Vanguard

Cheers echoed across the land.

The bustling golden city was engulfed in new joy and life that came about for only one reason. A reason that would cause many societies and cultures to become sullen and downtrodden. But for Asgard, a race born from the descendants of the warlike Aesir and the scholarly Vanir, their roots in the former led to such an occasion being celebrated.

That reason is simple; war.

Asgard and its Golden Legions were marching out of their glorious city to the beat of the drums. War was upon their people and they would answer with force as they had always done.

Marching across the Rainbow Bridge to the golden spire that awaited them, two thousand golden clad warriors moved in effortless unison. The sound of their footsteps stomping against the ground created an almost deafening cacophony of sound that muted the cheers of the people that waved them away.

They were a glorious sight to behold, the sound alone enough to inspire awe and fear amongst those who could hear.

But at the head of such a glorious force, was a man whose presence alone drowned all sound and sight that accompanied him. A man whose legend and power were felt throughout the cosmos.

The Great King of Asgard.

The God of Wisdom.

The All-Father.

Odin Borson.

There to greet him, stood resolutely within the centre of the golden spire, arms resting upon the handle of a great king sword, an almost unwieldily blade for a lesser man, was Heimdall the All-Seeing. The Guardian of the Bifrost, one of the stalwart pillars of Asgards military.

As Odin entered, his force of two thousand men following behind, Heimdall pressed his blade down. Even though the marching footsteps of the army were deafening, the sound of the blade slotting into place, an impactful gong resonating throughout the chamber overshadowed it.

All throughout, runes came to life, further illuminating the golden chamber and directly in front of Odin. Where there once stood an open port that looked out into the vast reaches of the cosmos, a view that quickly shifted into a spiralling tunnel of pure energy.

Without hesitation, Odin stepped forwards over the edge, his body disappearing into the tunnel of light and flung at speeds beyond comprehension. Body becoming almost immaterial, unburdened by the passage of time and space.

The light of the Bifrost travelled far and wide, penetrating through the harsh environment of space and the barriers between dimensions. Nothing could stop the power of the Bifrost, an object of such magnitude that the infinite universes held within and connected to the Yggdrasil were unable to deny entry to those who travelled through the path it created.

Its target though was one that it had visited many a time in the past. A world residing in a pocket dimension separate from the cosmos.

The frozen wasteland of Jötunheimr, home to the Jötnar that had long been foes to the Asgards and their expansion across the Nine Realms. The impact of the Bifrost as it struck the ground produced familiar shockwaves to the inhabitants of the world. Frozen sheets of ice shattered to reveal deep gorges and trenches, bottomless holes in the earth. Snow fell down from the mountains in an avalanche so great it tore down vast structures of towering ice.

It was a devastating impact, that single beam of the Bifrost serving as a reminder of Asgard's past, a warning to its enemies and an incline of what was to come. Yet as more and more beams struck the ground, the resounding impacts they created were but familiar sounds to the tribal and rebellious Jötnar that inhabited the harsh lands of Jötunheimr.

Stepping out from the beam, Odin clad in his armour, Gungnir held loosely in one hand, he looked out onto the gorge before him. The path to the keep possessed only four narrow passageways, treacherous and unstable routes that left only a drop down into the dark depths below.

Such a route was not the only threat posed to their advance nor their goal to take the fortress before him.

The high walls.

The soldiers that lined the battlements.

The lack of land that would have allowed the deployment of siege equipment.

All of it worked against him and his army, yet Odin did not falter. His steps were resolute as the snow crunched under his feet, the Asgardian force of two thousand men following behind him.

Though disadvantaged by terrain, numbers and time, Odin was not worried. He had faced greater odds than this before and reports of Rugga's army were higher than what he was sensing before him. Though a small fraction of what Rugga's reported force was meant to be, denying him this fortress would be a huge blow to the Storm Giants' war effort.

-X- Line Break -X-

The first sign of trouble in Jötunheimr spotted by Heimdall had been the gathering of Jötnar and Storm Giant. King Rugga's force has risen from a few hundred to a few thousand within the course of an afternoon. That number had been steadily increasing with every passing hour till it reached a force numbering over fifty thousand.

However, that force was only comprised of tribes near King Rugga's own fortresses, those directly under his purview, his vassals and allies. Such a force would not be enough to defeat Asgard, something that had been proven time and time again in the past.

If Rugga had wanted to succeed in his war, he would need a much larger force. His influence in Jötunheimr was not small, but he would need to be on the move, not only to meet tribes further away from his holdings but also to avoid being trapped. The Bifrost was a weapon and a tool that Rugga and many amongst Jötunheimr had become familiar with. They knew that in war, the best way to avoid instant defeat was to be constantly on the move.

As a result, King Rugga had abandoned his fortress, just as Odin had expected, leaving but a skeleton crew behind to guard it. Taking the fort had been simple, but King Rugga was still out there, the majority of his force still with him and no doubt recruiting more to his cause.

Time was of the essence.

The longer he waited, the larger Rugga's army would become and the more trouble Odin would face. Asgard could not afford to have its main force away from its capital for too long, not with the Rock Trolls inhabiting the Asgardian mountains, the Norn Queen of Nornheim and many other enemies right upon their doorstep.

Speed and a decisive victory were what Asgard needed, Rugga's fortress provided them with a holding that should enable Asgard to retain a foothold on Jötunheimr should unforeseen events occur. Ensuring that if the need arose to return to Asgard arrived, a force could remain behind and continue the fight against Rugga and his army. For now though, Odin did not need to worry, he could focus the full efforts of himself and the might of Asgard against the rebellious Storm Giant who proclaimed himself a King.

Watching over the vanguard force he had brought with him set up around the castle. Men already lining the battlements and defences being not only repaired but improved upon, Odin noticed a shadow beginning to circle in the sky. He looked up, an eagle, cautiously surveying the area before making its slow descent.

"Have the Sorcerers continue to set up defensive barriers," Odin ordered to Hogun, the man bowing his head. "We must ensure that the fortress is secured so that we can continue to pursue King Rugga."

By the time everything was done, King Rugga's fortress, now Asgard's, would become an impenetrable fortress. This means that should a situation arise in Asgard that required their army once more, they could leave only a few dozen men behind to ensure the protection of this fortress without much trouble.

The way Asgard conducted war was one of efficiency and timing.

Their warrior heritage and long lifespan ensured that their military discipline was beyond anything that many other races could possess. Only other godly pantheons could come close and even then, they often lost themselves in revelry and debauchery. Asgard was different to that, they were disciplined and determined.

Each of them Warriors Gods in their own rights.

Turning away, entrusting Hogun to oversee the rest of the fortress's fortifications, Odin looked to see the Frost Eagle descending from the sky. "Has King Gnori news for me?" Odin asked, thinking back upon the King of the Frost Eagles, a former enemy turned stalwart ally of Asgard. The only ally they possessed upon the frozen wastelands of Jötunheimr, and one Odin considered a friend.

His aid in all past wars on Jötunheimr had been invaluable. The Eagles were able to fly high in the sky and provide ease of communication as well as new avenues of combat that ensured swift and speedy victories. In return, Asgard provided protection, armaments and knowledge to the Frost Eagles.

"King Rugga and his army have been seen approaching the Frozen Cliffs. King Gnori is moving to intercept them at the fields north of them. He requests your aid, King Odin." The envoy informed, his words blunt.

'So Rugga intends to remove King Gnori first, ensuring that the Frost Eagles cannot come to my aid.' It was a smart plan, one that Odin could acknowledge. Clearly, while King Rugga had kept his head down in the past, only sponsoring and financing wars in the past. He had used those opportunities to learn valuable lessons about how Asgard waged war.

King Gnori was a valuable asset in Asgard's war efforts on Jötunheimr, something King Rugga knew and planned to remove before Odin managed to link up with the Frost Eagle. "Very well, Asgard will come to King Gnori's aid, as they have come to ours many times in the past."

Dismissed, the envoy quickly took to the skies once more, Odin himself looking out over the fortress once more. It was not fully prepared just yet, nor would the full Asgardian force be ready. However, there would be enough to make a difference, especially when joined with the Frost Eagles under King Gnori's command.

"Heimdall," Odin called, words travelling across the wind and heard by Guardian of the Bifrost back upon Asgard. "Prepare those already gathered, we come to King Gnori's aid."

-X- Line Break -X-

The difference between the Frost Eagles and the Jötnar of Jötunheimr could not be understated. Besides the physical difference, the way they fought was also vastly different. The Jötnar were very much like the Æsir of old, back when under the rule of King Buri, his grandfather. Brutish beings, tribal and savage, barbarians.

They wielded weapons made of ice, large clubs and spears, hands shifting into frozen blades. To a lesser race, they were wicked and terrifying-looking weapons. But they were impractical and used with little skill by their wielders.

The Jötnar made up for their lack of skill and discipline though with their numbers and size. Each member of their race possesses incredible raw strength surpassing even an Asgardian and the size to dwarf many. They also reproduced rapidly, a result of their harsh environment and so created a vast number of warriors that allowed them to throw wave after wave at their enemies with little thought or reason. Above all else though, each Jötnar possessed some measure of control over their native element, ice, the very same element that created the weapons they wielded.

So, as the Frost Eagles flew through the sky, the Jötnar would launch spears of ice, some, those possessing more skill than their kin, summoning dozens. They were a brutish race, but one that was surprisingly effective, they had proved to be Asgard's most fearsome foe for a reason.

However, the Frost Eagles were vastly different to the Jötnar and in many ways more dangerous. Their gift of flight enabled them to move at incredible speeds, each of their race possessing some measure of control over the icy winds of Jötunheimr as well as manipulation of ice. They were fast, dangerously so and they proved it as they descended towards the Jötnar below.

Graceful also.

Even as the hails of spears rushed up to them, only a few were struck down. Many gracefully spun and weaved between the spears, tips of their wings, right upon the bone became a razor-sharp line of ice. One that when they came into the lines of Jötnar, cut through them with ease and as they began to lose speed, the Frost Eagles arched into the air and gathered speed once more.

Some flapped their wings, releasing powerful gusts of icy wind that knocked spears off course.

They, unlike the Jötnar, were disciplined and strategic in their conducting of warfare.

However, they had to be.

Their numbers were few, no more than a few hundred compared to the millions of Jötnar that inhabited Jötunheimr. They also could not wield weapons nor did the harsh environments of Jötunheimr provide ease of reproduction.

While possessing incredible power and a dangerous skill, they were limited in just as many ways if not more. But they nonetheless had proven themselves to be a dangerous foe that could not be taken lightly, even King Rugga had brought his full force now numbering nearly eighty thousand to bare against the hundreds that King Gnori commanded.

As the Asgardian skiffs began to approach the battlefield, King Gnori, the largest and most powerful of the Frost Eagles came down, flanked by his personal guard, the strongest of their race. Each of them tore through the ranks of the Frost Giants, talons digging into the shoulders of one each, lifting the Jötnar off the ground before dropping them from a height that ensured certain death for them, and those they landed upon.

Then, over the lands, an icy fog rolled in, one that King Gnori summoned and manipulated with mighty flaps of his wings. A fog that hid the approaching of the Asgardian Skiffs as they came in, the rapid-fire rotary plasma cannons firing down upon those below.

An action that sowed confusion and discord amongst the ranks.

But at that moment, the fog became illuminated by numerous beams of brilliant light. The Bifrost slammed into the ground at numerous points throughout the battlefield, the Frost Eagles swooping down as Asgardians charged out with warcry, blades, axes and war hammers swinging with deadly force as they came upon the unsuspecting Jötnar.