Valhalla Calling me
Blades of grass swish lightly in the wind, the morning dew lightly sticking on the surface, rays of golden sunlight reflect off of their surfaces.
But the swaying of the grass in soon drowned out by the stomping of boots.
Like a herd of cattle the noise breaks the wind, ceasing all other echoes around the hordes of warriors marching to battle.
The open plains are soon swarmed by a forest of men, 2 sides readily approaching each other with intention.
"YOU Þeir sem veiða DOGS!!"
Voices begin shouting out from one side, the main color of these folk seems to be yellow. Many have sigils and runes painted on to their shields.
A man rides out from the opposite field, a large round shield clanking on his back. The light pale blue paint is chipped off and the figure of a dragon is ornately drawn onto it.
"You Knapar are no better, this action has been brought upon you by yourselves."
The man who's red hair leaks from his full faces helmet calls out, while pulling out a large 2 handed Dane axe from his horses saddle.
"May the Valkyries grant you mercy, for I shall not."
As the red headed man goes to raise his axe and order the horns to be blared a representative from the opposing faction appears, pushing through the group.
An older man with a torn plate mail sighs, taking off his helmet revealing an old and scarred face, with grey locks of thin hair blowing lightly in the wind.
"Chief Njar was it not your son that incited us to attack, did he not take one of our women by force? She was just a poor girl, a boy playing as lord must be kept in check."
Chief Njar eyes tighten in anger, his face from his helm visibly enraged.
"MY SON HAS THE RIGHT TO TAKE ANY THRALL HE WANTS!"
The old man chuckles, expecting this response.
"Unfortunately she was not a thrall, but the former chiefs daughter who had decided to live with the commoners since her father's death."
"HER FATHER WAS DEAD SHE MEANS NOTHING!"
The old man draws his sword, a wide blade with a small cross guard, he takes up his shield and pulls down his helmet.
"Fride, was our beloved daughter, AND YOU TOOK HER FROM US!"
The old man raises his sword and the men behind him scream in rage, 2 men from the crowd rush out, notably their shirts missing and small pants made of pelts covering their loins.
They are covered in oils and black dye, wielding 2 axes.
They charge towards Njar, who is taken aback but recovers and raises his axe.
A horn blares and soon screams take over.
"SHIELD WALL!"
Njar orders his men with hand signals and they soon interlock their shields, men with spears fill the gaps and stick them through openings.
The 2 berserker rush towards the shield wall, their unimaginable strength clashes against the wall, a struggle ensues, holes are plunged into the crazed warriors with spears and the braces of the shields tear into their flesh, blood overlaps the dye and tatoos and their eyes turn red.
"SHIEELLDD WALLL!"
The veteran warrior orders his warriors to march towards the ranks of the enemy. Stomps play out in unison, playing a song of revenge and redemption for a decrepit clan of elder warriors.
The berserker swing their axes sluggishly, a small pile of at least 8 bodies have appeared in the front ranks of the shield wall, most of them discarded spear bearers.
One berserker falls, with a massive slice in his face from a shield bashing his forehead in.
The other screams wildly but as he charges into death an army takes charge behind him and he is enveloped by his allies, 2 warriors drag his delirious body away.
The shield walls clash and soon arrows start flying, the archers are few. 10 on each side at least, but their arrow rain quickly takes out many of the backline men who would never even swing their blade.
It is easy to tell as they clash that the older warriors are more sluggish but their battle sense is immaculate after going on so many raids to the middle continent.
A deadly clash of blows brings devastation as the field turns red with blood, men scream in agony and those who die instantly from their wounds are fortunate as the wounded will surely be trampled or suffocated by their own blood.
Njar quickly realises he is outclassed but not even a shine of worry shows on his face.
2 warriors with strange armor who have hung back the whole battle stare silently, their skin complexion is a strange grey and tribal tatoos glow on their faces ethereally, their faces are also denoted by strangely sharp ears and eyes like flames. With light white hair flowing freely.
Their armor is ornate and made of a higher quality steel plate opposed to the average chainmail or padded leather.
They pull their helmets down as arrows fly past their heads.
"SKRAELINGS! KILL THEM ALL!"
Njar points his bloody axe towards the enemy and the 2 soldiers nod
They hold their blades to their mouth and whisper quietly. The blades let out a deep frost mist as they swish them downwards.
They charge forward, faster than any human could move and flashes of blood shoot through the elder army.
Men cry out as their comrades are decapitated around them.
"MAGIC, ITS MAGIC!"
A warrior catches one of the Skrae with his mace but a protective barrier stops the blunt weapon from caving their helmet in.
In an instant the mans helm disappears.
"HAHAA I TOLD YOU, MY SON CAN HAVE ANY WOMAN, I MADE SURE OF IT!"
Njar cackles as his mercenaries decimate the enemy force.
In the farthest line of the Þeir sem veiða a man with dirty blond braided hair and a scraggly beard, the youngest of the group in fact, breathes heavily in fear. His eyes wide as he waits to be killed by the Skrae mercenaries.
Stories told about them only create more fear in his fickle heart.
'I'm too young to die!'
He holds his hand axe and shield shakingly as flashes of blue spin around him, followed by spews and geysers of blood.
"RETREAT!"
"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
Warriors begin dropping their shields and bolting away only to be pin cushioned by arrows.
The young lad holds his shield up In anticipation, then it came.
A blue flash.
The man screams and bashes his shield with all his might, and he actually hits something.
A warrior in plate armor scrambles on the muddy ground below them, his slick sabatons keeping him grounded.
"RAHHHHH!"
He takes his axe and strikes down at the longswordman, his axe digs into his shoulder and the warrior let's out a cry of pain.
The second Skrae notices and rushes to save his brother in arms.
A sword is run horizontally through the boys hips, coming out on the other side.
The Skrae takes out a curved dagger and picks up the young warrior.
"Die honorably! For such a valiant effort."
The Skrae slices his throat as he screams out.
"YOU BASTARD!"
And then soon after the Skrae finishes his work, killing the leader via beheading and retrieving his wounded ally.
"How was he injured, I thought you mage types were invincible."
King Njar sneers at the mercenaries.
"Be thankful we took your measly payment."
Njar scoffs and clicks his tongue in annoyance, but threatening a Skrae is a death sentence.
The army marches back, supposedly home to celebrate the great victory.
And to plan out the second attack to finally annihilate the Þeir sem veiða.
----
A man lies in bed coughing violently.
"Tell my father. I tried my best."
The man who's face is wrapped in medical cloth cries, as he speaks to the nurse by his bedside.
The heartbeat monitor beeps loudly and soon it starts flatlining.
---
A old man holds his face as the news plays.
"Local H.E.M.A legend Joshua Andersson dies at 25 after a fatal house fire leading to his hospitalization and eventual death from severe head trauma and burns."
----
In a field stained with crimson corpses are piled, lots of them looted and others hacked to pieces.
Bandits pillage through the corpses with sacks, looking for anything metal. Swords, necklaces, bolts, hammers, anything.
A man with ragged braided hair and a scraggly dirty blonde beard lies on the ground.
A scar running down his throat and another on each side of his upper legs, his leather armor is torn and beaten to death, his shield is bent in half and his axe rusty from blood.
"Eh, this one's gear is too shabby"
A looter with a vile appearance and short goatee stands over the 'corpse'
*swoosh*
"AHHHHHHH"
A firm hand grips the looters leg as memories of 2 men rush through the dead warriors head.
"I AM IVAR HADRADA AND I AM ALIVE!"
The mans, who demeanor has completely changed from sheepish to brash slams the looter to the floor and beats hims over the head with his shield.
The three other bandits notice and rush over.
"WHAT THE FUCK HES ALIVE!"
The former H.E.M.A champion takes up his axe and stares down the looters, his eyes sharper than a mamlukes axe.
The bandits shiver in fear.
"Who- who are you?"
"Did you not hear me?"
Ivar chucks the axe into the forest bandits head and he buckles to his knees and falls forward.
The other 2 hold their shortsword in fear.
Ivar takes his bent shield and growls.
"DRAUGR IT MUST BE A DRAUGR!!"
The 2 bandits drop to their knees.
Ivar looks around at all the corpse of his fellow tribesman and militia and sighs.
"If you want to live... Come with me."
The 2 young bandits, maybe 17 at most nod their heads.
"Say, what are your names."
"I am Hvitsurk and this is my brother Ubbe."
"Well your certainly not Varangains but I can change that."
The 2 blonde kids stand up and still look at Ivar with fear.
"Take what will fit and then follow after me."
Ivar begins walking away while the boys begin gathering scraps of any armor they can find.