345 IA: (Ice Age)
(Before the Invasion of Rokugan, one must understand the world outside of Rokugan... especially Johtunhiem, the continent in the grip of a great Ice Age. Where the weak have died and the Strong have disgressed into Barbarism. Their Leader Connacht must also be understood, orginally a powerful and ambitious Warchief among his Arnul clan and hundereds of years later and Dark Harbinger of the Chaos and Death that his Gunnar would bring upon Rokugan.)
King Connacht Isernhelm wanders from Arnulholme with his army of warriors from Johtunhiem and his levees from Hibernia. The Aesir have always ruled over the continent of Johtunhiem but they have treated their cousins, the Vanir, well in Hibernia. The Aesir or Gunnar worship The Gods of the Sky while the Vanir or Tautha worship the Gods of the Earth. The Holiest land among the Gunnar is great Surturhorn, the worlds largest Volcano, also known as fire father, while the Tautha worship Abb-Beigh, the Tree Mother.
Anyways, King Connacht Isernhelm marches past Dunnar gate with ranks upon rank of mailed Gunnar and painted Tautha. The Gunnar are an organized race that has carved a niche in this frozen continent via tooth and nail. The live in the great, misty vales and fjords of the worlds largest mountain range, which is called Johtunhiem or "land of the Giants". The Four clans of the Mountains are known as the Ebersons, Bjornsons, Arnulsons and Hravensons or Boar, Bear, Eagle and Raven sons. They are purely a warrior culture and their farmers are serfs from neighboring lands while their artisans are made up of the wandering Dwarves who craft the excellent if dull goods.
Gunnar are a warrior race trained since childhood in both personal combat and military cohesiveness. Their bodies are covered in Mail, Leather and Plate and the Gunnar are generally separated into age groups, the youngest warriors don shield, spear and axe and march together in tight formations making an impenetrable defense of spears and shields. They are known as Heerbann. The veteran warriors aka Hersirs are the ones who have survived a few battles and wield Pole arms into battle, they act as the second wave which flanks or disrupts the enemy formations via cutting a bloody swath through a well organized formation, they are also good at flanking cavalry because of the use of the hooks at the end of their pole arms to pull horsemen from their saddle. The Guard of the Jarls and Thanes are the Huskarl, Elite warriors who work their way from brutal Hersirs to refined Huskarls. Already experts in the use of Pole arms they begin to learn how to shoot arrows from Horseback, and their mounts; Aurochs, are an unusual hybrid of Horse and Mountain Goat, with all the power and speed of a horse but with all the stamina and sure footedness of a mountain goat. They are legendary hunters of epic beasts and have been known to devastate and unsuspecting enemy formation.
Hibernians are a collective group of Tautha and former Gunnar or Fir Bolg. The two clans which dwell in the dark forest of Hibernia are the Ule and Ulfssons, or Owl and Wolfsons. They have shed the ways of their mountain forbearers and instead have taken up sling, javelin, axe and mace in their ways of war inside the forest. They wear nothing expect for hides and warpaint, though less durable than their mountain cousins they are both quick and stealthy. They are accompanied by a race of forest dwellers known as Tautha, a race of lithe hunters well versed in the use of the longbow. Where the Gunnar grow great beards yet shave their mustaches and heads, the Firbolg and Tautha shave their beards and grow great looping mustaches while spiking their hair with tree sap and boar grease.
Hibernians and Gunnar have had long periods of warfare but in recent times both nations have come together to trade, hence creating a system of mercenaries that are levied by both. Kerns are archers conscripted from among the Tautha, well known for their abilities to give support in battle and their talents in skirmishing. Woads are young warriors from among the Fir bolg trained to give support with javelins and fight with mace and shield. Berserkers are the elite of Hibernia, seasoned Woads who go on a great hunt to single handedly kill a bear or saber tooth tiger and wear its pelt as testimony of courage, and they are empowered via the magic of the druids to feel no pain and to be possessed by the beast spirit.
Valkyres, Johtun and a single Mastodon march behind the assembled forces of the Gunnar and Hibernians. Valkyres are a tribe of female warriors who have mastered the great Eagles of the mountains, they are the greatest scouts and raiders in all of Johtunhiem while Johtun are Giants who dwell in caves and mountain tops hunting Mastodons and Mammoths via hurling massive boulders upon their prey and breaking their backs under the savage assault. Sometimes baby Mastodons are captured and raised among the Johtun, serving them as a beast of Burden and an unstoppable juggernaught in battle. A large wooden Howdah is constructed on the back of these beasts, bristling with archers and war drums, Gunnar have been known to rally around these living fortresses when on the march.
But I digress… where were we?…ah yes! King Connacht did travel from his mountain home and past the Dunnar gate to the eastern Steppe. The native Khazar horsemen did not bother such an incredible host of warriors, but parted before them like leaves before a storm… the tall grass of the Steppes quickly gave way to the rocky wastes of the badlands. Where there was once uniform levelness and vegetation there was now uneven canyons still thawing from the winter seasons, jittering beasts dwelled high in the mountains. Formors, as they where called, Ashen coated scavengers and cannibals that stalked caravans and animals across the steppes to feed on stragglers and victims who have fallen from disease, dehydration and warfare. Their forms where barley humanoid, their arms long and lithe, their faces lacking lips which would cover their freakishly large canines, teeth and raw gums, their claws filthy and sharp and their muzzles caked in dry blood and offal. They movements was ungraceful, they would loop about on all fours, their pale, sickly eyes lacking a iris and eye lids, giving an eerie feeling of them eternally watching you. Formors came in many forms, the most common among them being the cowardly Skaer, a smaller creature always hunched on all fours with small beady eyes and long crooked necks which swerved from side to side much like vultures do when resting. Leading the Skaer where there ferocious older sibling known as Formors, They generally where slower, but where far bigger and stood more erect… their limbs ropy and muscular, their necks bristling with a large mane of coarse hairs, their canines long, Eyes large and milky in color with large ears and a face that reminds one of a bat.
The Formors watched them for days; slowly their numbers became bigger until small war bands of them gathered at the flanks of the advancing army. But King Connacht knew of their secret bloodlust and had a pack animal butchered and its blood smeared across the ground, in no time the hungry Formors where driven into a bloodlust from the smell of the roasted flesh and foolishly attacked the assembled might of Connacht's Vanguard, Skaer and Formor alike rushed headlong at the waiting ranks of Heerbann, who linked shields together and formed a solid phalanx. The onrushing beasts crashed into an organized force of spear and shield, which slaughtered a great many of them and the survivors fell back to their cliffs outcrops and rocky holes. King Connacht and his vanguard quickly left the dead and dying and the Formors returned from their hiding places to feast upon both friend and foe.
Hence the vile beasts where satiated and the armies of King Connacht where not harassed by the Formors for some time. But as the Legion moved deeper and deeper into the Badlands they then began to notice a new plague. The walking dead, spying upon them… ghouls in particular, corpses inhabited by Daemons who carry diseases which will turn the recently slayed into more walking dead… Ghouls where hideous to look upon, their skin blackened from the frost of this dark world… their teeth and fingers growing freakishly long and sharp… they all had sunken eye sockets, but their flesh took on a new life… muscles bundled into ropy heaps upon their bodies, giving them a lean but lumpy physique… with hunched shoulders and stooped stances.
As Before the Ghouls parodied the Formors but instead of attacking they retreated for several days… until the 13th day in the badlands… Connacht and his men where marching across a vast Chasm… when a scout approached & told of a sighting of a massive army of the walking dead and their Formor slaves marching towards them from the other end of the Chasm… lead by an Ancient Dead One. (Or Shades by more civilized folk)
As the Scout finished his sentence the dark tide began to appear above a frozen dune. Shambling, broken bodies… their teeth rattling from the cold wind and their heads and necks bent in odd angles from the pressure of the earth upon them for several years… the smell of carrion was surprisingly distant but still noticeable. But among them stood a Giant of a former man, clad in massive greaves, gauntlets and a large torso plate… his body was as ashen as the rest of his grotesque army but he stood upright, his limbs where powerful and corded with great muscles… In his hands rested a great Obsidian Axe, it was decorated in grim runes of power. His face was not contorted, still a deaths head grimace and with eyes sewn shut… He stood several feet tall above both the Gunnar and his Dead servants.
His army fully assembled about him, a vast sea of lesser shambling Dead, who where called Thralls and Ghouls at the flanks, chitterling in anticipation. Brutish Formor Giants or Athach rose out among the sea of Dead… While Bre'Unor or Flying Formors circled around the dark tide like vultures among a sea of corpses. Large, grotesque behemoths of corpses sewn together moved among the Dead… also known as Abominations, giant walking homes for plagues… they could foul a river for an entire year if they die in it.
Connacht simply approached the ashen bodied giant and looked him square in the eye… or void filled eye socket. Connacht challenged the Ashen Faced one to a battle, the negotiation was that if Connacht wins he can raid the ruins of the Ancient one and if the Ancient one wins then He way raise Connacht and his army to be his servants… living hand and dead hand grasped firmly in agreement and then the battle was on.
Connacht hefted his Great sword to his side while The Ancient one Hefted his Axe to his side… they battled furiously, Blades flashed like lighting and blood was spilled aplenty on both sides. Both armies clashed in a titanic battle… Axes cleaved arms from heads, spear where driven through living or dead flesh… claws tore living throats open while swords decapitated rotting heads. The living warriors where greater but there was far less of them… The Mastodon charged blindly into the enemy flanks, killing several scores of them before succumbing to eight Athachs (Ferocious Giant Saber-Tooth Formors), when it collapsed it killed several thrall and four Athachs. Valkyres ripped the Bre' Unor to shreds but could not help the struggling ground forces… Thrall and Heerbann clashed in a vicious tug of war, the disciplined ranks of shield, spear and warrior desperately holding a vast tide of dead back while the Hersirs and Berserkers battled furiously with Ghouls and Athach… Being better trained they where tearing the Ghouls to shreds only to be torn in shreds by the vicious Formor giants… The Archers and Skirmishers then impaling these vicious giants with a barrage of Arrows and Spears.
The Heerbann could keep their own if it was not for the vile Abominations wading past the Thrall and deep into Heerbann ranks… though slow and not able to kill many foes… their vile presence would sicken the men while their bloated bodies could take vast amounts of spears, arrows and javelins. They would be pelted in turn by the Johtun, who hurled massive boulders which would shatter the Abomination or veer of course and flatten friend and foe alike.
The Ghouls and Athach where completely annihilated but at a cost, half of the Berserkers and Hersirs where left. The Abominations where also destroyed but the Heerbann Phalanx was broken and warriors fought with Broadsword and shield to push back the sea of Thrall. Arrows and Javelins would kill or harm several score of Thrall but it was not enough… The Berserkers and Hersirs hit the flanks of the thrall and killed several score but where soon pushed to hold the line of the dwindling army. Druids and Shamans spoke powerful oaths, driving tired warriors into an unstoppable bloodlust or quickly rejuvenating bleeding and broken warriors. Johtuns ran out of rocks to hurls and wade into battle punching and kicking, killing droves of Thrall… but there where still more.. for every thrall dead three took its place.
It was left to Connacht and the Ancient One. Connacht was slowly losing, because for every shared cut he lost power and life while the Ancient one never stopped its relentless assault. Ancient and King clashed blade against and blade and with a Deft move Connacht drove the Ancient's blade into the ground, side stepped and hefted his mighty sword into the heavens to bring it down and decapitate the Ancient one. But the Ancient one was faster and drove his powerful fist into Connacht's chest plate, knocking Connacht back like a child swats a fly. Connacht tumbled like an empty barrel and propped himself up barely, vomiting a torrent of blood… The Ashen One simply regained its composure and walked with leisure towards the fallen King.
"Foolish King, you and your warriors will be food for the scavengers or thrall among my sea… I will take my time in killing you and let you see your men fall before my tide."
But somewhere in Connachts soul there dwelled a beast and it was awakened, only the legendary Einherjar knew of the secrets to awaken the sleeping monster which dwelled in hearts of the Gunnar and Fir Bolg. A dark gift from the gods, also known as the touch of Fenrir, it only awakened near death. Suddenly the blood quickly dried, the wounds felt less grievous and Connacht felt much stronger… his armor beginning to rip asunder… his limbs growing thicker and corded with rippling muscles… his teeth began to grow sharper and grow into repulsively large fangs… his eyes fading from a Nordic blue to a bright, vivid amber… Connacht Roared to the heavens and he began to change… his mind was not intelligent… and a Red Haze… and Bloodlust overtook him.
The Ashen faced one watched in disinterest as Connacht turned from Man to Beast… This Beast was upon the Ancient one, Faster and more powerful than Connacht… But even for the unstoppable assault the Ancient drove its axe deep into the shoulder of the Monster, but the monster was relentless and twisted with hellacious force and shattered the Great Axe asunder… roaring in rage and pain, it ripped the axe from its bleeding shoulder only to descend upon the Ancient in frenzy and rip him to pieces… large chunks of dead muscles and bone where broken and flung from the Ancient one in gory heaps and streaming blood…
But even as the ashen one was torn from limb to limb it laughed a maniacal laugh… and then its life-force simply draining from it.
Connacht Roared to the Heavens and then collapsed, gasping for air and falling into a deep coma. The Dead tide began to crumble and fall apart in gory pieces around him as his vision turned to darkness.
Connacht's legions of warriors where victorious in the frozen ravine… roaring and cheering in victory, they bashed their weapons against their shields. They slaughtered a great beast and roasted its flesh in celebration, men where treated with herbs and salves to halt any infection, War songs where sung in the deep rumbling voices of the Gunnar and Fir Bolg in unison while Tautha beat upon the war drums in celebration.
The bodies of the Dead where piled into a massive mound and set alight… the fire so great that it raged for three days until finally puttering out. At the End of this time Connacht awoke from the Darkness. He smiled a maniacal smile and pointed eastward; his army followed him and found an empty tomb with hordes of riches. Gold, Silver and Ivory littered the ancient tomb. With greed in their eyes and hearts the Legion quickly emptied the ruins and marched back to Arnulholme, victorious. Any Formor or Walking Dead in their way where butchered and their hacked body parts strewn about the Badlands.
But Connacht will not speak of a certain treasure that he took for himself… a Great sword of Obsidian … shining in powerful runes and of great size and hidden power. He quickly horded this deep in his Citadel in Arnulholme… and during the years he became more aloof and distant… until one day he left his mountain fortress and wandered back east to the Badlands… and was never seen since that day he left, the only thing he took with him was his Dark Sword.