A More Humane Ruthlessness
Erik stood on the prow of his longship. He liked the feeling of the sea breeze in his beard and long red hair. The raiding season was more than successful. No matter how harsh the next winter will be his people will not go hungry. However, now it was ending and they had go reach their home before the seas grew too wild. Pushing your luck was one of the surest ways to earn the ire of the gods. Still, they all deemed it was worth the risk. The slaughter they would enact in their name was sure to appease them. The prize they were eyeing now did not promise much plunder. It was a fortified town on the coast of Kislev, a land he despised only slightly less than the Empire, besieged seemingly for some time now. Besieged by Kurgans.
It was not greed or desire for plunder that lead them to this place but the burning hatred they felt for the madmen from the plains. Norscans and Kurgans both worshipped Chaos in all its forms. However, Erik sometimes wondered if the two nations viewed it the same way. While it was true that some Norscans were wilder than others and more extreme in their worship of the gods, going even to the point of constant slaughter between the tribes, at least they had a sense of hearth and home. The Kurgans on the other hand were vagabonds that knew nothing other than riding their horses and wandering the land destroying and devouring all in their path like a plague of locusts. Killing them was no different from killing wild beasts. Both left behind carcasses that could be used in many useful ways. However, there was also the added benefit that with every dead Kurgan, there was one less usurper of the gaze of the gods.
Erik was one of the four jarls leading this warband. Each of them had under their command a dragon ship with a little over 80 men on board, two snake ships with each having 41 crewmembers and several small cargo ships meant for carrying loot and supplies. Five or six people, mostly young men who were learning their ways around sails and oars with an expert old sailor or two that were acting as mentors, manned the cargo ships. Although they were old enough to be taken on raids, they still had much to learn and much to prove. Most eagerly await the day they stop having to patrol the village defences or spend the raiding season being a part of a hunting group. Erik learned to appreciate the lessons imparted to him during those times even though he did not realize their weight back then when he was younger. The ways of his people teach young boys how to fight and work as a group from an early age. Without these rites of passage, every single one of them would jump on a ship as soon as they learned to walk and would probably never return. The impatience of youth is a great driving force but also flaw, which must be overcome.
The reason why there were four jarls was simple. Each of them was a representative of one of the gods. This was meant to bring good fortune or at least cancel enough of the bad. Arkhar the Hound, the god of battle, blood and skulls. Tchar the Raven, the god of knowledge, fate and magic. Lanshor the Serpent, the god of pain and pleasure. Onogal the Crow, the god of pestilence and decay. Erik Clawaxe led the forces devoted to the Blood God. His ships and sails were unmarked by colour of any sort when they set off. Now all were painted with the blood of their enemies and adorned with many skulls. The plate armour he wore shared the colouration although the shade sometimes seemed to resemble fire here and there. At his sides were two crescent battle-axes that he occasionally paired with a shield. However, his main weapon was a long and sturdy axe that, like the two smaller ones, had a curved spike on the back of its head. The blade mostly curved upwards and formed a point that resembled a horn and halfway before the tip, the steel curved backwards and formed a claw-like protrusion.
Gunnar the Maggot Knight led the forces devoted to the Lord of plagues. Erik was a large man, but Gunnar towered over him. He believed himself stronger than the plague-kissed jarl, however Gunnar knew how to use his mass to his advantage and this has brought him victory in many duels. Moss, lichen, algae and various other sorts of growths covered his ships. Not to mention the unusually large amount of bird droppings, even for a crew that did not bother to clean them. He wielded a large two-handed mace. Its head consisted of a top spike for thrusting and fourteen spikes that resembled giant rose thorns arranged in two layers for striking. An unusual choice. Erik mostly saw the champions of the Plague God wield scythes and other similar tools as weapons. A sign of devotion to their goal of spreading virulent life or so he heard. His armour was rusty but the rust seemed to make the plate more malleable. Like it was just another layer of his skin. As for his real skin, it was flaky and constantly shedding and the desiccated top layer acted like a coat of defensive scales that only a proper axe blow could go through. Even if it did, the leprosy made him lose any sense of pain long ago. However, he remains whole and is not bloated and completely rotten like the most of the Plaguelord's followers and the leprosy did not take anything save his pain. Was this a sign of Onogal's favour or simply a lack of devotion on Gunnar's part, Erik could not say. Clawaxe did however know what was the true "blessing" that the Maggot Knight received from his patron. It could sometimes be seen wriggling and writhing just beneath the surface of his cracked skin or exiting through one of his orifices and then burrowing back inside after finding a soft spot to bite through. Huge, larva like maggots were constantly crawling through Gunnar eating him from the inside. As they devoured his flesh and insides, they instantly digested it and left it behind them as a trail of thick slime that could heal any injury. Open wounds were their favourite. Of all his fellow jarls that were present, Erik thought Gunnar was most reliable and trustworthy.
Harbard Blacktalon led the forces devoted to the Architect of Fate. Black and blue were their colours and their ships were always surrounded by a cloud of ethereal smoke. His dark plate was covered with many runes, glyphs and sigils meant to protect and conceal. Unlike most of Tchar's followers, Harbard was not a megalomaniacal madman or a schemer. In fact, he would always go to great lengths to prove his honour but most would just see his attempts as some sort of long con. He did nevertheless surround himself with knowledge and mostly kept to himself. Erik knew he could rely on him when it came to matters of war and governance. However, he was still wary of him. Though he was not a sorcerer, Harbard was still proficient in magic. For Clawaxe that was reason enough not to trust him. Strangely enough, the arts he was practicing were not the dark kind. Erik forgot the name of the type of magic Blacktalon was studying but he did call him a shadowmancer for a reason. Another strange fact was that Harbard was a very skilled warrior and did not rely on magic unless he needed to even the odds. His proficiency with a billhook was legendary in the fighting pits as well as on the battlefield. It had a point for thrusting, a hooked blade, a small hatchet-like protrusion on the back that was topped with a back spike and it had two protruding spikes on the bottom of the head, just above the socket for the haft. An ironic choice considering who his patron's rival was. He also carried a longsword as a secondary weapon. There was no doubt that both had some magical properties. Clawaxe could only guess what those were. What Erik could not help but like about Harbard is that he would duel any mage or shaman as soon as he got the chance. Bypassing their magic with his own so he can deliver the killing blow with his weapon. He would hunt them down as if he was a fellow worshipper of Arkhar and kill them with just as much ferocity. There was wisdom in using the weapons of the enemy against them, but was it worth it if came at the cost of true strength? The more he thought about him, Erik was less sure about whether he should despise or respect him and that always got his blood up.
The red haired Hjordis Razorlip led the forces devoted to the Dark Prince. Adorned in pink and purple she wore scale armour and covered her ships in flayed skins of her enemies while taking great care not to obscure any parts that were gilded or otherwise accented. Her weapon of choice was a long, broad cleaver. The back of its tip was curved and serrated in a misshapen way. One of the serrations protruded above the others and formed a point for thrusting beneath which was a slightly forward curved blade. The pommel was carved to resemble the symbol of the Lord of Excess and the handle was about as long as the one on the massive two-handed sword the warriors of the Empire were known for wielding while the guard was "S" shaped. Her younger sister, the raven haired Hilda Rakespear, accompanied Hjordis. She was also wearing scale armour but was armed with a winged hewing spear. The wings of the spear had hooks that curved both up and down and between the two curves were two straight spikes. Erik could no longer remember when the game he and Hjordis played started. He was both drawn to and repulsed by her. Sometimes he gave in whether it was during a raid when the bloodlust was upon him or during a cold winter night. However, something did not feel right about the whole thing. When he looked upon her, he would see the Gorequeen incarnate. In her eyes however, he could see that he was nothing but another victim. Someone to be seduced and then tortured to death. It was most likely because he wanted heirs and she probably only viewed him as an offering. Despite that, he felt that her care was genuine. Perhaps they both still wrestled to distinguish their will from the wishes imposed on them by their deities. Still, she was a skilled warrior and to see her fight is to see an unbelievable performance. Especially when paired with Hilda. Then it truly becomes a breath-taking dance of death.
It was not always like this. Once, they would be separate warbands. Just as likely to cooperate as they were to kill each other. All of it changed once their new king carved a large part of Norsca for himself. He showed them a new path. A way for them to grow strong and gain favour with the gods, while still keeping their humanity. No more would they be puppets of flesh. Mere playthings for their deities. They would still give the Four brothers their due and appease them as best they could, but they would no longer allow them to glut themselves on their deeds and lives more than they already were. Erik had almost forgotten what it was like to see with clear eyes and not be consumed by an unfathomable rage. His thoughts were his own once again and he would do anything to keep them. Even if it meant working with those who were once his sworn enemies. So long as it was the will of his king.
Harbard peered into his scrying orb. "Our forces are in position. They await our command." Erik hated hearing his ethereal voice inside his head. Somehow, the other jarls did not seem to mind as much. Blacktalon described the town while he was observing it through the orb. It was surrounded by vast, snow-covered plains and protected by large walls. A single wide road lead from the main gate to the central square that was likewise shaped. From it many smaller streets branched off in various directions cutting between blocks of whitewashed houses with neatly thatched roofs. The town was cut off from the harbour by a wall that was a continuation of the outer ones. It also had two projections that enveloped the harbour's flanks. Harbard and Hjordis sent a small force that would act as a vanguard and allow the other ships to enter the port. They landed farther up the shore and swam into the harbour. Most of the defenders were busy trying to hold the walls and the front gate but the port was still well defended, as it was their only way of supplying the town. Erik did not like all this sneaking around and watching those that should be warriors act like common cutthroats. However, even he could not argue the fact that this was more "efficient". Blood would still be spilled and the real fight was still to come. "Let us make our offerings!" Erik commanded.
He walked up to a man that has been hanging upside-down for quite some time. His head was so red it seemed it was about to burst. With a quick stroke of his smaller axe, Erik slit the man's throat and blood spewed forth and gushed over his armour and ship. Both seemingly started to smoke and the blood seemed to evaporate into the Realm of Chaos. With another swing, he cleanly severed the man's head, drew the blade across the top of his head and peeled the skin away leaving only a skull that had its eyes still in their sockets. Erik placed it on the prow of his ship and said: "May you witness our glory and may it please our ancestors that fight in Arkhar's halls." He watched Gunnar force open the mouth of his offering and then started making sounds as if he was trying to cough up a huge piece of phlegm from deep inside his throat. Instead of phlegm, a mouthful of maggots erupted as he vomited them into the mouth of the captive. "Rejoice and find comfort in the embrace of the Urfather! Accept his love and you will never feel pain again!" Gunnar preached while holding his arms up as if he was going to hug the man that was writhing on the deck. Hjordis decided to keelhaul her offering until it was torn to bloody ribbons as usual. Harbard on the other hand performed one of his myriad of eldritch rituals that left behind a dried out husk while the ethereal smoke around his ships got a little denser.
"It is done. Start rowing! Harbard, give the order!" Erik shouted his commands. The snake ships hurried past the dragon ships, as they were faster. The very reason the jarls were aboard them instead of their usual command ships. They led the charge. Their job was to hold the foothold secured by the force they sent ahead. It seemed they were doing their job well. No ship sailed to challenge them nor was anyone firing at them from the walls. The sounds of battle could soon be heard and Erik tightened his grip around the long haft of the axe. When they arrived on the docks, they swept everything in their path like a tide. The defenders were torn between holding two sides of the town at once. When Erik and the rest of the warband arrived and took control of the gate that connected the port with the rest of the town, the battle was over. Pressed from both sides and with nowhere to retreat, the defenders were cut down to a man. They fought to the very end as defiantly as they could. It earned them a small measure of respect from Erik. In the end, they did not matter. The true prey the Norscans were after finally stood before them.
Both hosts met in the town's main square. Harbard's voice has already stopped echoing inside Erik's mind as Blacktalon finished explaining the plan of attack. Erik's first task was simple. Start a fight. The Kurgans already dispersed and were looting, raping and slaughtering the survivors. The Norscan warband kept its battle lines in order. Gunnar's men were in the centre and formed the rear-guard. As slow and resilient as they were it made them perfect for holding the line. Erik's men were on the flanks while some of them held their part of the walls along with contingents from Hjordis' and Harbard's forces. The rest of their men were scattered and hidden to act as skirmishers and form the reserves. It seemed to Erik that these Kurgans either were devoted to Arkhar or worshipped Chaos as a whole. He walked towards a similarly armoured marauder that was shouting something to the men behind him. Erik saw him turn as he approached. "Well met, sea rats!" he growled in the Dark Tongue. "These southlings proved more resilient than usual. We were afraid winter would catch us while we laid siege. Anything you find in the port is yours. The rest belongs to us. Take what is yours and be on your way." Erik could feel his knuckles go white as he gripped his axe even tighter. A brigand that reeked of horse dung thought he could order him around. Clawaxe took what he wanted and this was always so. The fool before him will be the first to die.
Erik watched as the arrogant bastard dragged a mother that was trying to keep herself between him and her child. He laughed as she struggled and the little boy cried. The child's nose was broken, his eye swelled shut, and the mother fared no better. Beaten and enslaved they still fought back. Erik already liked them better than the Kurgan. The marauder's axe rose as he shouted: "Blood for the Blood God!" Before the axe could fall, Erik stopped it with a question: "What do you think you're doing?" Taken aback, the Kurgan faced him. "What does it look like, you blind fool? Sacrificing them to Karneth!" the marauder yelled. "First you fail to take this town and now you make unworthy offerings. No wonder you needed us." "Watch your mouth, sea-rat!" the Kurgan growled as he pointed his axe towards Erik. "We spill the blood of warriors in battle to honour Arkhar. Blood of the weak means nothing to him. To kill a woman is to prevent her from birthing warriors. To kill a child is to prevent him from becoming one. This prevents the sacred bloodshed and denies Arkhar his due. You and your kind are no better than those thieving undead bloodsuckers, blasphemer!" The Kurgan roared and swung his horseman's axe towards Erik's neck. Erik struck his arm aside and brought his weapon around for an overhead swing that cleft both helmet and skull. The skull of this weakling would be an offense to Arkhar so it was better off destroyed. Clawaxe was now isolated and the rest of the Kurgan host was rushing towards him. Out of nowhere, Harbard emerged from the shadows and dragged him across the square in an instant. It was hard for Erik not to berate him, but luckily, Blacktalon vanished as suddenly as he appeared. He found solace in the fact that Arkhar favours courage not foolishness. As the enemy host drew closer, Clawaxe smiled. He had waited long enough.
"Come! Dance with the Maggotkin!" Gunnar loudly rasped a welcome as battle was joined. Erik was on the end of the right flank waiting for his men to receive the charge on their shields. Most of the Kurgans were dismounted as they were in the middle of pillaging the town when the fight started. Those that remained on their horses had no room to manoeuvre or charge because of the rushing mass of bodies made by their own men. Kurgans were strongest while riding. Though they made formidable foot soldiers, they lacked the cohesiveness of the Norscans. The marauders smashed into the lines of the raiders and the lines held. They were outnumbered but were not as exhausted from the long siege as their enemies were. Erik emerged from the ranks and cut down anyone who got within reach. Gunnar stepped in front of his men so his could swing his mace freely and thus managed to beat back a portion of their line by himself. Clawaxe knew that fatigue would eventually catch up with the Kurgans. They just had to endure long enough. He blew his horn three times and so they began their slow withdrawal.
Step by step, they fell back and drew the marauders in until the raiders reached the edge of the square. Some marauders broke off from their main force and tried to flank the Norscans using the streets and alleys. Some ran into Gunnar's rear-guard while others met their end at the end of Erik's axe. The left flank started to buckle and soon the Kurgans put most of their efforts in trying to overwhelm it. As soon as word reached him, Erik pulled out his horn once again and with a powerful blast signalled the skirmishers to attack. Concealed by Harbard's magic they seemed to appear out of thin air and envelop the Kurgan host. Hjordis soon fought her way to Erik's side and as soon as she arrived, she disembowelled a marauder with the serrated end of her falchion. Clawaxe ordered his men to advance. They had the upper hand for the moment but unless they seized this opportunity, the skirmishers would be overrun and their advantage would be gone. He could feel the ferocity boil inside him and a sudden surge of power started coursing through him. Erik could finally unleash his full might.
With a roar, he cast himself into the enemy ranks, slaughtering all who opposed him. Swirling his axe in a figure of eight motion so he could strike with the blade and the back spikes. He impaled the onrushing enemies on the horn of his axe or struck them down with the steel end of his haft before finishing them of with the bottom spike. Clawaxe no longer knew where he was or has the tide of battle turned yet again. Not that it mattered to him anymore. This will be either a glorious victory or a worthy death. Something tapped him on the back of his helmet. It seemed familiar. Like a distant memory. He saw men rushing from behind him to fight the Kurgans that were trying to kill him. Then, he remembered. Erik turned around and instinctively raised his hand just in time to catch Hjordis' pommel. The tap was a warning. If that did not bring him back, she would drive the pommel of her falchion into the back of his head. If that proved insufficient, others would have to intervene. "I am here, Hjordis" he said and let go of the pommel. "Good! Any longer and you would have been surrounded." Erik looked back at the trail of corpses he left behind him. Over a dozen men were strewn around in various stages of dismemberment. Another moment passed and he started to notice all the places where the enemy managed to get a strike in. He offered thanks to Arkhar and vowed to make a great offering to him after the battle was over.
The circle grew ever tighter and all hope for the Kurgans was lost. Desperation drew them to new heights of savagery. Erik then managed to spot Harbard in the ensuing chaos. At the end of the hook of his bill was a man with a pierced skull that wriggled like a fish. He could see Blacktalon's eyes start to glow with a grey light behind the slits of his helmet. His shadow started to grow and creep until it swallowed the Kurgans. Confusion and panic took them as they apparently lost the ability to see. Harbard then produced a ghostly fiddle with no strings and played a mournful melody that seemed to sap the will to fight from the marauders. After their weapons slipped from their fingers, they simply sat down in silence and seemed to no longer care about their blindness or the battle they have just lost. No one resisted even when the Norscans took their weapons and bound their hands with rope.
The battle was over within the hour. As the prisoners were being led to a building large enough to hold them all, Erik asked Harbard: "How big are our losses?" "Minimal. Gunnar's men fared best. Most of the losses came from the ranks of the rest of us. We should be able to replace the lost oarsmen and still have plenty of prisoners left." "We have more than enough slaves. It would be shame to let those that remain go to waste," Hjordis added. "What do you suggest, Hjordis?" asked Erik. "If we sail out now we will be exhausted. That will make us easy prey for our fellow raiders. I think we should stay here for the night. The men have earned some rest and a little merriment would not hurt either." "I agree with Hjordis" added Gunnar while crunching something between his teeth. "A proper feast and giving thanks to the gods will make the journey home easier." "Do you agree with this, Harbard?" Erik asked. Harbard nodded his head in response. "Very well. Then it is settled. Set the sentries along the walls. Have the quartermasters replace the lost oarsmen and chain them to their post. We will divide the rest between us." "What are you eating, Gunnar?" Hjordis asked with a curious look on her face. The Maggot Knight revealed a corpse of a newly born in his giant hand. Its head was missing, however, that explained the crunching. "I found this poor child dead alongside its mother. In its brief life, it knew nothing but pain, fear and suffering. It is my hope that by devouring it, I will give it a chance to be reborn in the beautiful garden of my Grandfather where it can play and know joy for eternity" he devoured the rest as soon as he finished talking.
They ushered the surviving Kislevites into a large building and told them they would survive as long as they made no trouble. The Kurgans would provide ample amusement once the feast began. It was barely noon and Erik had a few hours to spare. Once, moments like these would fill him with such exhilaration. Winning battles and plundering villages were the only things that mattered in those times. Now it was a duty just like any other. He was still in his prime but despite that, he felt tired. After Arkhar's grip on his soul loosened, Erik felt somewhat empty. Only returning home after a successful raiding season filled him with any joy. Maybe that was the reason he was so drawn to her. Their king did not offer them teachings or urged them to change their ways. He merely acted as an example of what they might become. They flocked to his banner because they believed he showed them what true strength really meant. They remained loyal even if no one has seen him leave his dark fortress for quite some time now. Under his leadership, they all learned to overcome many taboos and in return, they found stability and harmony without becoming weak. Most of their kind now viewed them as outsiders and targeted them specifically. No one really minded that particular development and many in fact welcomed the challenge.
Everything was bustling from the preparations and as Erik wandered through the town, he thought it fitting that he would stumble upon Hjordis. As Hilda saw him approach, she muttered something about going to find Harbard and promptly left. Erik watched Hjordis turn and saw her lips draw into a smile when she saw him. She had a scar that ran from her face, across her lips and down her jaw. Along with her predatory gaze, the scar made her look even more like a serpent. The sense of danger about her only made Hjordis more appealing to Erik. Without a word, they walked together until they found an empty house. Only when Erik sat down did he feel the ache of his bones and the weight of his armour. She sat on the table and gave him a playful look. Clawaxe leaned back and gave her a weary smile in return. Hjordis slithered to closer to him until she nestled herself in his lap. "How long will this game go on?" Erik asked with a tired voice. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked sneakily. "Kill me or by mine just let know if what we have if true or just a game." "Always so direct..." she said with a smile. "Here" she pulled out a dagger and removed her vambrace. After drawing a shallow cut across her forearm, she said: "What we have is true and I am yours, but let us play for a little while longer." She sheathed the bloody dagger and offered it to him. A token of her pledge. "What do you say?" He felt a little less tired as a great weight was lifted from him. "I accept your offer," Erik answered as he took the dagger. "Come to the square! At once!" Harbard's voice echoed in his mind. It sounded urgent.
They all converged at the square where Harbard and Hilda were waiting for them. "We questioned one of the prisoners" Harbard began. "It would appear that more Kurgans will be arriving soon. What we managed to defeat was a sizeable force but there are still many foraging parties and marauder bands roaming about. They should be upon us by nightfall." "That doesn't leave us with much time. Days here are short," observed Hjordis. "The fortifications are beyond repair at least in this short amount of time and we do not have enough men to hold the walls," added Hilda. "And the ships are being unloaded as we speak. It seems we have to deal with the Kurgans or risk being attacked at sea," said Gunnar. "We will face the Kurgans and still have our feast. We will lure them into a trap and slaughter them," decided Erik. "Since when are you keen on setting traps?" asked Harbard with a smirk. "If you have something to say, then say it," Erik retorted. "We will still be outnumbered and so we have to even the odds." Erik proceeded to explain his plan to the others and soon preparations were under way.
After a few hours, the sun was well beyond the horizon. Cookfires and torches illuminated the dark Kislevite night. Erik found a place on the ramparts that overlooked the entire town. The thunder of hooves could soon be heard as the hordes converged on the front gate. They found the city empty save for the scattered bodies of the Norscans that fell into a drunken stupor. They wasted no time and started butchering anyone they came across. They laughed and boasted, as there was no one to oppose them. More arrived by the minute and all were invited to join in on the slaughter. After a while, the town was filled to the brim by pillaging Kurgans. Soon, Harbard's voice echoed in Erik's mind. "That's the last of them. I see no more arriving." His voice was strained and beyond exhausted. "Give the order to block the gates and give us the signal when you are ready." The cutthroats were up first. With dagger and knife, they emerged from dark corners and seemingly empty houses and dragged their victims to their doom. They would not be missed immediately in all the commotion but as the number of the missing marauders increased, their suspicion rose. The merriment gradually died down and tensions started to rise. The work of the cutthroats then became less silent as they allowed a single scream to escape from their dying victims. Their search parties found nothing and every time they returned, a few members were missing. Tension became panic when they realized that the main gate was now somehow whole again as well as closed and barred. Erik watched as they recalled all their men back. They gathered in the square and the road that led to the main gate. Some tried to bring it down with their axes but to no avail. Everything was ready.
Harbard blew with all his might into a horn made of shadows. To the Norscans it sounded like a rallying call that filled them with strength and vigour. It reminded Erik of Arkhar's touch only less ferocious. The Kurgans on the other hand heard a horrifying shriek that made their blood freeze. With a triumphant shout, the raiders rushed forth as the marauders were climbing atop each other as they tried to escape. Driven mad by unnatural fear they could do nothing else. Erik watched Harbard go down on one knee as soon as he sounded that horn. He only managed to keep himself up by leaning on his billhook. With his strength expended, the many illusions he cast were undone. The gates turned out to be no more than reinforced wagons, the drunken Norscans were in fact Kurgans that were killed earlier and were now mutilated beyond all recognition, and the veil of shadows that was hiding the Norscans was lifted. The raiders used their trap as much as they could. They knew it was only a matter of time before the marauders would come to their senses.
By the time that they did, the odds were fairly even. The Kurgans sacrificed their vanguard by sending forth all that were mad with rage, from the prospect of being made to look like fools, to buy time for the rest of them to form battle lines. The Norscans tightened the noose around their enemies but now they were finally met with fierce resistance. With nowhere to go, the Kurgans fought like cornered beasts fuelled by desperation and soon threatened to overwhelm their attackers. Seeing this, the jarls decided to step in and turn the tide.
Gunnar guffawed as he approached the Kurgan host. "Come!" he rasped between laughs, "Dance with the Maggotkin!" He brought down his enormous mace and crushed a marauder that stood before him. Another swing and he sent two more flying. Erik and Hjordis rushed inside the gap with Hilda close behind. After swinging his axe, Erik managed to cast a glance over his shoulder for a split second. Next to Hilda stood Harbard's hulking form covered in dark plate. The swings of his billhook were slow and sloppy but still devastating nonetheless. Clawaxe and Razorlip pushed deep while Rakespear and Blacktalon provided support and prevented encirclement. The Maggot Knight walked along the first ranks smashing the enemy lines as he went. More and more Norscans poured through the gaps as the wedge led by the jarls made it to the centre of the enemy's host. Realizing that they will not surrender, Erik let his bloodlust overtake him once more.
With his fellow jarls at his side, there was little need for caution. After burying his axe too deep inside an enemy and getting it stuck, he drew the twin axes from his belt and pushed ahead alone like a maelstrom of steel until he reached the wagons that stood instead of the gates. A blow powerful enough to smash his head against the wagon struck him in the back of the helmet. Blinded by rage he turned around and tried to swing his axes. However, before he could do anything, something seized him from behind, trapped his hands and lifted him from the ground. As he was thrashing about, he felt a gentle yet firm grip on both sides of his face. It forced him to focus on what was in front of him. It made him recognize Hjordis. "Calm yourself, my skull obsessed fellow! The fighting is done," he could faintly hear Gunnar's urging. "It's over! We've won!" she shouted at him. After getting his breathing under control, he replied calmly: "I am here, Hjordis." She gave Gunnar a nod and he let him go.
A little over an hour had passed and midnight was a long way off. The few Kurgan survivors were placed with the other prisoners. After replenishing the lost oarsmen, the celebration began. Erik looked for Harbard after the battle and found him sitting alone away from everyone. His chest heaved under the plate armour and he was visibly exhausted. "We really showed those bastards how true northmen fight..." Harbard croaked. "You fought well today. I doubt our victory would be as triumphant as it was without your efforts." "Thank you," he barely uttered. "I did not expect to hear praise from you. I thought you despised magic." "I do. However, sometimes it is unavoidable. A necessary evil. You fought on despite being drained by it. In that moment you acted like a warrior not a sorcerer." "I see you are beginning to realize that there are forms of strength other than will and muscle." "I can only hope," Erik replied with a smirk. "Rest now, Blacktalon. You have more than earned it."
Erik continued on, feeling the aches of fresh bruises. Aside from feasting, drinking and talking about today's events, the Norscans spent their time sacrificing the prisoners. Gunnar's men heaped piles of dung and night soil in the centre of their part of their camp and drowned their captives in them. Harbard's man subjected their offerings to strange rituals and experiments. Erik could not say how many were successful and how many had failed. Some would spontaneously combust, other would sprout horrible mutations and had to be cut down and incinerated. A few were seemingly possessed by daemons though for what purpose, Erik again could not say. Hjordis's men were the most depraved as usual. All manner of torture was performed. Flaying, burning, dismembering... Some Kurgans were forced to mate with their horses until their insides were torn apart. If the horse did not react, the victim would be placed and tied under the horse in a similar manner and then the horse would be led to the main gate where its tail and mane would be set on fire. Panic and pain would overtake the animal and it would run off into the night. Erik found these methods distasteful but he remained untouched by the fate of the Kurgans. He knew they inflicted worse suffering during their wretched lives. Often on those who were weaker than they were. These disgraceful vermin deserved everything they got.
Screams of agony mingled with sounds of merriment throughout the night. Erik finally made his way to his men. They formed eight circles in which those that did not get to fight in the battle got the chance to make up for lost opportunities. Not a single one of these men was a coward; they just had the misfortune to be placed in the back lines. The prisoner would get the choice of weapons both fighters would use in the duel. Only those that were not wounded could participate. The rest of the captives were killed on the spot and their skulls piled in a heap. So far none of the Norscans had fallen. Most lasted about three fight before resigning to eating and drinking. One of the men shouted: "The jarl is here!" and soon everyone began to chant his name. Erik smiled. He knew what this meant. After discarding his armour, he stepped inside the eighth circle barefoot and bare chested. He had to show to his men why he was the jarl and that Arkhar still favoured him above the rest of them. While others could choose when to exit the circle, Erik could not leave until he had killed eight opponents.
The first one chose a sword and a shield. Kurgans lived in the saddle and while on horseback were nigh unstoppable. On foot however was a different matter. The marauder rushed in. Erik met his charge and their shields crashed into one another. Erik placed his shield a little to the side so that his opponent could not reach around it while also keeping the Kurgan's shield in place so that it prevented direct attacks. Erik quickly reached down and with one swing severed the marauder's left leg beneath the knee. As the leg folded under him, Erik placed his shield over the Kurgan's and trapped him beneath them before thrusting down behind the left collarbone and forcing his sword out the small of the marauder's back.
The second chose a spear and immediately charged hoping to skewer Erik before he could react. Erik crouched as if he was receiving a charge from a horse. As soon as the Kurgan's spear got in range, Clawaxe misplaced it with his own. The marauder stopped just in time before he managed to impale himself, but Erik leaped forward like a wolf, piercing the marauder and lifting him up before slamming him to the ground. The crowd erupted with cheers.
The third chose a dagger and approached Erik with a bit more caution. He lunged forward but was a fraction of a second too slow on the retreat. Erik grabbed his arm, cut his forearm, then his throat before stabbing him in the gut, twisted the blade and then disembowelled him. The fourth chose his fists. Clawaxe stepped in hit him in the jaw with an uppercut then launched a knee into his belly before breaking the knee of his opponent and forced him to kneel. Erik then ripped his throat, tore away his jaw, crushed his eyes with his thumbs and snapped his neck in the end.
Before a new challenger stepped in, Erik spotted Hjordis among the crowd. It seemed that no one noticed her but him as she stared at him with her predatory glare. The fifth chose dual axes. Erik hooked one axe and swatted aside the other as he redirected his swing and cleft his opponent from shoulder to spleen. The sixth chose a long axe. Erik pushed his haft aside and drove the bottom end of his into the Kurgan's nose. After blocking a wild swing, Clawaxe swept the marauder's legs from under him and brought down the axe with all his might onto his adversary's ribcage shattering it completely. The seventh chose a single ordinary axe and the eight chose to pair it with a shield. Erik did not remember fighting them. Just the sight of two severed heads on the ground while his men chanted his name as he made his way through them. He threw Hjordis over his shoulder and found an empty house away from the camp. The next thing he knew, he awoke in a broken bed amidst a ruined room with Hjordis still asleep on his chest. He could feel the places where she clawed into him burn and he could see the blood staining her fingernails.
They exchanged a few pleasantries before she dressed herself and he went to retrieve his equipment. The morning sun blinded him when he exited the house. Shortly after he was done putting on his armour and claiming his weapons, a horn blast announced someone was sailing towards the port. Despite bad hangovers and a lack of sleep, the men were ready and gathered before the horn sounded again. The jarls took their place at the forefront of the docks. Out of the fleet that surrounded them, a single dragon ship was making its way towards the harbour. The sail was marked by a symbol of an axe rising from amidst a bundle of waves. "Hrothgar..." Erik muttered to himself. "Ha ha! Ahoy there, jarls of Mortkin!" a guttural greeting boomed from the dragon ship's prow. Behind the figurehead stood a large bearded man armoured in mail, wearing a spectacle helmet and covered with a fur cloak. The ship stopped at a respectable distance from the docks. Close enough for both sides to hear each other and far enough to convey their peaceful intentions. "What do you want Sea-Axe?" demanded Erik.
Hrothgar the Sea-Axe was a Bjornling, while Erik and the other jarls were Graelings. Before their new king took the throne, coastal villages of Bjornling tribes were easy pickings for the Graelings. However, now at least some were united under Mortkin's banner. Those that do not wish to cling to the old ways and be slaves to darkness. Hrothgar was something of a freelancer. While being a great sailor like the rest of his tribesmen, the Sea-Axe was more of a mercenary that occasionally dabbled in trade. He has sailed all across the world from Lustria and Naggaroth to Albion and Nippon and has fought everything that sails or swims. An outcast in his own right for accepting contracts from Marienburg, Erengrad and L'Anguille, which often pit him against other Norscans. A more than capable warrior, Erik has long ago learned to respect the Sea-Axe despite his weakling origins. "I merely saw your ships and stopped by to greet you. What brings you to this place?" "Kurgans," Erik replied curtly. "Ha ha! Killing Kurgans is one of my favourite pastimes as well. With them, you do not have to worry about cannons and other such nuisances. Fighting them is almost as relaxing as fighting Bretonnians, those flee infested gnats." Hrothgar smiled as if reminiscing. "Anyway, word reached us of a siege in Nordland. Some coastal stronghold has been resisting the Varg warbands for the entire raiding season. Would you be interested by any chance? I have no love for the Vargs but I am curious enough to see what is going on. So, what do you say? One more stop before heading home?" he asked with a smirk. Despite coming from a tribe of traders, Hrothgar was not a man to stick a knife in someone's back. If he wanted to attack them, he would have done so. "Thank you for the offer but we will have to decline. This was our final stop before heading home. The sea will soon be too rough to sail and we want to keep our plunder." Despite the probable truth of Hrothgar's story, Erik did not want to risk any more of his men. "I understand. The sea can sometimes be too treacherous even for me. Still... I had hoped to fight alongside those that had sworn to the Black-Iron Reaver. Most of my tribesmen already have." "Then why haven't you? He will bring about a new age for Norsca. Time of true strength is upon us!" "I value my freedom more than anything else. That is something even he would respect, I believe. Know then this and relay this message to your king. I may not be sworn to him but my Sea-axes will stay their blades against those who are. I admire what he is trying to accomplish and I would not have my tribe mark me as an oathbreaker. Farewell, jarls of Mortkin! I wish you calm seas and a safe journey home." His ship turned around in place and sailed off. After a blast from his horn, the rest of his fleet started sailing southwest towards Nordland.
Hrothgar's arrival allowed the warband to shake off any drowsiness that might have lingered on from last night. The ships were soon loaded and new thralls were chained to their oars. "What of the surviving southlings?" Harbard asked. "They are no threat to us and our holds are full. The seeds of hatred have been sown. They will spill more blood the more the seeds are left to grow. Leave them be. Those that survive the winter will become formidable warriors. They will all serve Arkhar in the end whether they want to or not. The Gods will have their due." Erik and the other jarls boarded their ships and set sail for home.