Snowy Solace

[Viggo Nordengard]

High in the mountains, where the snow rarely melts even as the seasons warm, the wind whipped against the frame of a man as he struggled to climb up the steep slope. The man was making slow, but steady, progress toward an outcropping about twenty feet above him and his eyes burned as he struggled to reach his destination. The sweat from his brow would've dripped down into his eyes had the drops not been frozen by the frigid air, but he still climbed on despite every muscle aching in his body. Grunting mightily, the man heaved himself over the last ledge as he reached what he was looking for.

The ancient pass through the mountains that connected the Northern realms to Avaren.

This was what the man, Viggo Nordengard, had been searching for and several months of scouring the wilderness had finally paid off. Ever since he had reached the age of manhood, all he had ever known was fighting in the cold wastes of the North, but all of that had changed when a Knight passed through and took him as his squire at the age of 20. The older man smiled as the wind ruffled his hair: it'd been a long time since the Knight that had trained him had passed on, but he had left him his armor and so Viggo strove to do as his predecessor had.

But the Northlands were unchanging, their style of fighting remained the same and just as brutal as ever. Viggo fought in many battles, under many banners as the place that he called home constantly became someone else's land, and he lusted after the ring of steel and the pools of blood. And that's why he headed south for Avaren, because he had grown tired of the same scenario and wanted something new: he wanted to be challenged again.

So, clad in his war attire, Viggo Nordengard strode through the gap that separated north from south, and began taking his first steps into a new land.

[Anna Marié Terras]

A young woman noted the man as he entered Avaren's soil. She, too, had been mountain climbing, but a combination of her physical fitness, and a few heat spells and stamina restoration spells, made the journey a far less tiring journey than it would have been otherwise. When she noted the man, she began following him. Certainly, he would notice a person following him, but her goal wasn't stealth. This man looked like he had seen many battles. She knew she had heard of something like this before, and began to thumb absent-mindedly through her book.

Sure enough, on one of the first few pages was a description of a devil of battle. Surely this man fit that description well. She continued following, and drew her rapier. She let the sound ring in the empty mountain as the metal of the sword scraped against the scabbard. This was her challenge. She faced the man, and waited. He would turn around. She was no devil and would not even strike one of THEM in the back.

"A thousand moonless nights becomes a thousand days without light,
And a kingdom in chaos falls to the earth.
A land of mountains sinks beneath the sea,
And a sky of black rains fire and tears.

A wanderer sings tales of a broken paradise,
And a land is consumed in a war without end.
A child is born on the day of the year,
And a king in darkness is forever lost.

The sun will rise not upon the morn,
And upon the fall of that night the child will cry.
The world shall fade into the dark and all shall die.

Ten thousand devils lie across the land,
Each to be slain by a child's hand.
Lest this fate shall life befall,
And the king of death make his call."

She recited the prophetic words, recalling them perfectly. She had been read them from her earliest days. After all, she was the child...

[Viggo Nordengard]

At first he was oblivious to the sounds of the stranger approaching from behind, thinking that some stones might've fallen, but the noise continued to followed him and instinct slowly took over his hand. Viggo's body stiffened as he heard steel clearing a scabbard, and his hand darted to the hilt of his blade. The northerner was about to whirl about, but the words spoken by the stranger caught him offguard. A poem, or perhaps a riddle, but it didn't make any sense to Viggo Nordengard: what did make sense was that someone had drawn on him and that was their mistake.

Turning around to face his foe, the dark-haired man was surprised that it was a young woman that had challenged him and Viggo sighed heavily to himself. "Is it wise to draw steel on a stranger, one that is clearly a capable warrior?" asked Viggo, his voice seeming noble but with enough fire to back them. "Should you wish to rethink your decision, sheath your blade and stand down. If you do not, then only one of us shall leave this pass alive: this I swear on the Old Gods."

Having spoken his piece, Viggo reached into his pack and put on his helm, the visor being the snarling visage of a wolf, and drew his broadsword from his side. The wind began to pick up, causing the black bearskin cloak to billow and flashes of his plate mail could be seen, and both opponents appeared all the more fearsome to passerbys.

"Have at it and know that Viggo Nordengard of the Northlands sends you to the Halls of the Dead this hour!" roared the Northerner as he charged forward with a sword thrust aimed at his opponent's stomach

[Anna Marié Terras]

Jun 21, 2009 15:28:18 GMT -5 Viggo Nordengard said:

"Is it wise to draw steel on a stranger, one that is clearly a capable warrior?"

Anna laughed as the devil taunted her. She didn't have a choice. It was her destiny to slay the ten-thousand. "If I am not to be able to slay one devil, then how is it I should be destined to slay ten-thousand?"

She didn't have much time for a retort, however, as the devil took his sword, and aimed a blow for her stomach. Perhaps he was stupid? Maybe he was ignorant. Either way, charging straight for the destined child was pure folly. She raised her right hand, empty as it was, and pointed her palm at the man. She moved it to the left, and in a sweeping motion to the right, small spikes began to poke out from the ground between the two. One wrong step, and the man would have a foot filled with holes.

She smiled, and then pointed her right hand to the air. A single cloud formed in the sky above the devil, and

*BOOM*

[Viggo Nordengard]

The bloodlust began to shine in his eyes as Viggo came closer to his foe, unheeding her words, and he would've charged straight at her had a myriad of spikes grown from the soil. Unable to stop himself, Nordengard plowed through the dangerous field, the spikes either dented his armored boots and occassionally piercing through his feet. Yet that wouldn't stop this man, as he had taken more damage and lived in the past, and he continued his rush at the woman.

What he neglected to notice was the woman's simple gesture and the cloud accumulating over him, so Viggo simply stuck with what was natural and was nearly about to run the woman through when all Hell broke loose. There was a sharp boom, and an explosion formed over the Knight's body. Smoked enveloped the entire area where he had once been standing and not a noise could be heard. It would appear that the casted attack had been super effective.

Yet there was a hacking cough and from the smoke Viggo Nordengard emerged. Most of his armor was covered in black soot, his bearskin cloak was terribly burned, and there was a noticeable dent in the side of his helm. Glaring through the visor at his opponent, Viggo was unamused and replied, "I think I understand you now, woman. Challenging someone with a sword and resorting to magic means that you are two things in my eyes: cheeky and a coward. Care to show me otherwise?"

"And stop it with the racial slurs or whatever reason you have for calling me 'devil'. It's rude and not befitting someone who claims to fight against them," said Viggo mockingly as he began circling around the woman, his feet in some pain as little pools of blood oozed from his boots. She only needed to give him one opening and that would be her last mistake.

[Anna Marié Terras]

"Cheeky and cowardly may describe it, but," Anna looked at the man. Clearly he WAS a devil. And yet, he refused to admit it. "I believe that a person is only whole if they can strengthen both body and spirit. And yet... If it is swordplay you desire, then so be it." Anna took a moment, and pointed her left arm in the air, holding her rapier. A few short moments later, both sword and body glowed with an aura of white.

Spikes in the ground crumbled back into the earth, and the single cloud dispersed. She ran at the man before her, with inhuman speed, and thrust her weapon at the man's chest. She then jumped over the man and pointed her right palm at her sword blade, and it began to glow red. She brought her sword down upon the man, and his armor began to singe further, his helm turning slightly red...

[Elyan Herculides]

Many months had passed where Elyan Herculides lingered upon the ancient pass in the mountains, contemplating expatriation from the Kingdom - his kingdom - of Avaren into the Northlands that lay on the other side of the mountains. Every day he questioned solemnly what kept him from crossing the border, and every night he answered with the same reminder.

Avaren wasn't just his home, it was his responsibility.

This responsibility had been passed down to him from his father, who had inherited it from his grandfather, and so on to great Grandmaster Hercules himself who began the Second Dynasty of the warrior nation. This same father not only gave him this responsibility, but also gave him the strength to endure this harsh exile in the form of the brutal training all Warrior Princes are given in their youth.

And it was by this training that he trailed the darker parts of the mountains, tracking the paths of the wild things that lived there to make them his dinner. It was by this savage lifestyle that he kept himself alive on the uncivilized border of two lands. He could never go back to the heart of his kingdom, but he could never bring himself to leave it...to abandon it.

But living on the border of the two lands meant a life of solitude as well. No traders ever passed on this road - it was one used in long days gone when the Northern Lands were once a part of Avaren. This meant that Elyan had no idea what had become of his kingdom, and had not spoken to anyone of civilized nature since his departure. So one can imagine the surprise the once king felt, sitting beside a crackling campfire with a leg of bear on it and hearing the nearby sound of voices and unsheathed steel.

Elyan reached for his sword with great haste and rushed to the nearby commotion. When he confronted the two - one man dressed in a strange fashion he had never seen in the likes of Avaren and the other shone with a mysterious light - the power of magic, no doubt! The power of the heathens!

"Put down your weapons!" cried Elyan, running to the side of the two in conflict. The man no longer appeared as he once did - his once beautiful armor was tarnished, his once trimmed beard was long and uncouth, and his once commanding voice was hoarse with lack of use. He was not the man he used to be, and nobody could possibly tell it was him...to anyone else, he was just some wild mountain ranger. But an armed mountain ranger, none the less.

[Northerner]

A lone warrior slowly made his way along one of the many unused paths that stretched from Avaren up towards the Northern kingdoms. He bore neither mount nor pack, instead openly wearing a full suit of mail and carrying a naked blade in one hand. Yet, his movements were stiff and forced, as though his ancient, rune-inscribed armor were rusted to the extent that every movement seemed a battle within itself. The blade he held, a greatsword forged of some black metal also inscribed with countless runes, dragged behind him, digging a deep furrow in the ground which marked his passage. His gear bore dents and scratches from centuries of use and his head was bowed against the biting wind. How one warrior like this, seemingly weakened to the point where he was barely able to bear the weight of his own sword, could have possibly survived the conditions of the Northlands and kept going alone was unknown.

Yet this warrior was not simply attempting survive in the harsh wilderness or fleeing to the relatively peaceful southern lands of Avaren. He was actively hunting someone. Long ago, presumably unknown to the knight Viggo, his trail had been picked up and he had been followed. Though Viggo may have put many miles between himself and the constant strife of the Northern countries, his departure had not gone unnoticed. Though you could run from the North, there was nowhere that you could hide where you would be truly free of its clutches. For the moment one had a taste of the land eternal war, they were doomed to endure its touch for the rest of their life.

With slow, measured steps the knight marched inexorably foreword, following after his prey at a single, unchanging pace, day and night without rest or respite. There was no mortal soul that existed which could have conceivably endured this single-minded pursuit, yet this warrior no longer relied upon mortal means for sustenance, nor could he even claim his soul was completely his own. He was truly a warrior of the North and now only a single driving purpose kept him moving.

Battle. The knight felt it before any of his senses could have possible picked it up. The hunt was over. He had finally caught up with his quarry. As the knight’s ceaseless tread finally brought him within sight of the ensuing battle, his visored helmet slowly rose to bring the combatants into his vision, while his gauntleted hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. This was it, this was what the knight existed for.

War…

Battle…

Blood…

He raised his sword, gripping it now with both hands as a dark flame kindled within his body, causing his very blood to seethe and boil. Giving neither verbal challenge nor battle cry, as both served little true purpose, he charged towards the fray. His thundering footfalls announced his presence well enough as he rapidly approached, moving now with a newfound strength and fluid grace he had not possessed throughout the entirety of his long hunt before this point.

Reaching the combatants, he swung his sword towards them in a wide arc, aiming to strike them both down with a single sweep. He cared nothing for their words or reasoning, only that their blood was shed. He was a true embodiment of the constant strife which tore the Northern tribes to pieces. The North had come to Avaren.

[Viggo Nordengard]

Scowling, Viggo parried the initial thrust of the woman's rapier with his blade but she moved too quickly for him to follow. Whirling around to see where she had went, Nordengard felt a blistering heat slam into his armor and saw that her sword was now a glowing red and digging into the armor around his neck. Weakening around the sheer power of the blow and the spell, the man only had once chance to strike at his foe and he would've taken that opportunity had a voice not called out to him.

The voice was that of another man's, calling out that he lay down his arms, and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the newcomer. He appeared to be a ranger, abeit more armored than the ones Viggo was used to seeing, and since he seemed concerned about this bout perhaps he was a servant of Avaren. He didn't want to anger an agent of the new lands that he was in but the woman didn't seem keen on giving him the chance to lay down his arms, so Viggo faced a conundrum. At least things couldn't get any more complicated, right?

Wrong. Even as the ranger was running toward them, Viggo heard a different set of footsteps, heavy as they ran down the pass, and tilted his helm to see what was causing them. His eyes hardened as he watched the warrior race toward him and an almost-primal instinct took over his body. Tossing his sword to his left hand, he rose that one to counter and used his other hand to roughly push the woman in the direction of the oncoming ranger. When the two blades clashed the force of the blow pushed Nordengard backward a few paces, but once he got both hands on his sword he mustered his strength enough to stop his opponent's attack.

'A Northerner. So some thane or lord sent one from their household after me?' thought Viggo as he struggled to maintain the block, 'No matter: this one will taste my blade and line my path to the Halls of the Dead.' With a roar, Viggo gathered enough strength to beat aside the blade and went in for his own attack. His opponent wore chainmail which meant slashes wouldn't work and it was also decent at absorbing thrusts: that meant blunt force would have to be used to weaken the armor for a future thrust.

With his eyes a-light with the flames of battle, Viggo swung his sword in a downward arc where the neck meets the trunk. If this warrior thought that he could best him in open battle, then he was mistaken and would meet the fate of all the other glory-seekers that sought to add his name to their list of accomplishments.

[Anna Marié Terras]

"Wha-?" Anna started, as so much happened in a short time. She was cut short, however, as she was shoved backwards. Ironically, this happened at just the right moment for her, as mere moments before the swing her auras faded, and her body collapsed backwards with the shove. She fell to the ground, quite exhausted, and tried to get back up. Oh, right... THAT was why she used that as a last resort. Had she not been startled, she figured her blade would have cut through his armor like a knife through butter, but...

She couldn't move. Hell, she couldn't even stand up any more. She wondered if she had overdone it a bit. What if another had come along... Or rather... Was she wrong?

A man of battle, an aura of power. Seeking only battle, he causes strife. His is the blade of destruction.

Was this the man before her? Or was it another? This new man brought battle when it was about to be ended. It's obvious that both warriors would have sheathed their weapons. She would not start trouble if she didn't think it necessary. She found she could move, again. Was she wrong? This new man must be the devil. She felt stupid, but there wasn't much she could do. That spell was a dangerous one, and she didn't dare use it again.

But, there was another option. She put her sword in its scabbard, and using both hands began a restoration spell. She couldn't be caught here, without use of her legs...