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Frost bites
More than once…
6/7/2008
By Ben Brazee
Venhan looked out on the glacier valley, and than north to the glacier itself, covered with fresh snowfall from the recent blizzard season. It was hard to believe such an amazing place could be so corrupted, violent and dangerous. It was hard to believe that one killed, fought or lost to almost anyone they met. It was a land of anarchy, a land of beauty, and a land of gods.
"Where do we camp, the glacier or the valley?" a voice from his belt mumbled. The voice came form aranbjorn the talking skull. He had traded a 50th of his soul for aranbjorn, because aranbjorn embodied luck, good combat ability and companionship. Than the witch cursed him to 7 years of bad luck, due to her ability over him by use of his soul. It's more than just a bad day, it's a bad decade.
"We camp in the glacier, we'll be harder to sneak up on there, I'm not risking losing you or my weapons to some sneaky little half troll." Venhan lay down on the ice and slowly fell asleep…
A scuffling sound, the sound of a gun being loaded, scuffling coming closer, a shot. Thieves. And several at that, one was already dead though, killed by his comrades. Lesson one of the ice, never trust anyone. Ven grabbed his magic axe. It was made of glacial ice, permafrost. With a diamond sharp hacking edge. Ven only fough with axes, they were ranged and melee weapons, and could also be used as tools vs. swords which were only melee weapons and guns which were loud and required ammo. Axes were best. Especially for chopping through a gun pointed at you. Ven sliced through the barrel of the gun, right in the powder chamber. The explosion of the hammer hitting primer in the gunpowder not contained by the barrel of the gun blew two out of five visible thieves away, one flying off the glacier, one just without several vital organs like a heart and a brain. The remaining three had the advantage though, and fired straight down the barrel toward Ven. One hit him in the shoulder, one broke on his axe, harmless, one got him right on the arm. Ven was accustomed to being shot, shot at and torn by many things tough, and he only staggered against the kinetic force of the bullets pushing him back. Than the adrenaline kicked in, and Ven pushed one of the thieves into a wall of ice and kicked it, hard enough to send an icicle onto the thieves masked head. Guns were being reloaded and rapid footsteps meant that the thieves were falling back. But Ven wouldn't have that happen, and threw his double sided battleaxe straight along the spine of one of the thieves, killing him instantly. It was brutal, even on the glaciers and frozen lakes it was a feared death bye a broken spine. Ven threw his other axe, wounding the last thief as he turned around and fired his musket. Ven felt that one in his leg, slowing him down, throwing the berserk of balance, but not enough for him to smash through the thief's arm with his axe. Taking bullets left a mark on sven for roughly three weeks or so, as life on the ice strengthened ones soul, especially when one is alone. Ven hadn't had actual human company for the last four months, when he traded with some hunters, torches for jerky. That's why he had aranbjorn, the talking reindeer skull. Not only did he grant him a aura of fast healing, but he could talk to him, think with him, discuss the situation of life with him. It was probably the only thing that kept him from going completely berserk and never turning back from battle till he died.
"what were they carrying, besides axes along their spines" aranbjorn asked as Ven sat down upon his burlap sack that he lined with jotun hides and slept in.