of the crowd, making the five which he landed upon fall under his weight. He punched another two and made a roundhouse kick to anothers face.
Suddenly, Bjorn felt a stinging pain in his neck, and his breath vanish. What, what was this? This... this...this was death. Bjorn had taken a arrow in the neck, the arrow piercing his airways and suffocating him aswell as killing him.
Kjeld had just gone all berserk into the crowd, killing the three most nearby. Then he was outnumbered and put down to the ground. He felt numerous boots hit his head, ribs, and feet. Fists reaching his nose and eyes, his eyebrows nearly gone in blood. He felt that he was forgotting how to feel pain, how sense life. How to breathe. Kjeld's last spirit of life slipped away under the beating.
A warm, cozy wooden building. Unknown date, year, and location.
Kjeld found himself standing besides Bjorn in a big room with two large beds. They both wore no armour or weapons, but a plain linen shirt and leather pants. They had big boots, much alike those they had used back home in Roskilde. They greeted eachother with a hug, like old friends. Their hair and beards were set and combed. The two battlebrothers shined as never before. Bjorn opened the door in the side of the room. They both walked out into a long, hall, warmed by some invisible fireplace. On the walls axes and shields, armours and various war trophies hang for decoration. Doors were placed numourously in the hall, doors alike that which they had exited from. At the end of the hall, a big wooden doubledoor concluded this section. Bjorn opened and they entered a gigantic hall, with a gigantic table in the middle. By the end closest to them, they could see a old man with long grey beard and hair sitting. On his shoulders, two ravens. At his feet, two wolves. He's one eye was covered by an eyepatch, and the other seemed to wink at them. Bjorn and Kjeld smiled back; they both knew who this was instantly. Odin. They looked around at the table. The table was filled with great warriors and men, all in the same dress as them. They sat eating and drinking, having a merry time. A merry time waiting for Ragnarok to come. Bjorn and Kjeld walked down the long table. It didn't seem to end. Neither did the food ontop of it. Bjorn and Kjeld smiled at they found to seats. They both sat. Infront of them, across the table, a man with blond beard and short blond hair sat. Beside him a beautiful lady, one which beauty matched nothing they had seen.
”Welcome to Valhalla, Kjeld Elvsman.” the man said.
”Welcome to Valhalla, Bjorn Erikssón.” the woman said. ”I am Tor, god of lightning and war. ” the man said. ”I am Freja, goddess of fertility, friendship and love. Welcome both of you.” They both smiled, and Kjeld and Bjorn naturally smiled back. All their wishes had finally come true.
