[Fiction] The Vikingr Raven

[Hesus de bodemloze]

Author: Dead Sun
Original Thread: [H.F] The Vikingr Raven

The Vikingr Raven

The Vikingr Raven

We are the men of the fjords. We are the men who sit in the camps hidden by the trees, beside the freezing sea, catching the fish and killing the boars. We are the men who sacrifice to the almighty gods at their sacred altars for stronger arms, stronger weapons and glory in battle. We are the men who must die with our sword in our hands. We are the Vikingr.

I am Hrafn, son of Hardgeirr, warrior for Hadrada, and I fought at Stamford Bridge. I fought alongside my brethren Vikingr, and as they died I fought for my life alone atop a mound of dead bodies.

The Saxonmen appeared suddenly from out of the woods, roaring their battle-cry as they charged down the small slope. We were called back beyond the bridge to form a shield-wall, and we gripped our axes and our spears tight as the Saxonmen did the same on the other side. There was silence for a second. I peeked above my shield to see my enemy, but no sooner had I done than did the Saxonmen roar their challenge again, crashing spear and shield in a tumultuous racket. I screamed my throat hoarse and my face red, as did my brethren Vikingr beside me. Neither side would stay silent, that is until the envoys arrived. Their discussion was short and uneventful, both sides offering surrender, both sides declining. The envoy returned, and declared that the two sides would have it to the death and asked for a champion of the Vikingr to step forward. Before my eyes blinked, a massive Vikingr pushed his way through the shield-wall and held his axe high in the air, roaring out of his bushy mouth. He growled as he walked, stomping heavily onto the bridge, and it was clear he had gone Berserkr.

The first Saxonman stepped forward, waving his spear high in the air, and his fellow Saxonmen responded with roars of laughter, insults and jeers. But this did not weaken the Berserkr's spirit, if anything it strengthened it. The foolishly proud Saxonman threw his shield away and charged, screaming, at the Berserkr with his spear levelled. Thrusts were used, and parried, and after a short moment the axe fell into the Saxonman's neck and blood spray thick in the air. The Saxonmen fell silent, an audible gasp running through their shield-wall. A younger man stepped forward, barely old enough to take a wifeman, with his sword and shield raised. He shuffled towards the Berserkr, fear clear in his young eyes. We are ruthless in battle. The Berserkr did not think twice for the boys age, and brought the heavy axe down, through the raised shield, and cut the boys arm clean off, landing the axe head deep in his chest. The Saxonmen had had enough 'sport' and sent their shield-wall slowly across the bridge to overwhelm our great warrior. It did not work. He stood firm in their path, hacking them down with grand skill. We roared his glory to the almighty Gods, banging our spears and axes to unnerve our enemy. They fought, for a while. They were bested, easily, by our Berserkr. I did not know it then, but as I look back on it, it was then the Saxonmen had the upper hand. They could begin to use their sneaky, sublime tactics to rid themselves of the problem.

None of us saw the assailant, but as the Berserkr was distracted by terms of surrender from a Saxonman captain, a powerful spear thrust from beneath the bridge skewered him deeply in the below. He grunted, blood seeping down his leg, and fell to his knees. The enemy roared and charged forward. We braced, locked shoulder to shoulder with our shields, and steeled ourselves for the imminent crash of shield on shield. They came closer, sprinting with their spears levelled and shields raised. They were Berserkr now, barking for our blood...

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The Saxonman war-drums beat the rhythm of slaughter for their comrades, and their eyes flashed wild and wide, hungry for the massacre. Our shield-wall was weakened by small-armed warrior boys, pissing themselves whilst running from the howling Saxonmen. We true warriors held for as long as we could, hacking the brains clean from their puny skulls, but we few were overwhelmed quickly, and even we veterans had to run with fear lodged like ice in our hearts. I was able to escape for the time being, but glancing over my shoulder I saw the bodies of the honourably slain being looted and scavenged. The foul Saxonmen spared no quarter for the fallen, and even one had the impudence to take our Berserkr's great axe. Bile filled my gut full of hatred, but I continued to run through the forest to escape the devastating destruction. The flag of our King, Harald Hadrada, fluttered in the wind, dominating the battlefield and drawing fearful Saxonman eyes to their deaths. They feared the Black Raven, the Vikingr Raven, for they knew their deaths were dogs biting at their knees.

"Hrafn! Keep running! Make for the shield-wall!" My father called. He was elderly, having seen fourty winters, but his arm was still strong and his heart even stronger. He didn't need to say it, but now I look back on that day, he said it to assure me he still lived. He caught up with me, and pushed me to run faster. Fatigue hung in my lungs, but my legs did not tire from their running, and within moments we were in the back line of our Kings shield-wall. The Saxonmen cowered under the Raven flag, huddling close behind their shield-wall. Both sides caught their breath. The Saxonman captain barked an orcish order, and the Saxonmen huddled closer and closer, until they formed a ball. Their drums beat again, they war-cries howled to the heavens, and their shields clattered heavily with their spears. Our King, whom stood on a small mound, one hand grasping the great banner and the other a massive war-axe, boomed from deep within his chest, "Vikingr! The Black Raven of the Vikingr will not fall whilst my hand holds it, just as we will not fall whilst I still breathe. I swear to fight to the death here today. No capture, no quarter, no chance to surrender. Either they die or I do, and feeling very alive today!" The ranks clashed their spears and shields, screaming themselves to paining throats, wooping the name of our grand King.

"Hadrada! Hadrada!" we chimed, clashing our shields and spears in unison to create a powerful racket. No capture, no quarter, no chance to surrender. The Saxonmen began to advance, but slowly, still quivering behind their circled shield-wall. We braced ourselves, and fell silent, only for the King to shout again "What do we want?!" "BLOOD!" we cried. The Saxonman shields picked up pace, and their spears fell to a killing point. They drew nearer. "What do we want?!" he cried again, and we replied "BLOOD!" They were close now, the colours of their eyes clear to us all. "What do we want?!"

"BLOOD!!"

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Howls of pain filled the forest. Men began to gurgle on their blood as spears sank deep into their chests. One man was thrown back by a Saxonman's spear throw, the heavy head thumping straight into the man's face. Our shield-wall could not hold them back. They pushed, roaring as their drums beat slowly to mimic their steps. Try as we might to pierce their circle of shields, we could not kill a single one. Their frontline had reached the backline, where my father and I were crouching behind our shields, when they pushed our warriors back with a simple thrust of their shields, followed closely by a spear jab. At least thirty of our men fell to the ground, clutching their swords, spears and axes tight in their hands so they were not dishonoured in death. I almost envied them, for they had died early and did not have to suffer the weight of doom.

A Saxonman snarled as he broke away from his defences, and lunged at me with his sword. I used the wood of my axe to parry his sword to the ground, punched him with the edge of my shield, and my father brought the point of his sword down into the Saxonman's throat. He choked on his blood, but the life left his eyes quickly. Another Saxonman, with the painting of a white wolf on his shield, jabbed at my head with his spear whilst his friend began to attack my father. I ducked from the attack, but the Saxonman smashed his shield into my face, denting my nose piece and breaking my nose. I reeled from the attack on the floor, and the Saxonman stood over me to bring his spear into my gut. It came down, the Saxonman grunting with effort, but as it came near my gut, I pushed the point away from me with my forearm, the head landing in the ground. I kicked the man in the groin, and crawled a few feet away. He roared in anger, drawing his sword. I stumbled to my feet, the pain in my nose blinding my eyes with tears. He was just a blur, but I could still see where he was. He came closer, growling as he approached me. I swung my axe, making it seem like a attempted killing blow. Instinctively, he raised his shield, but his pride got the btter of him for he was far too confident of victory. He had defended weakly, and with a quick flick of my wrist I guided the shield away from him, leaving his body wide open. With a head butt to daze him, and punch with the head of the axe to the gut to wind him, I brought my hand axe down into his neck, the blood erupting from his juggular. It sprayed me red, covering my armour with a fine coating.

I moved to help my father, whom was lying on his back under his shield whilst a Saxonman was pounding it with his sword. I growled as I hacked the axe into his back, leaving it buried deep in his spine. I pulled my father's shield away from his body, and he launched up with a dagger, almost slashing my throat.

"Goddam it, Hrafn! I almost slit your goddam throat!" my father shouted, holding me close to his mouth by the cuff then pushing me away. "Fight for christ sake, the Saxonmen are trying to get the flag!" I rose my head, and to my horror the Saxonman tactic had pushed completely through our shield-wall. My father clambered to his feet, using my shoulder for a support, and roared a chellenge at a nearby Saxonman. Before he and the enemy fought, he growled to me, "Go, boy. This day is almost lost. Fight!"

And so I did. The fighting raged for hours. I took my share of blood, and my fair share of wounds. I killed twenty or so Saxonmen, and for that I was charged with a spear wound to the face, for it had cut my cheek deep, and a club to my right eye. Blood was trickling down my face, and I could not open my eyelid, but still we fought on. Exhaustion dominated us, but still the Saxonmen kept coming. Our King roared behind us, and hefted his great axe to onto his shoulder. He planted the flag in the ground, and stalked into the battle. The Saxonman king's brother, Tostig, also drew his sword and charged down into the fray. The slaughter continued. The cries of the wounded resonated in the air. The sound of steel thumping into flesh never silenced throughout the battle. It seemed like years ago when we Vikingr were proud and brave watching our Berserkr kill the enemy for us, but now we were struggling. Men collapsed from exhaustion, on both sides.

But, suddenly, a terrible groan ran though our lines, and almost as if by fate, our Black Raven flag fluttered loose from its bindings, falling into the mud. "Our King has fallen!" shouted a Vikingr, and the groans grew louder. Some men threw their weapons to the ground and ran for their lives. Some went Berserkr, and were cut down by the Saxonman onslaught. My father, whom I had not seen for hours, tugged on my sleeve.

"Have your senses left you boy? The Kings dead and the Saxonmen are coming. We have to..." My father gasped, and feel on me, then slid off my sleeve and fell to the floor. A Saxonman stood behind him, and the spear had been driven through his heart and lungs. My father fell in my arms, the life lingering for a short while, like a dim lamplight upon a longship at night. I picked up a sword from the ground, drove it into the man's gut and sliced, allowing the intestines to spill onto the ground. I heard the roar of Saxonmen anger nearby, so I hefted my father onto my shoulders and carried him away as quick as I could.

To this day, I can still feel the blood running down my back...

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War makes men exhausted, and I was no exception. I carried my father's limp carcass half a mile from Stamford Bridge and laid him to rest atop a small, lightly-wooded hill. I closed his eyes, crossed his arms across his chest, rested his sword down his body, and then covered it with my shield. I did not shed tear. My father was in heaven now, a better place, whilst I was soon to be hounded by angry Saxonmen, barking for the gore my open body would reveal.

I heard their shouts behind me, somewhere deeper in the thicker parts of the forest. I am ashamed to say it, but I was frightened. I had only my short axe and no shield. I had looted a mail shirt off a dead Saxonman in the most furious moments of the fray, but it was damaged from the killing blow done to it. I had no shield either. I was almost completely defenceless, and the enemy were in sight now. There were about twenty of them, and they were sprinting heavily, weighed down by their cumbersome shields and their thick spears, but as soon as they saw they had pursued but one Vikingr, all but three of them continued to sprint to the west of my hill. The three who remained raised their shields and advanced slowly.

I made the mistake of stepping backwards. They knew I was afraid, and burst from behind their shields, dropping their spears and drawing their swords. I was exhausted, marginly armed and outnumbered. Taking a deep breath, I stilled all thoughts of death and feelings of fear, and gripped my hand-axe tight, so tight my hands turned pale white.

We were the men of the fjords. We were the men who sat in the camps hidden by the trees, beside the freezing sea, catching the fish and killing the boars. We were the men who sacrificed to the almighty gods at their sacred altars for stronger arms, stronger weapons and glory in battle. We were the men who must die with our sword in our hands. But, nonetheless. We are still the Vikingr.

I snarled as I threw myself at my enemy, hurling myself over the left man's shield. My weight made him topple, and I rolled only once before regaining my balance. I saw the Saxonman on the right had a weak foot, for it was bloodily bandanged. Kicking the area of the wound, I turned to the warrior whom had held the centre of his small group, and he tried to decapitate me. With my damaged eye I barely reacted in time, but I lowered my head and head butted him in his leathered stomach. The force of the attack sent the man flying, ad he made loud gasping sound as he thudded to the floor. My enemy was sprawling on the floor, and I had not even used my axe yet. I killed the wounded man first, cracking his skull open and leaving the axe buried in his brains. I took his sword from his dead hand, and landed its point into the centre man's neck, the blood spitting up and splashing on my face. He made a pathetic mewing sound as he wriggled into lifelessness. The man I had attacked first was the last to kill. He was huddled behind his shield, peeking at me with fearful eyes. I approached the pathetic figure with shoulders wide and sword levelled, ready to kill. I grabbed his shield and he screamed. Yanking it away, and I roared as I raised my sword. It was a wifeman! My sword hand stilled from its fateful fall, my eyes wide in shock. She tried to crawl away from me, but without much conviction.

"What are you doing?!" I cried, gesturing at her with my sword. She whimpered slightly, before stumbling to her feet and standing in defiance to me. She was about to speak when a short horn blow was sounded somewhere deep in the forests. Her head jerked at the sound, looked back to me with harsh eyes, then retrieved her shield, sword and spear and ran to the forest.

"Wait!" I called after her, shambling to follow her, "You didn't answer me!" I picked up my pace to keep up with her, and soon began sprinting. She was surprisingly fast, despite the weight of her weaponry. What was I thinking?! I was following a wifeman through a forest, and not just any wifeman, a Saxonman wifeman! It was no surprise that when I eventually caught up with her I would find myself amongst Saxonmen warriors, and Vikingr prisoners. Someone shouted, and I was forced onto my knees and my sword was removed hastily.

"Vikingr! You have fought bravely," announced a magnificently armoured Saxonman astride a mailed horse, "for a land that does not belong to you. Yet you wish to settle here, bring children here... crossbreed. You must love our middle-earth just as much as we do. So, I implore you, for the sake and safety of out land, of your land, help us. We shall forget today, forget today's blood and gore, and take you in our armoured arms. We shall equip you. The King implores to you, fight for us! Fight for us!"

For, deep in the south, hidden by misty wisps, strange ships had landed, and the dreaded Orca had begun to bleed the land...