A/N: Another apology for the wait, I'm rusty and discovered this website called Oceanofpdf. Long story short, LOTS of free books. Nevertheless, the main reason I took so long after my last warning was so I could try making something that's good. After all this wait, I couldn't just give you guys a crappy chapter now could I? Also it's been a long time, so if any of your OCs is a bit OOC, point it out if you can, I want to improve so criticism is always welcome.
Aron had heard of Monstrous Nightmares before, a few years ago in fact. A group of Vikings from an island called Berk had been passing through and stayed at the tavern. The black haired heir could clearly recall the leader of the group, a loud man who kept shouting his name, something about spitting loud followed by a vocal call of... A gout of molten flame flew in his direction, having no choice but to roll out of the way. Surt, as the speaker had dubbed the monster, might have once been the prime example the Berkian had described.
Not anymore, the once powerful wings were tattered in such cruel way that Surt would never ascend into the skies again. Beneath the flames, Aron noticed that the dragon had his fair share of ribs showing, even the supposedly once golden eyes were a sunk bleached yellow. It reminded him of the draugr said to haunt the wastes of the western half of Blitz. Undead monsters who sought to devour the living.
Aron knew full well that if he got hit by that sizzling liquid that boiled where he had stood moments earlier, he'd be as dead as them. Slowly, he glanced at the weapon rack, several weapons had been set on it. Alas, neither his sword or harpoon lied there. Nevertheless, they were all battered and with rust creeping their edges. From simple axes to long weapons similar to atgeir but with longer curved blades, glaives. Considering his opponent's size, the glaive was the best option. Aron wielded pole arms before, but unlike Kelda, who adapted hers to her day to day, he found the long weapon to be a bother to carry. Now?
Surt growled, taking Aron's attention as he pawed the sand beneath his talons. The dragon glared at his foe with slitted eyes, eyelids nearly shut. Despite it's flashy abilities, it didn't seem to enjoy the brightness of midday. Aron circled the arena, opposite to his burning foe. Until that fire lessened, it was too risky to tackle on this monster. Ignoring his instincts for a second, he looked past Surt, onto the stands.
Odd, there was Juniper, unlike the previous match they witnessed, she looked distressed, even from the distance. Beowulf was there too, his expression unreadable from so far away. But... Sigrid, she wasn't there, the seat taken by himself was occupied by a short figure that even from the distance, Aron recognized. Arn the Unmoved? First Sigrid isn't there, and now the only one of his father's advisor's that didn't approve him was there? Skarf was either trying to anger Beowulf or had chosen someone who wouldn't disobey his orders. Knowing his father, it was both. Nevertheless, the presence of not just a hostage and also an advisor for a foreign village, Sigrid had a duty as heiress to be there.
"Skipping a village celebration? That doesn't..." Aron began, his mind wandering off, in that moment, Surt lunged. Thousands of pounds of flaming muscle coming down with a roar of pure rage and pain. Even as Aron ducked, for the first time he noted the fact he actually noticed pain in a dragon's call. Maybe he'd contemplate the side effects of training Hati later, right now, he had to get that glaive and avoid being fried like fish for the nightmare's lunch.
Elsewhere in the village, individuals were on the move. Like a massive chess game, each of them acted in their own way, unaware of the game they were playing...
Sigrid wore a heavy gray cloak as she walked through Bearhide Village, a cowl hiding her features save for the thin line of her mouth. The cheering from the Slaughterhouse did little to better her mood, she hated the idea of death being cheered on. Flanked by two young men around her age, sporting identical clothes and short axes that comprised their guard uniforms and heavy cloaks like her own, and guided by a pale southern slave, the heiress made her way through her hometown. As usual, it was deserted. The free meal offered at the Slaughterhouse too tempting to deny. Save for the sentries around the village, nobody should be walking around. She noticed two cloaked figures on the street going in the opposite direction as her, travelers perhaps? Probably going to the arena, Sigrid and her guards ignored them and continued on.
Should being the key word. When the scraggly figure with glinting gray eyes offered her the missive, she had been curious. Now? As they entered the far northern edge of Bearhide Village, she wondered if this was a good idea. Even with it's inhabitants away, there was a undoubtable presence in each Bearhide home. Be it the freshly watered plants or simply the lack of dust or dirt around it.
Fierce as they were, Bearhides could be very stingy about falling prey to disease, so hygiene was valued amidst the civilians. Nevertheless, all that liveliness faded in the houses around her now. Devoid of line, some caking up dust for half a decade now. Others had small groups of slaves carrying things around. None spared them a second glance as their guide took them to the house in the center of the small group. The guide stopped, straightening his hunched form before evenly meeting Sigrid's emerald gaze.
"Master demands to meet with lady Sigrid... Alone," Now surrounded by fellow slaves, the figure looked fairly more confident. The guards scowled, reaching the axes on their belts. Sigrid raised her hand, this was a fellow Bearhide, if there was a problem she was the heiress after all.
"Sigrid, this guy got his title for a reason. Leaving you with him..." The guard on the left began, unlike his counterpart, a thin layer of light brown hair had started to obscure his cheeks and chin. Dark brown eyes bored down on the thin slave, powerful muscles coiled on his arms beneath his cloak, ready to force his way in.
"Titus, if just half of what that missive offers is real, I can't pass this opportunity. Both you and Rack wait for me here, try not to bring any attention to yourselves." Sigrid ordered, as much as she liked the duo, she wouldn't dare risk this meeting. As untrustworthy as the man was, his aid could be the key for her plans. Ignoring the guards' frowns, the slave opened the door with a not so calming creak and gestured for Sigrid to enter. With a deep breath to gather her thoughts, she entered the unlit house.
Inside, several weapons and stuffed animal heads decorated the walls of the main room. A specially nasty looking bear had it's face in a permanent snarl directed at Sigrid. No, it was probably set to intimate anyone who entered. Knowing who the owner of the houses was, she guessed it was one of his first ideas. Rolling her eyes, she turned to the young man who sat on a makeshift throne with two armed slaves by his side. Few Bearhides would dare arm their slaves, then again, Grizzly Island was no agricultural island, Vikings usually had one of two southern slaves. A few exceptions were her own family and this man.
"So the future of Grizzly is as... Traitorous as myself," The young man chuckled, there were no tables or chairs for her to use, so she stood tall. Her emerald eyes matching the man's jades, that cruel twinkle of green amidst the whites lined with tiny red veins, barely seen in the moderate lighting. A few of the slaves gave her a curt bow before leaving the room, the two armed ones remained.
"You said you found a way to convince the majority of the tribe to accept an early Rite of Ascendance, talk Rhys." Sigrid frowned, such comment deserved no reply from her. What they discussed would mean the future of their tribe, no room for conversation. So she cut straight to the point. The man known as The Traitor chuckled, and began to tell her a secret that would soon change not just their tribe, but one currently discovered by many and destined to change the archipelago forever more...
The two cloaked figures had moved past Sigrid and her guards, seeing a distinctive lack of people around they lowered their hoods. Kelda and Gleb sighed in relief, neither was used to keeping the thick hoods in the warm weather.
"There's got to be a slave market around here," Gleb muttered, adjusting his scythe as he and Kelda explored the emptied village. Kelda carried her pole arm like a shepherd's crook, after weeks at sea, they were all unsteady on solid ground. Specially Kelda and the Outlanders, who never had spent more than a few hours aboard a ship before this week long voyage.
"We're looking for a tribe's heir, why are you looking for a slave market?" Kelda questioned, shooting him a suspicious glance. As as a farmer, she didn't deal with Outlanders often. Not just that but Gleb was new even in his own tribe. Despite his acts on the short voyage, she didn't trust him. Not even a Berserker was insane enough to join the aptly named Suicide Crew in the last second. He had to have some sort of ulterior motive. If that motive endangered her friends... Kelda wouldn't stand for it. Gleb met her gaze for a brief moment with his teal eyes before rolling them.
"Obviously he needs to keep the slaves somewhere when he isn't selling them. I'm assuming it's a prison, but considering publicity and all..." Gleb replied, letting Kelda finish following his logic. Her doubts temporarily assuaged, Kelda allowed herself a nervous chuckle, when he put it like that, maybe it wasn't such a suspicious idea after all. The pole arm wielders soon frustrated themselves, nothing.
"Come on! There has to be a place where they can display and keep them!" Seeing nobody in the vicinity, Kelda allowed herself a frustrated shout, earning a raised brow from Gleb. Ignoring him, she looked at the houses, much like Blitz, they shared similar structures but had a few modifications, some older than others. Alas, neither realized they had walked to the edge of the village. The shout was all it took for four Bearhide sentries to arrive from both sides. Both had their pole arms at hand, but even as two of the guards raised wicked looking glaives, two others had crossbows set for their chests.
"What are you doing in the border? There's a match going on in Thor's Pleasure!" One of the guards spoke up, like the other guards, he wore a thick leather vest with metal gauntlets and a simple cape with the Bearhide symbol etched on it. Unlike the other guards, he wore a fancy helmet with a ridiculous red plume on top like a Mohawk. Gleb frowned, unlike Kelda, he seemed to recognized the design. The blonde girl looked ready to fight, crossbows or not. But Gleb put a hand on her shoulder and gave the guy with the helmet a friendly smile, like a trader on strange docks. The guards gave him an idea.
"Just two wee travelers looking to get a... Unpaid extra hand for our vessel see? Me and my cousin here got lost I'm afraid. Could ye lads point us to the slave market?" Gleb asked. Kelda looked at him surprised, where did he master a Berkian accent? The guards raised a brow in confusion, too surprised to notice Kelda's own. The one with the helmet shook his head before laughing. Seeing their leader react, they followed, lowering their crossbows.
"Are you kids blind? The slaughter... I mean Thor's Pleasure is in the center of the village! Jem, Jack, Jake, you three go back to your posts. I'll escort these two travelers there myself," The helmeted guard announced. The guards smiled and nodded, the one called Jem winking at Kelda before they disappeared amidst the houses. As soon as he was out of sight and got in the helmeted guard's blind spot, she made a gagging expression to Gleb. The black haired boy cracked a smile before Mr. Helmet beckoned them. While Kelda hanged back, Gleb approached the guard.
"Fancy helm you got there, southern smith I presume?" Gleb asked, using his scythe as a walking stick. The helmeted guard nodded, the plume bobbing along his head.
"Got it in a raid a few months back, a small knight patrol was spending the night at the village. Let's say me and the boys got some nice trinkets," The man smirked beneath the helm. Gleb made a comment that summoned a laugh from the guard. Kelda just watched the exchange, fraternizing with a Bearhide? A cruel raider at that? The girl was tempted to scold of confront Gleb right there, alas, she recalled their exchange about the slave market. So far, Gleb had played always a few steps ahead. She wondered what was his move now rather then seethe with anger towards the guard. Soon, they reached one of the entrances to the massive arena.
"So this is where the slaves are kept?" Gleb asked the guard, Kelda couldn't help but looked at the structure with awe. Bearhides were now for two things, slaves and raiding, but an arena like that... There was little she could say against the structure itself. The stones were chiseled to perfection, a mixture of sandstone and other heavier minerals. Such building wouldn't last a week in Blitz, dragons would infest it in a matter of hours. Nevertheless, as the guard told Gleb about how the slaves and curiosities were kept underneath in a tunnel network, how the slaves were sold and exotic beasts displayed, she realized that this arena served not just as a festival location, but so much more. To the Bearhides, Thor's Pleasure was the beating heart to their village. A roar, raw with pain was all but drowned by a roar from the crowd.
"But the best part are the gladiator fights. Free food and entertainment for the hole tribe, even visitors are allowed to see the full might of our gladiators. Alas, since you're looking for some unpaid hand, we keep them held up until they have some use. This way," The helmeted guard led them past the building, to a smaller almost unassuming building. Save for the two armed guards at the entrance. If she wasn't suspicious before, she was now. Vivid images from when she and Aron reached the docks in Blitz nearly a week ago. Those slaves would never fit inside such place.
Nevertheless, with a friendly nod from the guards, the helmeted fellow led her and Gleb inside. That's when she allowed herself to gasp, a tunnel, with a few torches hanging on the wall. The helmeted guard took one and hit it against the wall, sparks igniting into a blaze bright as moldruffle fire.
"We keep it dark down there, it's not like they need to see anything while we aren't there," The guard told them as they made their way down the stairs. Kelda was almost sure they would reach Nidavelir, the dwarf kingdom beneath Midgard but when she got down there, she knew no sentient being, even a lousy dwarf, would accept dwelling in such conditions. The cages were all shut by thick iron gates, while sobs and pleas came from some, others rumbled with inhuman growls.
"We keep the dragons and slaves intertwined, best to keep that southern ego down. You wouldn't believe the noise they make when they think there's even a flicker of hope," The guard chuckled again, then he reached for a ring of keys held in a hook next to the stairway. Gleb dutifully held the torch as the guard went through the keys.
"So, what kind of slaves you kids prefer. The usual bear of a man might overtake you kids, but a scrawny servant wouldn't be much use in a ship... Any preferences? Aside from the usually gray eyes, these southerners have all sorts of skills." The guard asked, inspecting each key. That's when Kelda realized that they didn't just clump those people together, they classified and tagged them like cattle or worse, tools. Gleb continued looked like he reached his limit. Instead of hitting the helmet with his scythe, he took out some powder from his pockets. The guard was too focused inspecting the keys while awaiting their answer.
"You ok? Looks like you had too much to drink," Gleb asked throwing the powder up into the guard's face. The man started to reply, then blacked out, tumbling on the ground before Gleb caught him and adjusted him on the wall. Kelda raised a brow, she knew Outlanders were good with herbs and poisons, but that was just... Sudden? Gleb simply took the keys and frowned.
"Like I feared, the cells are numbered. We won't find him without a guide... Hmm," Gleb was deep in thought, Kelda only then took note of the numbers on top of each cell. Figures they couldn't just find the cage with Aron written neatly for them. Nevertheless, Gleb pulled out the first key and went towards the first cage even as a red haired figure walked past them, shooting a confused look at the guard before shrugging moving on. She looked about their age, but too distracted to give them another thought.
"So what's the plan?" Kelda asked, surely he didn't expect to check every cell? Specially since some had dragons. Such creatures were simply not to be messed with. Gleb spun the keys on his finger as he inspected the first lock.
"Unless you expect our little suicide crew to defeat an entire army by ourselves. I think it's good for us to make use of our time and get some allies," Gleb explained as he unlocked the door and raised the torch. Several young men cowered, the chains on their wrists stopping them from protecting their faces from the sudden light. Kelda shot Gleb a disbelieving look, how far ahead did he plan?
Even as Gleb spoke to the slaves, convincing them to bide their time, the red haired slave, Alex, made their way out of the tunnels. Ignoring the armed guards, the girl took a deep breath of fresh air, wondering how did anyone survive so long without it in mines or in the cages beneath her. With Aron in the arena, she knew what she had to do. Thankfully, Beowulf's house wasn't that far away and it stood taller than any other. The heads of beasts from all four corners carved on the roof. A granite statue of Brass the Burly, founder of the tribe, stood tall before the house. At that time, only Beowulf's family slaves should be present, and they wouldn't be a threat. Hopefully.
Yet, when Alex entered the house she was shocked to see the slaves knocked out and scattered across the wooden floor. On the floor above, she heard people arguing. Alex stepped back, ransacking the chief's house? Now of all times?! Her first thought was to run, abandon this insane endeavor and wait to see if Aron even survived the arena.
"I told you, even if Beowulf was keeping Aron here, they would be at the arena!" A female voice argued above. A male voice grunted, too low for Alex to understand. But it seemed to make the female quiet. Alex moved slowly, even if they were after Aron, the Sea Reaper was fairly clear about not expecting a rescue party. Hati's saddle was kept in the main room to her left, but the key to the lock keeping it in place should be in Beowulf's quarters, upstairs. Slowly, she went for the stairs. Yet, when the familiar sound of a creaking bow reached her ears, she froze.
"Not, another, step," The male she heard before, he was sitting on top the staircase, the bowstring tight and the arrow directed at her chest. Even if he missed her heart, the fall back might break her neck. Alex raised her hands, hoping to look as unthreatening as possible. It wasn't the time to be tough, not with her life at stake,
"I'm stepping wherever I want, we got the harpoon and sword back! Surely he's being kept... Oh, you're taking to her," A burly girl emerged from one of the empty bedrooms on the second floor, her dark onyx eyes boring down on Alex's bluish gray.
"Guess we found ourselves a guide Sweyn," The girl told the boy with a commanding smirk. Alex could only wonder, what did she get herself into?
A/N: I'm thinking about changing my writing for POVs, I'll start experimenting with it should you guys show enough support. Would have posted this chapter earlier but here isn't internet at my grandpa's. Once again, I apologize for disappearing for so long. Thankfully things will start speeding up from here, with the arc finale coming soon, I look forward to your thoughts!
Also on another note, I'm also writing another fanfic, Artur Blaze and the Chariot of Apollo in my Wattpad account alongside this fic as well. Thanks to Wattpad's writing system, you can always go check edited chapters with a few more pictures there if you'd like to see more.