Post by Cornar the Black on Feb 2, 2021 16:09:34 GMT -6
Some time ago, back in Norway at his home, Cornar is bloody and beaten sitting in his giant throne. Winterbreaker sits at his side, an armless viking laying on the floor in front of him, bleeding to death in front of his king. He sits up, somehow, blood dripping out of his bandaged stump.
"Jarl.."
Cornar sits forward, leaning on his legs with his elbows.
"Rest, drengr. You fought well. We all did. But on this day, it was not enough. We will rebuild, rest and return to that fight another day."
The armless man coughs, wincing in agony as his stump dangles freely, bandages becoming redder and redder.
"I do not like the taste of defeat, jarl. It is foul."
"It is, drengr. I have yet to have this taste on my pallette and I can attest, a sour, wretched taste it is. Imagine, though, the succulent bite as we storm back. As we run through their blockades and ram our hammers into their bodies, vikingr. It will be a glorious day, made even more glorious by this bitter one."
"Jarl.."
The man coughs up blood, causing Cornar to kneel by his dying clansman.
"For the Dragonclan.."
The Jarl quickly reaches behind him, bestowing a hammer upon the dying man.
"To Valhalla, you will cross over with your weapon at your side, drengr. You will eat and drink with the valkyrie, all the honorable warriors that have crossed before you and the Gods themselves."
"Thank you, Jarl. That sounds.. glorious.."
The man slowly fades, soon his stump no longer drips blood as his heart has stopped pumping. Cornar lays the man down on the floor, signaling to two guards. They rush over and lift the corpse up.
"Put him with the others, men."
The guards quickly shuffle the body out to behind the long house, where a nearly constructed wood and hay square platform sits. Upon it is a literal pile of dozens of bodies. The guards hoist the fallen man up and lay him atop the pile, as more people from the village come by to pay their respect. Cornar steps out holding a torch, his head down. Everyone huddles together as Cornar launches the torch into the straw, lighting it in a mighty blaze. The wood and bodies burn, reducing them to ash and bringing them back to which they came - Midgard's soil.
The Lakes seems like a baron and desolate place, with darkness the most forthcoming adjective. The moon bounces off the water's ripples, causing a mini light show = but on the shore, a different tale.
A fire is roaring at the edge of the waters, with a horde of vikings all standing around it. Behind them is a rough, but kind of impressive small town setup with actual wooden structures. The vikings outside are cooking and drinking, but in the largest building - the longest, a makeshift longhouse, sits Cornar the Black with a mug of mead on his throne. He snarls at nothing in particular, just generally pissed off at everything. A shield maiden enters, kneeling at the feet of her king.
"Jarl, please, the men wish to hear from you."
Cornar swigs his mead.
"They deserve to hear from a victor, not a man that fell to a half-brain maniac."
The shiled maiden stands, placing her hands on her hips.
"This is an endurance test, jarl. One nick on your shield will not break it."
"No, but the beauty is diminished. The elegance is taken. The fear of a virgin blade gone, shown it cannot slice through even the weakest sheet."
The shield maiden stomps her feet.
"Jarl, one blemish does not turn you into a babe. You are Cornar the Black, Jotun-Sized and Thunder-Armed. Your name echoes through this world on the backs of ravens and bodies alike."
Cornar stands at attention, grasping his oversized mug of honeybrew.
"Aye. He did not kill me, I stand here on Midgard still a tower on the battlefield. I know this flavor, and I know the flavor to come when the one called Ransack is beheaded. Come, let us join the drengr."
Cornar almost stumbles out of his small but still long house, drunk on what surely was gallons of mead. He literally stands head and shoulder over his war band, they split like the red sea when he walks through them. At the fire, Cornar turns to the growing flock.
"Why do men fight?
For honor. For glory. To one day die in glorious battle and reunite with those lost before at the grand table in Valhalla. That is the drengr way, we vikingr that have devoted ourselves to the battlefield and Odin himself. There are others across the globe that fight for power."
Cornar raises his hammer to the sky.
"CORNAR IS POWER."
The vikings standing around him all cheer.
"Some fight for wealth."
Cornar removes his gold plated helm and raises it to the heavens.
"CORNAR IS WEALTH."
Vikings all cheer.
"Some fight.. for their family."
A hush falls over the crowd of men and women warriors.
"The souls of the innocent are not given favor. Babes that do not grow to be warriors are cast into the pits and fed to the wolves. We are all given our destiny by the Aesir, we are either destined to become vikingr or die young and frail."
A younger viking rushes over to Cornar, followed by two others carrying a large wooden box. There's also other men, not of Cornar's clan.
"Jarl, the Bastard Warlord of the Bastard Lands wishes to bestow this gift upon you."
A puzzled Cornar spins Winterbreaker in his hand and smashes into the wooden box, sending splinters flying everywhere. His off hand plunges in, pulling out a large, circular steel and wood shield, painted on the front is a blue and gold dragon. Cornar's face is unchanged.
"Send my thanks to the Bastard Warlord, but please also tell him -"
Cornar spins and slams Winterbreaker backfist style into the skull of one of the Bastard's men, sending a mist of blood through the air that covers the other! Within a second there are a dozen swords pointed at the surviving man.
"I do not deal with vile men such as he."
A few of Cornar's men load up the fallen Bastard's Dead Cell gang member in the box the shield was presented in, tying it to the other man and sending him on his way, dragging the box through the desert back to the Warlord.
"Jarl, you may have just made a powerful enemy."
Cornar scoffs.
"The one called Bull has made a more powerful enemy with his paltry offering. I shall show Ransack, the Bastard Warlord and the entire list of combatants here in this town that their Jarl stands here and now. Beginning with the peacekeeper. His fight is noble but his soul will never venture to Valhalla. His heart is filled with anger and resentment, the need to have a hand over others."
Cornar grabs his massive mug of mead and slams it down his gullet, unleashing a guttural roar afterward.
"I WILL BREAK HIS HAND, HIS BODY AND HIS ETERNAL SOUL."
The vikings all laugh and cheer, slinging mead around like it was a hot summer day at the fire hydrant. Cornar though, he sulks away, back into the darkness, back into his long house where he once again takes a cold seat at his throne. He spits to the floor, sniffles and looks up at the shield given to him by Corey Bull. He walks up to it and carves a deep notch in the bottom of it.
