July 29th, 1840
The Sons of Muspell Camp, Western Arendal
Muspell awoke from a restless sleep tormented by dreams of demons, ironically to a much more mundane reason: the call of nature. As he rose from his cot he stumbled out into the unnatural summer snow, he couldn't help but take in the beauty of the snowy wilderness of Arendal. After a few moments of the silence one can only get on a cold night, a soft crunch of snow alerted him to company that he was not expecting.
His heart went into overdrive as he spun about to see Ungbukk, the youngest man in his inner circle facing him down with a drawn dagger. Also ambitious and eager, it did not surprise Muspell to see Ungbukk challenge as such. As expected and required, a number of spectators had gathered to witness the confrontation, to ensure that the matter was done properly. To claim leadership after all, one could not backstab their way to the top. Respect had to be earned.
"Your time is at an end, old man," The younger's eyes were calm and lifeless like that of a shark's but Muspell was still confident.
Drawing his own knife, Muspell squared off and prepared for a death battle, only to be surprised when Ungbukk simply casually strolled towards him, going against everything Muspell had taught him. Seeing the young man's overconfidence get to him he jabbed forward, sending his steel blade right towards Ungbukk's side, only for his arm to be snatched effortlessly and held.
Before Muspell could react, Ungbukk took a hold of him, before easily pushing the knife around back towards him and thrusting it deep into the older man's chest. As he collapsed, breathing his last breath a familiar face appeared, though it was one that gave him no comfort.
The so called Harbinger herself, the masked woman.
Standing over him as but one of many to witness his last moments, for some odd reason her voice rose above all the rest. If the other's noticed this, they did not seem to care.
"You should have taken my offer, Muspell. Instead, I had to find someone else."
At that moment both the masked woman's and Ungbukk's eyes glimmered a bright, pale blue for a second, before Muspell's closed for eternity.
Muspell shot up from his cot, covered in a cold sweat from the nightmare he just endured.
A solid minute passed as Muspell let his heart beat slow as in he took in the real world and convinced himself that the nightmare was just that: a nightmare. Once he regained his calm, he laid back down to try to get sleep.
Instead, he laid awake, unable to shake the vision of his untimely death, and had a debate whether or not to treat it as a warning, and if he did, if it was worth it.
On one hand, the hag had demonstrated that she was no mere charlatan, and that she was very much a threat. He was not foolish enough to discard her as a threat. After all, he did not climb to the top by being trusting and naïve. But on the other, it was obvious that he was being played.
No one just offered power for free. So what was the cost?
He toyed with the idea of it being his soul, but a moment or two of serious pondering made him laugh at the idea. He had no illusions about the state of his soul. He was not headed for some place pleasant, if was headed anywhere at all.
So that left his free will. But why take it? There had to be dozens of men in the camp alone who would have made better brutes than he. There was the issue of the fact that he was the established leader of his men, so she needed his men. But she also seemed needful of an established leader, someone possessing free-will to actually lead his men into battle.
But to Muspell that was even worse. To surrender one's sense of self was a horrible fate, but retaining it only to forever serve as a slave and being conscious for every waking second… that was too much for him. He wore shackles for most of his life, he was not about to put himself back into them.
He cast his blanket off of him, pivoting on his bottom to rise out of bed. The soreness and pains of middle age reminded him that he was long past his prime, as he stood up. Seeing the vial in the dim light of the camp lantern he always kept on, he made his way over to the vile thing. Setting it onto the floor, he raised a foot up to crush it, when a voice startled him.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, dearie."
He spun around to find the masked woman sitting on crate in the corner of the tent. Both her voice and posture projected more boredom than concern of ruined plans. Muspell looked at her, before turning to the entrance of the tent, seeing that the flap was still secured.
"Oh, I'm not actually here, Muspell. I'm in your head. A vision, if you will."
"Then depart, foul witch. Kill me if you will, but I will die free."
The masked woman laughed. "You think I really need a slave?" She stood up, before moving over to the maps that cover his table. "No… you'll be free to do as you will once you have done one tiny little favor for me."
"You want my men to march east and help you take Arendal. Not too big on my men acting as cannon fodder."
"Besides that. Besides, we both know that you and your men were going to try to sack Arendal anyways. No, my favor is much more simple."
The Draugr produced a dagger from her person, the mere site unnerved Muspell. Darker than normal steel with rough edges and covered with the runes of his forefathers, even with his poor state of education, even he could tell that this was an ancient blade.
"This is Nárhvílð, or corpse-rest in today's tongue. Made of cold-iron, this blade was made to kill beings like me by the ancient royal family of this land. However, this blade can be turned and corrupted if it ever to be used against the blood it was made to defend."
"The Queen?" Muspell's eyes grew at the idea of the massive task, even with powers.
"No, Elsa's blood is too tainted with her magic. It will not recognize it. It must be the Princess whose blood must wet the blade."
"Kill the brat, sounds easy enough."
"No so fast. It must be with the blade, Muspell. You will have great power thanks to the vial. But all is lost if we do not corrupt that blade. Now drink the vial."
Muspell hesitated, before retrieving the vial and opening it. Still uneasy, he nonetheless drank the surprisingly sweet liquid. After all, now knowing the woman's deal, he was more comfortable moving ahead. Just slightly though.
He braced for a moment, waiting for the vial's dark magic to kick in and turn him into whatever the witch actually was. Surprising though, nothing happened other than a slight warm sensation in his belly, as if he drank a fine spirit on a cold day.
"What, did you expect some horrible transformation?" The Draugr shook her head. "I need you to survive, so your change will take some time. Hours at least, more likely a few days. But believe me, it is underway."
With that, Ásta faded away, with only an ominous "I'll keep in touch" to guide the bandit leader for the time being.
…
Hours before sunrise, Anna and Elsa were both fast asleep in different parts of the castle. Anna was in her bed, having spent a fruitless evening trying to win council members over to the pro-Queen faction. Needless to say, it was a stressful and exhausting day and Anna had little trouble falling asleep. So it was hours later that the voice came.
"Anna, wake up."
Now normally getting Anna out of bed was a monumental task of its own, but the voice carried with it such weight and power that Anna uncharacteristically bolted up, coming face to face with the source of the voice.
Before Anna was a woman from a long lost era, clad in flax, wool and furs of the Viking era. What struck Anna even more odd was the odd resemblance between the woman before her and herself. At first and even second glance, the woman before her was an older version of herself, perhaps in 5 or so years. As Anna was awestruck and continued to study the stranger's face, the woman continued.
"Anna, it is critical you heed my warning, as your life is in great danger."
"Who… are you?" Anna insisted as the gravity of the specter's last statement blew over her head.
"I am your distant ancestor, Anna. In fact, I was the Queen of Arendal close to a millennium ago. But this is irrelevant. I have come to warn you of my old nemesis, the Draugr."
Anna's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, you knew the Draugr?"
"Yes, She and I fought many battles, until I vanquished her. But I only have so much time tonight to tell you the danger you face." The specter waved her hand, creating a dagger to float in midair. "This is the blade Nárhvílð, a blade forged by the trolls themselves to defend the royal family against aberrations like the Draugr. But in that lies the danger. Beyond its materiel, its power is in the sword's oath to defend the Royal family. If that were to ever be undone…"
"It'd be really bad?"
"Yes. The Draugr fears the power the blade has though. So she created a Draugr thrall to do the deed for her. That thrall is coming to kill you Anna. You must steel yourself."
Anna was honestly scared at the idea of a Draugr coming to kill her, but she was not going to let the ghost go easily. "Wait, how do you expect me to stop a Draugr?"
"It won't be easy Anna, but it is not impossible. He will be a young Draugr, so he's a mere shadow of my rival's power. You and your sister have power, power neither of you have quite unlocked yet."
"Wait, I have magic?"
The apparition merely smiled, before fading into nothingness.
Anna took in a deep breath, before looking at the wall clock in her room, well positioned to be visible by moonlight. It was hours before anyone else would be awake besides the Guard, so Anna lay back down, and tried to fall back asleep.
She would tell Elsa in the morning.
…
Elsa on the other hand had fallen asleep in her office, having spent the day trying to research a wide variety of subjects in an effort to glean information on a wide variety of subjects- Draugr, succession laws, folklore etc. Like Anna, it had been fairly fruitless.
Unlike Anna though, she was not optimistic enough to sleep peacefully. For a while she had tried to stay on focus, a tangent had led her to continue reading a collection of French accounts of the occupation of the German states during the Great War. These painted a less than flattering image of her father. It wasn't too long before she continued no further and returned to the subject matter she had started out on. But when she finally fell asleep, the visions returned.
…
Everything was burning.
Elsa sat in the square, surrounded by burning buildings as the terrors of a sack in progress commenced. Judging by their uniforms, French and Rhinelander soldiers were putting up a futile defense against Freikorps soldiers who were by the looks of things carrying out a revenge raid. But the battle had already been decided, and while a few Freikorps troops conducted mop-up, the rest were busy "punishing" the town for its collaboration.
Soldiers were setting fire to everything that was nailed down and looting everything that wasn't. And while attacks on the people themselves wasn't initiated, they reacted to any perceived offence with extremely vicious force. Elsa watched a Freikorps soldier strike the lady of a house with a club because she had the audacity to not let go of her jewelry box. And when a gentleman tried to intervene, the club soldier's fellow simply bayonetted him, before kneeling down and rifling through the dying man's pockets.
And above it all was her father. He stood solemnly with his retinue of fellow guerrillas over watching the carnage, quietly dispatching orders to orderlies. And that's what unnerved Elsa, was just how calm he was despite all the carnage about him. Before long, Freikorps soldiers brought a group of civilians before him. He looked the group over, before gesturing them against a wall.
At this point the civilians began to panic, and could only be forced to the wall by rifle butt and bayonet before the escorting party withdrew and formed a line. They readied their muskets as Agdar moved over to them, raising his hand as a preparatory signal to fire.
"You can't do this!"
Elsa snapped her head over to the voice, knowing who it was even though it tore her apart. The German civilians were gone, and in their stead was Anna and a number of other government officials, cowering in fear. Before her very eyes, the small German town in flames turned into a frozen Arendal, with her own soldiers making up the firing party. Most chilling to Elsa was that it was no longer her father standing there, but herself.
Strangely wearing the black uniform of the Freikorps, Totenkopf and all, Dream Elsa turned her head to Anna. Pacing with a sad and hurt expression, Dream Elsa approached, stopping just close enough to lift her chin with her left hand. Still bitter, she began to talk.
"Oh Anna, but why did you side with the traitors? Do you hate me that much?"
"Elsa, I hate what you've become. I was trying to save you from yourself."
"I don't need saving anymore Anna, not since I've embraced what I am. One day, when I stand victorious, and the last of my enemies and betrayers lie dead, you'll see." Dream Elsa paused, smiling for a moment before returning into grim expression. "But I can't let anyone hurt you, Anna. Not even yourself."
Dream Elsa took a step back, before blasting a stunned Anna in the heart with magic, before turning away. Slowly walking, she turned to one of her soldiers and in an almost whisper, gave the verdict. "Shoot all of them but the Princess."
The Guardsman gave a nod, before Elsa saw muskets level. The last thing Elsa witnessed was gunfire and the last of Anna's screams as the ice overcame her.
...
Elsa awoke trembling and hyperventilating, her office a mess as her ice had long before frozen the room solid. She tried in vain to regain control, before deciding that she needed to clear her head before she had any hope of unthawing the room, let alone getting any rest that night. She closed her eyes and felt her hand about, settling her hand on the first ancient feeling book she could find. Opening her eyes and taking deep breaths in an effort to slow her heart rate down, she inspected the book she had randomly selected.
Written in older runes and requiring some mental effort to even read the front cover (which translated roughly to 'An History of Arendal') Elsa sighed in relief. While mind-numbing, if the mental effort required to read this book didn't calm her down, nothing would. She had read this one before when she was much younger, and even she hated how boring it was.
As such she opened to a random page, before flipping to the beginning to the next chapter to get to a good starting point. Clearing her head, she began to read.
Part III: The Salvation of Arendal
Elsa laughed, remembering that this was written by a monk during the 11th Century who needless to say, thought that the Christianization of Arendal was the greatest thing ever. She found it nearly as amusing as Part IV: "Recent" Events. The laugh over, she continued to read.
Chapter I. The Terrible Reign of Queen Ásta.
…
The Sons of Muspell Camp, Western Arendal
Ásta lay on her bed, resting her mind after a long night of exerting her powers. As a Draugr, her body no longer physically needed to sleep, but the human mind was too stubborn even for magic to change. Unlike a human mind, hers had long ago developed the ability to "feel" the dreams and thoughts of others she developed a mental lock on. And often it was at night when she rested that feedback came to her instead of dreams. It was in this state of half sleep that Ásta received the first feedback that concerned or bothered her in anyway, since her first encounter with the Snow Queen. The Snow Queen had discovered an old book, one that the Draugr had wished not been found. One that told her story.
For an undead monster, Ásta felt a very human chill go down her spine as she focused everything she had to feel everything she could in Elsa's mind as she unknowingly began to flip through the history of her greatest threat.
For once, the Draugr would be terrorized by the Queen, not the other way around.
…
Bit of Notes:
Well, it's finally here. Three weeks is not as fast as I wanted, but I've been fairly exhausted lately and haven't gotten much writing done unfortunately. That and I've been fairly busy getting ready to clear. On that note, it's finally come. The next 2 weeks I will be officially clearing, followed by the beginning of Terminal Leave. And that's it. I will have officially transitioned to the Army National Guard.
As trade school will not likely begin till next fall, I should have this entire summer to write, though I cannot promise much as I have a number of projects I am currently working on. But all in all, I should see an increase in output. Hopefully.
Until then,
O7
Dragunov