Results 1 to 14 of 14

Thread: The Chief in The North

  1. #1
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default The Chief in The North

    Chapter 1: New champions stir...

    Wulfric The Wanderer took a moment and looked back with a smile as he stared upon his small but rapidly growing army. A towering figure with a ginger beard and flowing long hair, Wulfric truly looked like a savage. His hair and beard were adorned with grisly fetishes of teeth and bone interlocking the hair into bizarre shapes, and his armor made it to clear as well that he was not a man to be trifled with. For it was covered from one end to the other with skulls of men, dwarves, and even greenskins making his armor as a whole an unwieldy and seemingly impractical thing that would be difficult to even move in. The grinding screech of a blade dragging against the ground behind him announced Wulfric's coming even further and cut the look of a man who embraced war for what it is, and perhaps even embodied it. Wild and hateful men stared back at him with bloodlust and the potential glories of war ringing in their thoughts and beating within their hearts. Adorned with tattoos, crude furs, and great axes and shields these men would one day build the foundation of a Norscan nation more powerful than it had ever been before. Norsca had always been a cold and desolate place with fierce and unending blizzards. Only the hardiest, savage, and almost atavistic souls ever survived and called such a place home. Wulfric The Wanderer was one of them however and recently he had been freed from a doomed and repetitive life, hunting and killing other duelists and monsters unceasingly because his boastful nature had offended The chaos gods. They had also borne him a gift for this task and were at least partially amused at the possibility of him accomplishing such an absurd task. His tongue had a boxed shape, and with it he could utter any language and with magic flowing through it utter curses and insults SO profound and unsettling that his foes had been magically compelled to fight him, regardless of whether they had initially intended to or not. At his side was a hooded and bizarre figure called Emil the Half Chosen. The right half of his body was charred black from horrific burns, but they were made from no ordinary fire. Streams and lines of arcane energy flowed through his charred flesh as streaks of red coursed throughout the burns unceasingly. A horn adorned the right top of his head, and his right eye was a singular red hue without an iris to further define it. In his right he wielded a staff that coursed and flowed with the malignant energy of Chaos itself bending and shifting into new shapes unceasingly. The left half of his body couldn't have contrasted the right more if it tried. Short and neat brown hair stoop atop a clean shaven and distinctly human face. A dull brown eye and unblemished flesh defined the left half of his face further. His look proved unassuming and almost na´ve, bearing the demeanor of a youth rather than grizzled veteran. In his left hand he bore nothing more than a massive book stitched together with several different types of bindings and paper materials. This book supposedly held tales and recordings from previous adventures but most had not challenged or pried further on the assertion. This is the one they called Emil The Half Chosen, half monster, and half man. Recently he had helped not only Wulfric, but several warlords rise to prominence and power, even affording them armies that they had not possessed before. For all of his talent, Emil the Half Chosen was consistently agreed to be mad. He was always ranting and raving about seeing The chaos gods directly, being afforded power by them as they sacrificed themselves to send him back in time, about coming from a world where greenskins conquered everything, and about ultimately trying to create "Norsca's champion." A few had tried to kill him for his heresies, but had only been destroyed by Emil directly. Most were just amused by this particular champions unusual antics, and agreed he was useful to the Norscan nation as a whole. As Wulfric The Wanderer pondered his new ally, his recently acquired army, now the time had come to deliberate and decide now to make The Old World his own. He gathered Emil The Half Chosen and the lesser war chiefs to his tent. Now was the time to strategize for war...

  2. #2
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

    Join Date
    Sep 2014
    Location
    the British Isles
    Posts
    7,313

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Well, you have two interesting characters there. I wonder what they'll do...






  3. #3
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

    Join Date
    Feb 2014
    Location
    United Kingdom
    Posts
    8,576

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    A good beginning, I look forward to finding out what the war strategy will be.

  4. #4
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Chapter 2: The first bloody steps...

    A fierce and horrific blizzard cut through the mountains and passes, striking hard against Wulfric and his followers, rending through their clothing and armor to try to touch flesh with fierce cold. Yet the air was filled with mirth and sadistic pleasure rather than dread or frustration like one would expect from such unpleasant climes. Such blizzards were not sources of fear or angst for the hardy men of Norsca, they were simply a facet of everyday life. Yet in vain the air and snow tried to claim back what was lost to it from these northern men and bloody boot prints and the host of bodies scrawled throughout The Longship Graveyard were rapidly covered in blankets of ice and snow. It removed the need for burials or torching of bodies, so the men continued to pillage and burn with ever greater zeal and determination.

    The Longship Graveyard had always been an unusual place, even by the standards of Norscans. Rumors say that the sprawling village was built from the wreckage of thousands of warships and that the forests of the place remained uncut and housed wondrous and terrible creatures for the hunt. No Imperial, Bretonnian, or even Dwarven scholar had ever discerned why the wreckages of lost and formerly sunken ships always seemed to drift ashore to the edge of this place. Nonetheless, the wreckage of ships across the Norscan seas for some reason or other always found their way here. Some theorists stated it was a Norscan holy place, and that The chaos gods themselves had intervened and made it an altar in their twisted image. Others claim more mundane explanations, stating simply that the currents that naturally flow and move through Norscan waters congregate there. Whatever the reason, timber has never been needed in this place and many longhouses as well as tribal homes have all been built from the decks of once proud warships all laid low and brought to this unusual place. The rooftops and walls spiked and twisted as erratically and inconsistently as the warriors and kinsmen who lived in them. An asymmetrical nightmare, devoid of logical progression or shape, and the perfect fit for Norscan culture.

    What little gold and wealth was to be had from this wretched place was already taken, and now it was a matter of dividing up the slaves and former kin of the fallen warriors. A piercing scream or sob occasionally broke through the din of singing and laughter from Wulfric's men but Wulfric kept a distance and stared at the proceedings with dull and listless eyes, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. The life in his eyes returned as the stirring of snow betrayed the presence of one of his advisers shuffling behind him. Emil the Half Chosen had returned.
    "What do you report weakling?"
    "I bring a report of mixed results Lord Wulfric. The Bretonnian King did receive me, and proceeded to hurdle a myriad of curses against you, your family, your warriors, and The chaos gods themselves..."
    A lengthy pause followed. Emil had expected Wulfric to rage and howl at this announcement, but only silence passed, and Emil could have sworn he detected a hint of a smile on Wulfric's face instead. Emil waited for what seemed like an eternity, and no longer expecting any kind of reply continued with his report.
    "However, once he was done with his tirade he did in fact agree to your terms of peace. Both you and The Bretonnian King have more important wars closer to your homelands that demand more immediate attention. The war has been a bloodless one so far, and would only serve to drain the resources of both nations if actually followed through upon. We are no longer at war with Bretonnia and your only remaining is Felman Ingersson of the Skaeling Tribe."
    "Good. You have done well southerner. I still don't understand why you abandoned The Empire, but still, you have proven useful to me these past few weeks. Now...Felman Ingersson. What can you tell me about him?"
    Emil looked pained and surprised in equal measure, and admittedly had been put on his back foot.
    "My lord...I...How did..."
    "Calm yourself sorcerer. I'm not going to kill you yet, if you had any loyalties for The Empire, the taint on your flesh and your dealings here in Norsca have truly washed them away and made defection impossible. But in your visions you mention you knew Felman Ingersson at length. What can you tell me about him? What do I need to know about my enemy?"

    Emil gathered himself and the calm and reassuring voice he usually carried returned to him.
    "My lord, in the world I come from, Felman Ingersson ruled over most of Norsca with an iron fist. He is a cold, stoical, and merciless man. He shared power with only one other warlord, and it was out of begrudging necessity rather than admiration. His counterpart was Surtha Ek of the Varg Tribe. A contrast to Felman in every way...Surtha is wildly emotional, zealous, and quite frankly insane. They shared power over Norsca entirely because neither was strong enough to kill the other and this odd balance continued indefinitely. However, when the greenskins came, even their combined efforts proved for naught, and slowly but surely Norsca died as the last bastion for humanity. Felman is a capable warrior and ruthless leader. His men will fight hard and follow him without question, though he will have difficulty making any allies. Felman never was known as a diplomatic sort."
    Emil joined Wulfric and took a moment to stare upon The Longship Graveyard as it burned.
    "Did the Skaeling offer you challenge?"
    "No..."
    "Then truly you have put one of the great powers of Norsca on his back foot. All that remains is to march north and take his last remaining stronghold...The Doomkeep."
    "Tell the men to make ready Emil. I'm going to kill that man myself, take his warriors, and use his ancient seat to rule ALL of Norsca. We march north..."

  5. #5
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Chapter 3: War of The Upstarts

    The march had persisted for weeks. The steady crunch of heavy boots beneath heavy frames plodding through the thick snow reverberated and echoed off the mountain passes. The occasional soldier could be heard trying to start a song or crude conversation, but their entreaties to break the silence would go unanswered. A song would be cut short unsupported by it's comrades, A talk awkwardly dancing and trailing into the cold air, and the only true constant the stomping of those familiar boots. The men didn't seem to mind the silence, for Wulfric had been in a mood...not of anger or sullenness but rather with an intense focus for the task to come. The chorus of feet almost seemed to confirm this, and even with the harsh terrain the chorus of boots rose and fell back into the snow faster and faster...imbued with violent intention. With every step, Wulfric started to visualize killing him...putting Felman Ingersson in the dirt for good and taking his throne for himself. Slitting his throat, cleaving him in two, gutting the old warchief alive on the field of battle. All of these thoughts furiously raced in the mind of Wulfric The Wanderer and a smile even began to break upon his face when suddenly the light patter of feet running through the snow behind him interrupted his thoughts...

    "My Lord...I being terrible news. We must turn back..."

    Wulfric at first gave no response...he just stood there for a time and let out a rather lengthy sigh tinted with disappointment. He then savagely struck Emil with his fists and began beating him to death shouting curses to him as he did so. The dull thuds and grating words echoed against uncaring stone formations, and Wulfric's army legitimately amused by the sounds paused their feverish march to watch the spectacle.

    "HOW DARE YOU? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO TELL ME TO TURN BACK RIGHT AT OUR MOMENT OF TRUIMPH? LISTEN CLOSELY YOU INSIGNIFICANT SOUTHERN WRETCH!!! I WILL RULE THIS WORLD...WITH OR WITHOUT YOUR HELP! DO YOU HEAR ME YOU IMPERIAL CUR? DO YOU HEAR THE WARLORD WHO'S ABOUT TO KILL YOU?"

    More blows struck true, but Emil offered no resistance and simply put up his hands and waited. He stared at his warlord with a mixture of fear and contempt. The beating took several minutes before Wulfric finally grew bored and threw Emil's bruised and damaged body listlessly into a nearby snow bank. With what little grace he could muster Emil picked himself up and answered his master through bared teeth and bloody lips.

    "I hear you. I'm well aware of who I serve My Lord. My loyalty to you has not wavered, and even now it remains unbroken though I am rudely handled. We must turn back because Ulf Einarrson has raised an army of Helspire warriors to the southwest. Felman Ingersson somehow convinced him to join him in his war against you. It is a sign of desperation, but it is one we must take seriously. Your capital of Icedrake Fjord and your recent conquest of The Longship Graveyard will mean nothing if you simply allow the Helspires to usurp them from you while were campaigning here in the north. I'm not saying you couldn't take The Doomkeep, I'm not saying you shouldn't take it eventually, I'm just saying it wouldn't be wise to press on right now at this moment. Eliminate this upstart, THEN take what is rightfully yours."

    Wulfric brooded and thought vile thoughts from the look of his face. Eventually he spoke once more:
    "You need to learn to deliver your words more carefully sorcerer. Supposedly that's the one thing you southerners are supposed to be good for. Still...I thank you for delivering this council, and yes we will defend our capital before we take The Doomkeep. Ready the men to march hard back to Icedrake Fjord."
    He wrapped his arm around the shoulders of Emil, as if the near death beating he had given Emil earlier had never taken place and everything was perfectly natural between the two.
    "Now...Tell me about this Ulf Einarrson, tell me about this man I'm going to kill slowly for denying me my rightful conquest."
    Emil divulged everything he could recall as the army groaned in frustration and about faced into the same tired path they had left behind moments before...
    Last edited by Mercenary2479; February 14, 2018 at 08:17 AM. Reason: Curse word was edited out...replaced with softer language.

  6. #6
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

    Join Date
    Feb 2014
    Location
    United Kingdom
    Posts
    8,576

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Good chapters! Whether you are describing an exotic-sounding location like the Longship Graveyard or the cruelty of Wulfric, your vivid descriptions bring your places and people to life without any need for screenshots. I wonder how much of a threat the Helspires will be.

  7. #7
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Chapter 4: The Battle of Icedrake Fjord

    Wulfric and his host had marched back and indeed had successfully intercepted Ulf Einarrson and The Helspire Tribe before they had the chance to attack Icedrake Fjord directly. The two armies now stood poised for a pitched battle. Felman Ingerrson could have very well pursued Wulfric to the south and added his own forces to Einarrson's...but instead simply waited with his army at The Doomkeep. As it stood, the battle to come would be between two young upstarts, with a grizzled old leader cowering further to the north. Wulfric and his army marched on and at long last after so much talk of battle and glory...here on the fields west of Icedrake Fjord would the fate of two young Norscan nations be decided.

    "Report Emil..."

    "My Lord, the enemy await with numbers comparable to our own. Their army fields a more diverse force including skirmishing cavalry, javelin throwers, and even a few trolls. Our own army fields javelin throwers as well, but in the melee our forces should be better suited to prevail. Berserkers and the truly bloodthirsty are always preferable to mere marauders. Still...if we're not careful, those cavalry and trolls could potentially be an issue. We have done well to keep the men healthy and marched back here at a slower pace than the one we had used going north. The men are ready for their first pitched battle my lord. They await your command."

    "Good. Retire to the hills and observe the battle Emil. I do not need you throwing away your life trying to duplicate Norscans. I know you've killed and proven your combat prowess in the past, but frankly you are of much more use to me as an advisor. Men willing to die for me I can replace, men able to soundly advise me I cannot. Remain here."

    "As you wish my lord."

    Emil The Half Chosen proceeded further into the hills and Wulfric took a deep breath as he stared at the enemy. For a considerable span of time, both Wulfric The Wanderer and Ulf Einarrson awkwardly stared over great distances at each other as they were both encamped on hills with a thin snow covered valley between them. But Wulfric The Wanderer had initiated this fight, if someone was going to have to abandon their defensive position it would have to be Wulfric. Wulfric gave the order to form lines and march toward the enemy and a great warcry burst forth from the men. Berserkers marched onward with insane glee and dark thoughts brimming on their faces. Following close behind were the skirmishers and hunters, men who had dedicated their lives to the hunt and were quite skilled at throwing javelins into unsuspecting quarry. These men would make up the ranged component of Wulfric's forces. Two crude lines haphazardly moved forward, eager if not entirely organized. On the other side, Ulf Einarrson and his men didn't move an inch and made three relatively cohesive battle lines with his force types interspersed evenly. Wulfric's army marched into the valley as the pounding of javelin on shield and axe heads clanging together reached a fever pitch. His men cried out more and more defiantly as Einarrson's men stood silent and braced for the coming charge. And then it happened...in a moment that seemed to span for an eternity, Ulf Einarrson gave the order to countercharge and a wild amalgam of flailing limbs, hoarse yells, and the dull thuds of ax and spear splitting flesh could be heard over and over again. These were no warriors of the south, these were Norscan blades waging war in the only way they knew how, with bloodlust driving them forward and fighting with little if not complete disregard for their own safety. All semblance of formations quickly deteriorated into two unholy masses of soldiers mercilessly hacking away at one another. Limbs and trails of blood and gore danced erratically and made macabre paintings on the snow covered hillsides. As expected the melee was going heavily in the favor of Wulfric's army, who had spent a considerable amount of coin fielding his berserkers, but neglecting the other types of soldiers he could have fielded. Ulf Einarrson on the other hand personally helped even the odds alongside his warriors somewhat and his cavalry and skirmishers were steadily outmatching Wulfric's skirmishers at range.

    And then it happened, Ulf Einarrson found himself further and further in the enemy line as his own line buckled backwards and Wulfric The Wanderer personally met him in hand to hand combat. Three distinct battles were now taking place, two warlords clashed blade and ax in one and one combat, the melee contingents of both sides fought furiously as Wulfric's men continued to climb up the hill, and the skirmishing section of the battle raged on as spear after spear found unprotected flesh and Einarrson's skirmishers staved the melee from devolving into a rout. Ulf Einarrson had so far proved the better strategist, but Wulfric The Wanderer wasted little time overwhelming and assailing him as the superior hand to hand warrior. Ulf Einarrson did all he could to break through Wulfric's formidable armor all the while avoiding huge sweeping strikes from Wulfric's claymore blade. But all he managed was glancing blows as Wulfric The Wanderer eventually struck home with a clean strike across Ulf Einarrson's chest gouging him open from left to right. Blood streamed out of the wound like a fountain, and Ulf Einarrson lifelessly collapsed to the ground. The duel was over but the battle was not. Wulfric The Wanderer let out a great warcry, and rejoined the melee alongside his men.

    Ulf Einarrson may have been defeated, and his melee warriors panicked and fled shortly thereafter, but the melee had been long and costly for Wulfric's army, and now the real toll would be paid as spear after spear struck home against exhausted and poorly armored men. Ulf Einarrson's army had not panicked completely, and their skirmishers and cavalry gracefully eluded the enemy when pursued and harried them with missile fire when they were not. Wulfric's own skirmishers had been soundly outmatched by EInarrson's the entire battle and resembled more of a rabble now than an actual fighting force...much too weak to continue providing meaningful ranged attack. Occasionally Wulfric and his men would catch some skirmishers and slaughter them, but more often than not lengthy charges and pursuits were met only with failure and more casualties as missiles struck home. Wulfric The Wanderer grew more furious with every movement, but victory had slipped away from him. Although he wished to continue fighting, his army had lost their spirit and a panicked rout consumed his once confident fighting force. Wulfric The Wanderer and what was left of his skirmishers managed to successfully escape. Wulfric's melee forces were not so lucky and were massacred to the man as cavalry and skirmishers chased them down in Ulf Einarrson's name. Ulf Einarrson may have laid lifeless in the snow, but his men carried the day and were now in position to attack Icedrake Fjord itself.

  8. #8
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

    Join Date
    Sep 2014
    Location
    the British Isles
    Posts
    7,313

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    As Alwyn said above, your descriptions are very effective - and very dramatic, in this case!






  9. #9
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

    Join Date
    Feb 2014
    Location
    United Kingdom
    Posts
    8,576

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Good chapter, you convey the sound and fury of battle effectively! It sounds like Emil's warning to Wulfric about the danger to Icedrake Fjord (in the previous chapter) was well-founded, I wonder how much danger the capital is in.

  10. #10
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Chapter 5: The Second Battle of Icedrake Fjord

    Ulf Einarrson wasn't dead, but he was in no shape to fight and another would have to take his place. The man appointed to finish off Wulfric and his dogs now stood tall and imposing over the Helspire army, Ivauldr Knutson. A hulking frame and dull facial expression made it clear that this man hadn't been appointed for higher thought or a complex mindset but rather an appetite and frame tailor made for war and violence. Formerly, Ivauldr had been merely a captain in the army, meant to keep order and kill the occasional usurper or traitor in Ulf Einarrson's army. Now the entirety of the army was his to command, at least until Ulf Einarrson completed his recovery from his sickbed. But that was a problem for another time, and for now eliminating Wulfric The Wanderer and what was left of his pathetic remnant was the priority. Ivauldr's listless yet hateful stare scanned the snowy peaks just in front of the village of Icedrake Fjord.

    Just ahead of his forces and to the right stood Wulfric and the small band of forces left from the previous battle. They bore no formation and no semblance of desire for a pitched battle. They were little more than a small disheveled mass running as hard as their exhausted bodies would carry them toward the second army which faced Ivauldr's forces. Further afield stood a small force of marauders and hunters camped atop the hill forming a battle line and awaiting to receive the Helspire attack. Emil The Half Chosen stood nearby with panic and doubt in his features. The impact of this battle could not be understated, and it seemed likely that the fate of Wulfric's campaign for Norsca would likely hang in the balance of how this battle played out.

    Ivauldr had always hated speeches and complex orders when serving under Ulf Einarrson. They made his head hurt and it always seemed to boil down to who could kill their enemies better anyway. With this in mind, he just stared at various captains and leadership on the right wing of his army, pointed to them, and then pointed towards Wulfric and his fleeing host. A great din of shouting, curses, and the occasional fistfight followed but eventually Ivauldr's subordinates got the general idea and the right wing of the army broke off to pursue Wulfric. The main force remained composed in lines and marched in preparation to take the hill and open the road to Icedrake Fjord. Wulfric an his forces ran hard, but their pursuers were indeed gaining on them and one after the other a unit was caught in melee and then forced to fight to the death. Wulfric yelled some incomprehensible curse and something that sounded like the semblance of an order but in the growing din of battle it became indiscernible. Wulfric's men kept running as they had before, but Wulfric himself surprised his opponents when he wheeled around hard and charged headlong into the incoming axe men and cavalry. Ivauldr just watched with amusement as the forces he had committed enveloped Wulfric and gave their very best effort to hack him to pieces. Despite being quite surrounded by hundreds of soldiers, Wulffric kept fighting and even managed to kill a foe and send a corpse flying now and again. Ivauldr just grimaced with disgust, it was disappointing that his foe still lived but at least the main charge would be against a leaderless opponent. Ivauldr and his men quickened the pace, and the fury of a full on charge echoed down the snowy peaks as ax clashed against shield, and spear sunk into unprotected flesh. Initially, Wulfric's battle line faltered, but it had been bolstered by Wulfric's forces and merged into a relatively cohesive force. Emil The Half Chosen stood behind the combat and every now and again, his eyes would roll into the back of his head...and the booming unmistakable voice of Wulfric The Wanderer would course through the sorcerer. Orders were conveyed and curses would echo down the hill as clearly as if Wulfric himself were there. Occasionally, a roar of pain or some more nonsensical diatribes spilled from Emil as well, after all Wulfric The Wanderer was still locked in melee combat himself. Ivauldr on the other hand struggled more and more. He had killed many of Wulfric's men, but no matter how hard he or his army tried, the melee was going in the enemy's favor. A glancing blow here, a thud or hard smack of shield and fist taking the breath away from him, slowly but surely Ivauldr's will to continue ebbed away and fled his body. Finally, he could take no more and fled into the passes of the icy mountains. His army followed suit and Wulfric The Wanderer prevailed largely due to martial prowess, a stubborn defense from his men, and a lack of a cohesive strategy from Ivauldr. The threat to Icedrake Fjord was for now abated.

  11. #11
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Chapter 6: The Wanderer and The Troll

    In the weeks and months that followed, Wulfric The Wanderer and his host did noticeably better than the near disaster they had faced in the initial Helspire attacks. Wulfric dealt the Helspires a series of lopsided and considerable defeats and the eastern holdings of The Helspires were burned down and replaced with horrid effigies of bone and gore dedicated to The Crow...one of the Norscan deities that apparently had become Wulfric's favored god in battle. Ulf Einarrson was personally forced to bend the knee before Wulfric and beg for mercy, and much to everyone's surprise Wulfric just nodded his head in assent and agreed. For now, there was peace between the two fledgling nations, and truthfully Wulfric didn't mind showing mercy to a force that simply wasn't a threat to him anymore. Then as he had originally planned, Wulfric pushed through the mountain passes to the north and to the last stronghold of Felman Ingersson...The Doomkeep. Felman Ingersson showed no courage, no will to fight when besieged but instead waited in the hope that he and his forces could withstand the enemy at the crude palisades and fortifications around the Doomkeep when the assault came. But it never did, and Wulfric just watched coldly and laid siege to the "city." Days turned into weeks, and more and more of Felman Ingersson's forces succumbed to disease and starvation as time passed. Wulfric would spend his evenings just outside the fortifications, grimly smiling as he listened to the dying and the lamentations of Felman Ingersson's forces. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity...The Doomkeep finally fell and did so without a drop of bloodshed. The stench of disease and rotting flesh reeked over the palisades and defenses and seemed to carry over the hillsides like a sickening tide of permeable fog.

    In spite of this, there was cheering and hearty war cries echoing throughout The Doomkeep. It was stated in sagas and tales of The Norscan people that one of the very first Norscan chieftains looked south and grew envious of his southern kin and their "beautiful" cities and in a state of delirium and creative fever tried to replicate what he had seen. But it could never achieve such beauty while guided by Norscan hands and watched by The Norscan gods. And so The Doomkeep was forged, not quite beautiful and not quite imposing. It proved an odd hybrid of both Imperial and Norscan architecture and there are none like it in all of the northern lands. The foundations, floors, and lower section of the walls are beautiful and well paved marble, gleaming white against the hideous contrast of the Norscan landscape. But the upper walls, the ceilings, and the uppermost parts of The Doomkeep bear their Norscan heritage with pride, forged of rotting wood and bearing cruel, malignant spikes jetting into the very skies as if trying to grasp it with a fell hand. The once "beautiful" part of The Doomkeep was now slick with gore, flies, and would need some cleaning before being returned to it's prior state. The Norscan half of The Doomkeep looked relatively unchanged...if anything blood and despair seemed to punctuate it's features. It almost seemed as if the protracted siege had done more to mangle and break the bodies of the defenders than a pitched battle ever could have. Regardless, Wulfric The Wanderer walked up to the throne of the now dead Felman Ingersson who apparently stubbornly sat upon his throne even to the point of death...Wulfric grabbed Felman's corpse with disinterest and listlessly threw it aside. He stripped the crown from Felman's head and cleaned it furiously before placing it upon his own brow. Finally, he took a moment to...relieve himself upon Felman's corpse. As he sat upon Felman's former throne Emil The Half Chosen approached seemingly out of shadows that danced and shifted all around him. He bowed at Wulfric's feet and awaited the command to rise up again. Wulfric paused and said nothing for a lengthy period of time. Truly, it did amuse him toying with this man. At long last, Wulfric issued his edict:

    "What have you to report, my esteemed spy and councilor?"

    "Unusual news...Wulfric The Wanderer. As you requested while the siege ran it's course, I traveled far to the eastern stretches of Norsca to ascertain intelligence on Surtha Ek...the other great Norscan war chief over The Varg before I began ascending various champions throughout the land...you included."

    "Yes...I remember how we met wretch. That is not what I asked you. What news of Surtha Ek?"

    "Much to my surprise and no doubt yours My Lord...Surtha Ek is dead and The Varg Clan are dead alongside him."

    Wulfric's legitimate surprise could not help but to express itself upon his features. He shifted in his new throne and poorly attempted to hide a smile as he inquired in a kinder tone to his ward:

    "So the crazed old bastard who once ruled a sizable portion of Norsca is dead...and the other, well he lays dead at my feet and I wear his crown as you can see. How did we become so blessed by The gods of Norsca that our foe simply fell over dead in the east?"

    "Apparently...a troll ate him alive and laid to ruin his holdings and armies."

    Wulfric burst out laughing at this news and couldn't control himself as he fell off the throne and the crown haplessly rolled along the floor as it fell off his brow.

    "A TROLL? A DUMB, IGNORANT, LESSER ANIMAL LIKE A TROLL LAID TO WASTE ONE OF NORSCA'S GREATEST CHEIFTAINS AND DESTROYED HIS ARMIES?" How is this even possible?"

    "Well...I have not seen nor encountered this beast in person, but apparently by what accounts of him I DID hear...this is not a typical troll."

    Wulfric regathered his composure and stared at the throne that had rolled off of his head. He kicked it violently and watched it be picked up and fought over by his men. He returned to the throne, seemingly having regained his cold and hateful stare. Still it tinged with legitimate interest. Again he inquired of Emil:

    "Not typical? How so?"

    "Apparently this troll bears a formidable intelligence foe one of his race. He does not just fight, he leads a clan of his own called The Wintertooths. It is made primarily of beats and monsters like himself but Norscan warriors follow his banner as well, and they have become a prominent force in the east. He speaks, strategizes, and leads a nation just like the various champions I have raised throughout the land. He calls himself Throgg...The King of all troll kind and Chief of The Wintertooths. Unlike the others I helped rise to prominence however, he was not aided or guided by my powers and efforts in any way. He came into his own, and will no doubt be a threat to you if his successes continue."

    "A Wanderer and a rabid Troll King fighting for what bits of Norsca we haven't destroyed or claimed already...Why not Emil? Why not? We certainly live in fascinating times..."

  12. #12
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Chapter 7: The Last two Chieftains

    What follows are the abbreviated accounts and recordings of Emil The Half Chosen. Apparently, for a time Emil abandoned Wulfric The Wanderer and traveled south without the consent of his Lord. The reasons why are not elaborated on in his accounts but it is clear that even in Emil's absence a great campaign went underway between Wulfric The Wanderer and Throgg. Despite not being there physically, somehow Emil The Half Chosen manages brief but accurate reports of what transpired in Norsca while he has away. Many believe this is likely a result of his sorcerous powers which apparently allowed him at least a limited ability to scry and discern events from great distances. This is what Emil the Half Chosen deemed worthy to record:

    Shortly after his departure, Throgg personally led his army to assault The Doomkeep while Wulfric The Wanderer still occupied it. Wulfric The Wanderer apparently felt confident in his success and sallied forth to engage his new enemy. What followed would be coined as The First Battle of The Doomkeep. In total, there would be three major battles at this same site. Wulfric The Wanderer assembled his army in more or less the same style he always had, berserkers and medium infantry along the center, and some javelin skirmishers allotted behind. Throgg's army makeup was reportedly much more complex. It fielded not only infantry comparable to Wulfric's but also cavalry to skirmish along the flanks, and finally javelin skirmishers and an impressive reserve of trolls in reserve. Wulfric seemed to feel confident both in his personal ability to defeat anything Throgg could field, and also his infantry's ability to overwhelm and crush the enemy center. With the two armies prepared, Wulfric pressed the attack.

    Despite seemingly losing the initiative, Throgg wasted little time slowing his enemy's advance and pressing his cavalry hard against Wulfric's left flank as they tried to advance. While not strong enough in melee to outright halt Wulfric's attack, they did their job of harassing and exposing weak points in Wulfric's formation which in turn gave Throgg the initiative. Throgg counterattacked while personally leading his melee forces and a bloody show of severed limbs and hearty battle cries filled the air. Throgg proved to not only be a better general, but a far superior soldier to Wulfric. Norscan warriors left and right were promptly crushed by the hearty and unmerciful blows of Throgg's hammer and all that remained of once formidable warriors were piles of red paste. Wulfric almost endured the same fate and was promptly forced to retreat with grievous wounds personally inflicted by Throgg. With Throgg helping to win the fight handedly in the melee, and his more versatile forces giving a good account of themselves, the battle was decided shortly thereafter even with Wulfric's men attempting a last minute flanking maneuver. Wulfric escaped, but his army was slaughtered and The Doomkeep fell to Throgg.

    While Wulfric scrambled to rebuild his forces back at Icedrake Fjord, Throgg oddly vanishes from the record of Emil for a time. While moving on Wulfric's exposed capital certainly would have been possible, it seemed that Throgg was interested more in The Doomkeep itself rather than exterminating Wulfric. (even though it seemed certainly plausible he could do so) Nonetheless, Wulfric rebuilt his forces after a great pause in time and gathered champions of various tribes to refill his ranks. Wulfric's logic seems to have been that his "plan" merely didn't work because the quality of his warriors was insufficient.

    Wulfric took his new host and marched on The Doomkeep once again. Before he even had the chance to lay siege to it, Throgg and The Wintertooth Tribe descended upon Wulfric once again. Throgg fielded a smaller force than he had at the first battle of The Doomkeep, but Throgg was now sending a clear message...no matter what Wulfric fielded, Throgg viewed The Doomkeep as his own and would suffer no challenger to dare threaten it. And with this The Second Battle of Doomkeep began.

    There is noticeably less recorded about The Second Battle of Doomkeep than the First. In fact, almost the entirety of Emil's account of the battle describes Throgg in great detail and his prowess and skill displayed in the battle rather than the battle itself. Apparently, as is not unheard of in Norscan warfare, any semblance of tactics simply vanished between the two sides as a horrific and extended melee quickly dominated the entire battle scene. Wulfric felt confident with his new superior infantry recruits this would favor him, but Throgg personally killed, crushed, or even outright consumed hundreds of Norscan warriors and fought completely unescorted on several occasions. Once again, Wulfric was forced to flee the fight before Throgg's superior melee skills. Eventually his mass of infantry panicked at the sight of this combined with Throgg's seeming invincibility. Most of Throgg's monstrous units had been felled, but a few of his forces remained and marveled at how their leader had personally carried the battle. Once again Wulfric fled to his capital and prepared for counterattack, and once again Throgg left for other conquests further north.

    Throgg seemingly either deemed Wulfric beneath him despite multiple chances to finish off his faction, or felt conquering the other lesser tribes was more important. Either way, this was now the third time Wulfric would be given precious time to recover and utilize it he did. He marched with the same composition of forces he had before and just as had been the case in The Second Battle of The Doomkeep, Throgg intercepted him.

    The Third Battle of The Doomkeep was decidedly different than it's predecessors. Throgg had eliminated the other factions in the north, but the army he brought to bear against Wulfric for the third time was decidedly smaller than before and fielded nothing remarkable. Throgg would once again have to carry the fight himself, and this time he had no monsters or cavalry to unnerve or unsettle Wulfric's forces. Wulfric settled on a hilltop and waited for Throgg's diminished force to attack. While Throgg almost did indeed carry the day himself, even he couldn't be expected to face an enemy army almost single handedly. Wulfric at last would carry the day and Throgg was forced to flee as his army was decimated. It would seem Throgg's great weakness in the greater war was not strategy or martial prowess, but economics. Despite all of his many victories, Throgg consistently struggled to field new units for each one he lost. Eventually he simply ran out of forces to keep fighting with and Wulfric capitalized at The Third Battle of The Doomkeep. Wulfric from this point forward reclaimed The Doomkeep, soundly defeated Throgg time and time again, and eliminated the remaining Norscan tribes with the exception of The Helspires, who had been humbled and opted for peace earlier. Various effigies of The Crow arose where tribes once stood, Throgg and The Wintertooth tribe had been wiped from the map, and Wulfric now was the only dominant power left in Norsca. Wulfric The Wanderer was finally free to look further afield...

  13. #13
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

    Join Date
    Sep 2014
    Location
    the British Isles
    Posts
    7,313

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    It seems that "third time's the charm" worked for Wulfric!

    I liked the inclusion of the two defeats - it built up the tension well, I think. I wonder where Wulfric will head next...






  14. #14
    Mercenary2479's Avatar Foederatus
    Join Date
    Aug 2016
    Location
    Colorado Springs, CO
    Posts
    42

    Default Re: The Chief in The North

    Chapter 8: Further Afield

    With Norsca finally secured, Emil The Half Chosen returned to Icedrake Fjord and uneasily awaited the judgment of his dread sovereign. His journey south into The Badlands had eased his troubled mind and soul, but being in such close proximity to the hellish and unforgiving confines of the deep north once again, to KNOW that Wulfric The Wanderer would soon be encountered again dashed any previous feelings of mirth. It was almost as if some tangible weight bore down upon Emil's shoulders, like Wulfric somehow already knew he was back and would mercilessly descend upon his servant at any moment, that the heavy plodding footsteps would announce the end...

    As Emil's mind raced furiously with imagined horrors and potential outcomes, he never even heard Wulfric The Wanderer gracefully close the gap from behind and place his rough hand upon Emil's shoulder. Emil spun round in shock and horror and fell to his knees. Incoherent begging and muttering begin to erupt from Emil, but Wulfric silenced him with a simple rising of his hand.

    "Easy, southerner. I don't come here to destroy you or punish you needlessly. So how WAS my advisor's journey back into the southern world?"

    "F-forgive me Wulfric. I ventured south because I HAD to know. I had to know if the world I left behind would come to pass once again. But it didn't. The Greenskin scourge that took my world is simply not the same threat here. The life I knew is dead. But the chaos gods, your dread aspect, and your war host have given me a second chance. A chance to see the world dominated by strength and by the power of mankind. Go anywhere and from now on I will follow Wulfric The Wanderer. Where do the united armies of Norsca march next?"

    "They sail with me to the south Emil. For too long has Bretonnia gone unanswered for insulting me and challenging our early and more...tenuous rule. That challenge is not forgotten by me, and ALL The Old World will know. Norsca is divided no longer. Now these southerners will see what power, bloodlust, and skill in war REALLY looks like. Now get off your damn knees you babbling idiot!"

    Emil hesitantly rose to his feet, and Wuflric even smiled at his hapless minion, urging him to follow. They walked silently for some time through the thick snow drifts untiaubible bellowing from an unknown source began to rise over the gales and winds of the snow. Wulfric marched onto a hilltop and motioned once again for Emil to join him. Emil made it to the same space as his lord, and stoop with jaw agape in wonder at what he saw. A great host of war mammoths had been assembled and tamed, and were now slowly being prepared and harried onto waiting naval transports. The ground shook with virtually their every motion and their bellowing cries carried seemingly for eternity. Thousands of bloodthirsty marauders and tribesmen worked furiously either readying the ships, their own war gear, or the unenviable task of trying to properly equip and corral the colossal mammoths. The invasion of Bretonnia and by extension the entire southern world was about to begin...

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •