Bards share your story in the Tale Of The Week 33

**Hesus de bodemloze** · March 22, 2009, 01:05 PM

From the cold lands up north thy came,
Hardened men whit no fear,
worshipper of the old gods, feared by men and demons,
watch out thy have landed on our shores.

Vlad IV Felix POTW 135 winning shot, titled Arrival.

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1. Post a short text about this picture, with min. 200 max. 400 words, in a spoiler.

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4. Deadline: last day of each week (Sunday).

**SonOfAlexander** · March 23, 2009, 04:08 PM

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Dragons

"From the cold lands up north they came,
Hardened men with no fear.
Worshippers of the old gods, feared by men and demons,
Watch out, they have landed on our shores."

Egil pulled hard on the oar. It ploughed through the water, tossing it with contempt as the longship surged forwards. The water boiled in it's eddies as the Norsemen sailed around the crest of the peninsula - the dragon's back.

As the shore grew larger and larger on the horizon, the anticipation of the raiding party swelled, swelled till it was far greater than any of them. Egil looked outwards between the row of shields lining the gunwale, and through the pure beams of brightest sunlight, he saw the white sand that made the Briton beaches glisten under the sea.

The men raised the oars as the ship cruised in, riding the wind on the magnificent square sail, embroidered with a dragon's head. Egil leapt to the front of the boat and turned to Sauro standing beside him. He held up a small leather bag, with an encouraging ringing noise emitting from the precious pieces inside. "This bag of hack silver says i'll lay the first hand on Briton." Sauro grinned and shook his hand. "A deal - but you might as well hand over that bag now." Egil laughed and focused on the shore.

Egil discretely took a lump of rag stuffed with straw from his sack. He threw it with all his might and it landed on the shore. Sauro stared then laughed. "I MEANT a real hand - but well thought out." He shook hands and Egil kept his silver.

Sauro busied himself with the rest of the men, scuttling to and fro hauling crates of supplies and tents out of the boats. It was a beautiful day, and even though the summer sun was watery as usual in Briton, these Scandinavians were treating it as a good omen - that Frey had blessed their voyage.

Egil ran to a small grove that he saw on the hill. The wild flowers grew all around, determinedly pushing through the sandy soil. Egil, the Aryan Noble of this raiding party from the Norse lands surveyed the beautiful land that they would pillage as the clouds drew over the fleeting sun. He turned and looked back at the fantastic mass of moving men. He watched as the first rock flew, soundless and unforeseen, and landed on the Viking ships. Seconds later the whole beach was swallowed by the rocks and the arrows...

**Nazgûl Killer** · March 23, 2009, 04:27 PM

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The Beach-head

"It's been a week now, Gorlach, a week!"
"I know, I know... We'll set out soon enough" I replied to my annoyed friend, yelling at me because our 'trip' was delayed, again. "Suit up, Landor, this might not be a drill" I said, calming him down and smiling. It was a vigorous week, a week of training and fighting dummies, shooting at the target with our javelins and bows, deflecting attacks by our fellows in the same old move... The routine drove us mad. The preparation was taking too long, something had to be wrong, however, as a lowly sergeant, expressing my concerns in public was out of the question, lest a Danish nobleman finds out and beheads me...

Soon enough, after all the men in my platoon suited up, my friend Landor ran up to me, smiling, sprinting and his armor clacking; "It's not a drill! It's not a drill!" He screamed as he ran through the lines of our platoon, soon after he went out of my eyesight, I could see a sea of smiles, and I joined it, and people started laughing, this was the real deal, the Saxon enemy at the shores of England will never see this coming.

The seas were stormy and the rain was unrelenting, this night was a poor night for us, horrible weather for our first day of sailing, but the men sang as they kept the Dragonboat at top form, they sang as they kept the sail in place, and not a single frown was seen, everyone were smiling, after this kind of week, everyone would be smiling. I found myself smiling and singing as well, while steering the ship behind our allies, and I could hear singing coming from the ships near us too, soon enough, all the men in my ship rounded up together and yelled at the ship parallel to us, in the 4 column formation, we were in the leftmost column;
"Nana-na-na-na-nana!", I could hear the ship replying, same rythm and tone;
"The Saxon kiiiing's gonna da!" Yelled the men, half laughing as they twisted the word "Die" into "Da", and the ship replied... This continued throughout the night...

Sailing... And sailing... Two days have passed and finally the beach was in sight, my platoon was the beach head, honorable duty indeed, I jumped out of the ship the minute it touched shore and ran to the hill... Only to stop halfway... The Saxon king and his army, waiting for us, at the top of the hill... I gasped...

**Baron Vlad Felix** · March 24, 2009, 01:21 PM

Arrival

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**Kátz** · March 25, 2009, 01:54 AM

Reserved.

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**Mega Tortas de Bodemloze** · March 25, 2009, 08:31 AM

Reserved..."I will worship him.." Edit: Done & Done.

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**Juvenal** · March 29, 2009, 04:39 PM

A lovely picture, it made me wonder what motivated the Vikings.

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Going for a Song

The blond warrior pushed his way past two men from another longship, saying nothing,
his attention focussed entirely on the slope above the shore.

“Don't…” one of the men warned his comrade. “That's Knut the Merciless, he'll kill
anyone who gets in his way. See that bird on his shield? That's the Raven of Rheged, he
took that shield in the Great Raid last year when he killed Riwallawn, son of King Urien
and four of his retainers with the very same axe he carries now”. Averting their eyes, the
two men sought employment elsewhere.

The arrival of the Danes had not been as much of a surprise as they had hoped. Saxon
archers had already begun firing on them from a stand of trees further up the slope. The
twang of bowstrings was accompanied by an odd bird call, unfamiliar to the Danes below.
Knut tensed at the sound, and without any warning began trotting up the slope.

The other Danes watched what promised to be Knut's latest berserker exploit with
admiration. A small group from Dubh Linn even started laying bets on how far he would
get before he was brought down. But Knut broke into a strange loping run, ducking and
weaving while warding off the arrows with surprisingly deft movements of his huge
shield, and the Saxons were unable to hit him.

As he plunged into the copse, Knut's great axe could be seen to swing: Once; Twice;
Thrice, and three Saxons lay dead, cleaved into bloody portions. Several others ran for
their lives and cheers rose up from the beach (except for a few disappointed punters from
Dubh Linn).

Stepping over the bodies, Knut looked intently up at a nearby tree. Appearing to come to a
decision, he swung his great axe once more and a bough came crashing down, a startled
bird in mid-cry still perched upon it. A quick cast of Knut's net and the bird was caught.

When Knut came sauntering back down to the beach, his comrades could see that the bird
with the strange call was now confined within a small wooden cage affixed to his belt.
Knut's face cracked into a broad grin and he addressed the men of his Keel.

“My work here is done, do you fancy a trip to Vinland? I hear there is a gigantic Puffin
there that walks like a Saxon!”

**Bongfu** · March 29, 2009, 05:57 PM

I hope I do my ancestors some justice

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Sons of Odin

Oskar's leather hide boots splashed against the salty wake on the sandy shore of his home. He was home again, he could smell it in the salt scented air mixed with the pines of the dense forest that covered the land. He brought his warriors with him from Vinland, to heed the call against Kristjan usurpers in his land. Armies from the South now marched freely in his father's kingdom, unchecked by the battered thanes that can no longer stem the tide of the invasion.

Oskar stood watching the horizon as the other warriors unloaded supplies from their ships. Dark clouds of Thor's beard lumbered from the east in their direction. A winter storm was coming, Oskar could feel it in his bones. It is as if the door to Frostheim had opened to Midgard. The wind howled through the trees as dusk fell. The wolves did not howl this night, for they knew their homage to the gods would be drowned out by the thunder of the coming blizzard.

By nightfall the storm was in full force. The tents were being savagly ravaged by the wind, some threatened to blow away, taking their occupants with them. The warriors in Oskar's tent huddled around a small fire, telling stories with mead in hand, it was all they could do to put the storm out of mind. Oskar, however, stood at the entrance, staring into the white abyss with an unwavering intensity. Eirikr, Oskar's closest friend, brought him his white wolf cloak.

"I know you do not fear death, Oskar, but the gods frown upon warriors who come to them frozen." Eirikr laughed as Oskar slipped the cloak around him.

"Many years ago, when I was just a lad, I saw a storm like this. During my trial into manhood." Oskar turned towards the fire, the light seem to set his eyes ablaze.

"The same winter you acquired your cloak, I remember it well" his friend put a hand on his shoulder, "Tomorrow, the storm will be over, and we will set out to free this land from the Kristjans. They will know the fury of the Asamen!"

Oskar's thoughts cut out Eirikr's words, he just stared off into oblivion, thinking back to his passage into manhood.

That year his home saw a particularly brutal seasonal storm. All night Oskar waded in an endless sea of snow and ice, across the vast wilderness, with spear, and an axe.

Seeking shelter from the storm he found none, save a small hill that greeted him as a wind break. Racing towards it almost gleefully he praised the gods for granting him this gift. Resting against the hill he heard a deep breath, startled he jumped up, spear ready.

In a flurry of white powder, a massive form arose from the hill where the wolf had been sleeping. Its ice blue eyes made Oskar freeze as if he was made of water. The pure white wolf snarled showing even whiter, hungry teeth. Oskar threw his spear just as the wolf pounced. The spear missed low and caught only snow, the wolf landed with a direct hit on Oskar, almost burying him in the snow making a most appropriate grave.
The wolf bit at Oskar’s neck, but he used his now returned strength to grasp the wolf’s gaping jaws. Using everything he had, he held the wolf at bay. It seemed the push a war went on for hours, as the wolf drew closer, Oskar pushed back. Finally the wolf pulled up, yanking Oskar to his feet. The wolf lunged forward, Oskar dodged to the right narrowly avoiding his stomach becoming dinner. He raised his axe high above his head, ready for the next move by the hunter.

It came with blinding speed, pushing into Oskar with unimaginable force. As more reaction to the blow than intention by Oskar, his axe flung forward and sank into the left shoulder of the beast. A piercing howl brought Oskar back to his sense, he raised one hand to the wolf’s throat, and with the other fiercely punched the left cheek bone. Hearing bone cracking, Oskar grinned as best he could with his frost covered face.

The wolf dropped to the ground, stunned by Oskar’s crippling blow. Oskar retrieved the spear, creeping carefully back towards the lame wolf. Again the wolf tried to arise, to honorably face death. That is when Oskar caught its stare, the stare of a life accepting death. It knew its time was over, and it still struggled to fight on. It reminded Oskar of what his father had told him, right before he went off to join the King in the battle where he was killed.

He had put both hands over my tiny shoulders and crouched down to look me straight in the eye, “Do not cry my child, we all must do our duty to our kin. It is what makes our kin the strongest of all. Only in death does this duty end.”

The wolf laid panting, not struggling any longer. He raised his spear as high as his young arms could muster, high above the wolf’s battle scared head. Words almost lost to him now returned, “Your duty ends, warrior.” Oskar plunged the spear into the ear of the beaten foe. No more did the wolf howl.