The Kingdom of Oldegård, A small frigid island nation, inhabited by four warring clans. Renowned for its peoples iron wills and unwillingness to bend the knee, even when faced with the most overwhelming of odds.
It's isolated nature forced her inhabitants to master the waves allowing them to navigate toward the previously unexplored mainland Northeast of their home. However, when they landed on the sandy shores of Tal'Dorei, assuming the land not to be uninhabited. Instead they discovered an already prosperous nation, containing human and non-human alike. All living side by side in what seemed like a comfortable peace.
The Tal'Dorei heads of state, the Council led by their disgraceful leader the Sovereign, startled at the Oldegårdians sudden arrival, unleashed the barbaric Mercenary band known as The Knights of the Midnight Sun to run down the perceived invaders and drive them back into the ocean.
In the ensuing carnage, both sides barely managed to slink away, taking horrendous losses on both sides. Yet all was too clear to the Oldegårdians that they were not welcome nor considered an equal to their more 'civilised' neighbour.
Thus, a single moment of mistrust between the two peoples devolved into a feud that spanned generations. Luckily, with an ocean separating the Kingdoms both sides were reduced to raiding and small scale engagements, pecking away at each other's morale, hoping that one would collapse before the other did.
But nothing ever came of the menial bloodshed. All it served to do was fuel the hatred amongst those who could have lived peacefully side by side yet were guided instead by their fear of the unknown.
That was until Utrhed, War chief of clan Hellström united the four clans in the hope that it may revitalise his dying homeland. Little did he know however, this act would reawaken his peoples sworn enemies and bring them to the shores of Oldegård in a bloody bout that would spell the end for his clan and the thievery of an artefact his clan were entrusted to protect.
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The cold evening breeze drifted gently through the towering, leafless branches of the tall oaken trees stretching their way across the grass covered flatlands and rose up the steep, snow covered slopes of the mountainous peaks far in the distance. Nestled at it's foot sat a large yet modest village bustling with life as its inhabitants went about their daily lives.
To most, it would appear as if the village was primitive, only inhabited by a gaggle of women and young children dressed in woven clothes crafted from the furs and leathers from trapped and hunted animals. The women's dresses had all been embroiled with their own tasteful patterns and decorations while the children wore a myriad heavy tunics and trousers to protect them from the harsh colds of their homeland.
Most of the able bodied men, not defending the village were off searching further and further from their territory for food with every passing day. Desperately trying to stock their stores houses to the brim for the coming winter, which they all knew would be more brutal than the last. Even now, at the precipice of Fall the snow from the winter last had yet to melt.
Cutting right through the village was a dirt path laid with wooden planks leading up the beginnings of the slope towards a much grander lodge compared to the much more modest abodes below. The lodge itself stood tall, leering over its underlings,, yet was similar in construction and architecture with its hard wooden walls reinforced by a sturdy stone block foundation, along with the curved, patched hide and straw roofing protecting its owners from the harsh elements.
Inside the heavily fortified home of the coalitions new found war chief, stood next to the raging flames of the open hearth right in the centre of the large open room was a young red-haired boy no younger than eight years old. The light burning from the flames bounced off his pale skin, while his dazzling green eyes examined the sharpened blade of one his fathers many axes.
Reaching his undersized hand to touch the jagged edge of the unused weapon, the familiar clicking of the front doors metal latch caught his attention as he quickly placed the axe back onto the weapon rack pressed against the wall and darted to sit upon one of the four benches surrounding the hearth.
The boy quickly snapped his head upwards as the door was flung open and as the wood shook an auburn-haired woman dressed in a finely sown brown hide gown with a white fox fur huddled around her shoulders stepped inside, followed by a much taller red-haired man dressed in typical Oldegårdian warriors garb. Most of his flesh lay exposed with a black bearskin pinned together with a sliver pendant around his shoulders, along with stretches of similarly coloured strips of pelt fastened to his brown skirt, barely reaching the centre of this muscled thigh.
His heavy fur boot covered feet slammed against the floor boards as he adjusted the bloodied rabbits tangled on piece of wire slung over his shoulder. Respectfully the child shot to his feet bowing his head respectfully to the War chief and his bride. "Good evening Father, Mother." he said innocently trying, yet failing to hide his mischief from mere moments before.
Hilde's brown eyes instantly locked upon her oddly polite son as her beloved slammed the hunted animals down onto a table tucked into the corner of the room. Her sharp features contorted ever so slightly as she examined her sons nervous demeanour, "Hmmm... And what are you up to?" she demanded firmly crossing one arm over the other and glaring down at her son, all too able to tell when he was up to no good.
"Nothing. I, uh... I was only..." he stuttered praying they didn't notice the lopsided axe as his ever so stoic father joined his wife's side barring down upon the clearly deceitful boy.
Utrhed's narrowed eyes scanned the room of his lodge, searching for any little thing out of the ordinary, eventually glancing toward the weapon rack right next to his son. Sighing the man stepped forward, towering over his son as he silently examined the piece of furniture and the weapons set upon it. Unfortunately, even as he grew older the War Chief still retained his sharpened senses picking up on the angle in which the axe sat. "Nothing, you say? Then what's that Ragnvaldr?" he questioned nodding toward his collection
"It was like that when I came back." he insisted watching as his father took the axe in his strong grip and examined the blade closely.
A tense few moments passed, "Did this blade just chip itself then?" he uttered allowing his arm to fall to his side as an angered, disappointed look fell upon his face.
In an instant, Ragnvaldr's innocent face fell as he dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes now that he was finally caught. "It just sits there! No one uses it anymore!" he argued huffing as a tiny smirk fell upon Utrhed's worn face. Although, his mother wore nothing but a scowl as she glared down at her boy.
"Be thankful of that, boy." he uttered still with the hand axe still in his tight grip. Without a hint of anger he motioned for his son to follow, "If you want to use it so badly, show me what you can do." he said leading the boy outside followed closely by the woman of the house, whom did not say a word, fully aware this day would come.
Ragnvaldr's innocent eyes widened with wonder as he stood frozen on the spot, "Really?" he cried ecstatically, nearly jumping for joy at the idea of one day being as mighty a warrior as his father. Or perhaps it was just his boyish excitement at finally beginning his weapon training, something that his mother had dreaded for quiet some time.
"It's high time you learned, follow me." he commanded boisterously as he stepped out into the fading sunlight, followed by his wife and son Utrhed strutted forward descending the slopes into the ever quieting village as its citizenry cleared the streets for the day apart from the sentries on watch duty. Circling in behind the scalding blacksmiths forge just as the man prepared himself to pack up, they came it a small area of even ground, surrounded by a rickety wooden fence marking out a hastily built fighting ring.
Since it was late evening and most had already retired to their dwelling the ring lay completely still. Not even the clans trainer remained leaving the usually bustling area eerily quiet. setting the axe to the side and grabbing a pair of carved wooden replica made with children in mind, he vaulted over the guard fence and tossed one to his son whom barely caught it. "Right, first lesson. Try to hit me." he stated opening his arms, taunting the boy.
Holding the handle of the practice blade in both hands, barely able to lift it. The carved piece of wood felt like a trees trunk as the small boy dragged its held along the dirt ground. Sloppily the boy anchored his feet shoulder width apart, his tiny digits tapping against its surface. Suddenly the eagerness he felt was instantly replaced with dread as he faced the towering man standing at the other side of the arena.
Releasing a panting yell Ragnvaldr, barely able to lift the weapon he wielded charged his father as quickly as he could, Utrhed however did not move. When his son was practically within spitting distance and about to strike he suddenly grabbed the top of the axes handle and tugged hard, sidestepping his son and sending him careening into the guard fencing.
He let out an amused yell, watching as his son growled pushing himself off the bottom placard of fence and charging once again. This time managed he tried mock slashing at his fathers stomach followed by another, yet as if he were expecting the move his Father avoided both shaky hits with ease. Ever so slightly impressed with Ragnvaldr's vigour, or rather his stubbornness at refusing defeat.
Just as he finished his third swing, the elder man swung his own wooden weapon and struck the boys exposed had, making him hiss in pain and drop his own. Clutching onto the throbbing appendage Ragnvaldr whimpered, trying his best to shake the blistering pain away. "Always try to predict your enemies next move. If this had have been a real blade your fingers would be gone, and the axe planted in your chest." he warned sweeping the practice blade into his hand and passing it to his son.
"Again!" he barked as the two separated, all while Hilde watched the two most important people in her life from the side-lines, leaning her defined arms against the wooden fence post.
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The two males sparred again and again until Ragnvaldr's body was covered in dust and bruises. While Hilde knew the importance of teaching the boy mastery over their peoples preferred weapon, even she knew Ragnvaldur had had enough. Not only that, but the sun had just begun to set by the peaks marred by unmelted snow, "Alright, he's had enough. And the hour grows late my love, I must wake early tomorrow." she spoke up just as both father and son took their positions again.
Realising the two were wrapped up in whatever little unspoken competition they had going, the woman of the house sighed having enough, she slipped into the area snatching both wooden axes from the males and strutting away with a proud smile, knowing full well her husband stood nearly speechless at the Gaul. Tossing both back onto the rack, uncaring as one slipped back onto the ground. "Let us call a tie, hm? We all need our sleep. Come." she commanded marching back toward the house as the freezing winds slowly began to increase their ferocity.
Ragnvaldr glanced up at his smiling father, whom silently motioned for his son to follow his mother home. Both adults were seemingly unaffected by the newly arrived, near blistering cold, epically Utrhed dressed in his exposed warriors garb. Unlike the boy, who shivered right as the breeze blitzed against his bare arms. Noticing his shaking form Utrhed quickly wrapped one arm around his son and led him back toward the lodge. "Time for bed..." he sighed, a puff of frosted air shot from his mouth.
Finally, the small family returned to their welcoming abode. The raging hearth providing all the comforting warmth they needed to brave the freeing nights now growing ever more frequent. Rushing toward it Ragnvaldr reached out his hands and held them above the flames doing his best to absorb some of the relieving heat. "Be sure to dust yourself before you sleep, son." Hilde spoke as she and her husband climbed the ladder up to the much more cramped second floor, that overlooked the main room.
"I know! Goodnight, mother. Father." he called as they disappeared into the darkness. Eventually, now warmed at the hearth's embrace Ragnvaldr himself decided to turn in as well, ascending the ladder and removing his boots, strutting over to his small bed and hiding himself amongst its overbearing pelt covers. A peaceful silence filled the lodge as his green eyes grew heavier and heavier, eventually he, like his parents descended into the welcoming confines of sleep.
Little did he know however, a fleet of four ships waving black, sun scorched banners landed on their shores. Dead set on ending a so called rebellion before it had any chance to take root.
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Smoke bellowed all around as Ragnvaldr was suddenly yanked from his peaceful sleep. The first thing he saw was the thatch roof of his home, now shrouded in violent flames as it burned away the hide and straw. "Ragnvaldr! We need to leave. Now!" his father yelled ripping the dazed boy from his bed and throwing him to the floor. Instantly the tiredness that racked his body dissipated, replaced with absolute dread as the wooden beams above turned to ash, giving way as his home collapsed all around him.
Shooting to his feet, the boy scrambled to reach the ladder while his father stood protectively over him, his hand axe and buckler in toe as he shadowed his son. Coming to the drop down to the ground floor, the boy almost fell over the edge, realising the ladder had all but burned to cinder, now nothing but a pile of steaming tinder on the wooden flooring. Effortlessly the War Chief leapt down past his son, dropping his weapons and turning on heels and holding up his arms to catch his panicking son. "Drop! Quickly boy!" he yelled over the raging fires, waving for his son to drop.
Without a hint of hesitation, the barefooted child hopped over to edge to his father allowing the mans grasp to slow his fall as his feet pattered against the slowly scorching floor. Clutching firmly onto the boys wrist Utrhed dragged his son forward toward the front door where his wife stood. She too had an axe and shield, prepared like the rest of her clan to die by the sword than wield to it. "How many are there?" Utrhed demanded prancing toward her.
"Too many to count, most of our brothers and sisters are dead... They came from nowhere." she uttered, a hint of hopelessness in her voice. Yet she still remained stead fast while her son was present, tightening her grip on her war axe.
From outside, a considerably arrogant voice spoke up amongst the sound of slaughter, "Savage! We know you and your whore wife are in there! why don't you save us the trouble come out!" he screeched almost like a spoilt child. "Give us what we want, and all this can over! Or if you'd prefer to burn, no skin off my teeth!" he chuckled psychotically again as Utrhed listened close, gritting his teeth in anger upon hearing the very familiar voice of an Elven man.
Utrhed shared a glance with Hilde, both adults now realising why these marauders had come. The Tal'Dorei Council had always been obsessed with the one artefact sacred to the people of Oldegård. "Bastard!" he growled. "You will never have it, you fucking point-ear! Not now! Not ever!" he yelled back only to be met with thunderous laughter from those outside.
Having enough Hilde glanced toward her terrified son, holding firmly onto his bloodthirsty father. "Ragnvaldr, come. Follow me" she uttered darting from her place by the door and escorting him to the wolf skin mat laid out near the back of the room. Quickly she kicked the rug away revealing a hatch that led from beneath the house to the outside world. The smoke from the raging fire was quickly becoming too much as she wretched horrifically still awaiting her hesitant son. "In here, go." she commanded waving him below, axe in hand.
Of course, being the near double of his father Ragnvaldr stubbornly stood his ground. "No! Why do you get to fight, and I have to run away like some coward?!" he argued as the bolted door shook violently, clearly their attackers had gotten sick of waiting to burn them out.
"Because your just a child. You have no place in battle, son, I beg you. please... Run." she pleaded, never before had he seen his mother so desperate. She was always so strong, confident not only in herself but her abilities too.
Moments passed as Ragnvaldr glanced between both his parents, and in that split second made his decision. Running back toward the weapon rack and grabbing the chipped axe from it, then he darted toward the hole in floor. Crawling inside his mother clutched onto his tunic one last time, "Go towards the hills. Use the trees to conceal yourself... I love you, we both do." she uttered, fighting back tears as she placed a gentle kiss upon his forehead.
As the Elves bashed on the door, the hinges of the bolt started to give way. Noticing how the metal was stressing to hold the continuous assault, Hilde placed her hand upon Ragnvaldr's head of red hair and pushed him down underneath the house. Just as the hatch closed, the boy wasted no time, turning as he crawled on his hands and knees shuffling toward the darkness of the rising forest just behind their house.
Clambering through the large gap between the foundation of his house and the earth itself and scooting past the large wooden support, Ragnvaldr stood to his feet as he held the hand axe in both arms, peeking around the corner, trying his best to stay hidden from the armoured riders. His eyes widened as they took in the destruction that had been wrought upon his people. Blood soaked the dirt as men lay face down in the dirt, weapons still in hand or close by after being slain defending their families from these monsters disguised as men.
Ragnvaldr wretched as he saw the fates of some of the villages women and children. A group of ten had been lined against the wall of the forge, each with either shot through the head with a crossbow or hacked to death with swords. Most of the houses and buildings as far as they eye could see were not but inferno's as the hellish flames danced into the night sky.
Meanwhile, Hilde concealed the hatch once again just as the door burst open in a hail of splinters. An Elven knight, dressed head to toe in a gleaming dark suit of armour adorned with a faded yellow moon circlet along with his open faced Bascinet Klappviser helm barrelled inside.
Unfortunately for the elf Utrhed swung his axe from his place by the door and stuck the jagged edge of the axe right into the mans exposed face, killing him near instantly.
Pushing the twitching corpse from his blade with a bloody squelch, the Knight fell backwards as his surrounding comrades watched on in horror. Shocked at the fact there was one man whom they hadn't stabbed in the back nor executed who could still fight. Ragnvaldr watched as his father released a gutral war cry, filled with anguish and rage charging forward, uncaring of his own wellbeing. All while Hilde did the same emerging just behind her husband, weapon at the ready.
Compared with Utrhed's experience, the so called elite of Tal'Dorei's armies stood no chance. Being hacked to pieces by the Berserker they had unleashed. The now decimated clans War Chief rushed forward at a near inhuman speed, striking one Knights shield with a godlike strength. The likes of which Ragnvaldr had never witnessed from his father.
In the blink of an eye the Knight went from cocky to horrified as he watched his own shield arm sliced from his body and fall limply to the floor, smashing against the scorched ground. He didn't even have time to process his coming demise as Utrhed raised his axe and sliced the Elf's head from his shoulders in a show on bloodied gore.
Hilde neither, showed mercy or restraint as she too joined into the fray hacking into an unfortune soldiers knee then smashing his helmeted face with edge of her shield knocking him to the ground. Then in an act of pure spite drove her blade right into the mans chain mailed groin, unmanning him.
From the shadows, Ragnvaldr watched in abject wonder as both his parents cleaved through the Knights of the raiding party like a knife through butter. A part of him wondered why his mother told him to run, they were more than capable of ravaging the invaders. Instead of dread, his soul filled with hope as Utrhed pulled his axe from one of the butchered corpses of an Elf. Then, in a single moment it all came crashing down as a single bolt implanted itself into his mothers throat, freezing her in place as she let out a weak breath.
Utrhed turned on his heel watching as his beloved wife stumbled ever so slightly, dropping her arms to side and letting her weapons fall to the dirt, soon she too followed as the Warrior rushed to his wife's side, holding her close Ragnvaldr could only hear her choked blood filled gargles as his father uttered useless comforts that became not but a blur as the child focused on the figure a few meters down the small incline.
Perched upon a glistening white stallion, crossbow in hand a knight with a chest plate not only with his crest upon it but a series of intricate ruby laced patterns as well. Clearly the Elf was the band's commander. Sweeping one leg over his mounts body, his steel boots slammed into the dirt, Ragnvaldr watched as the twisted, white haired Elf stopped less than a foot from his father whom still remained perched over his now unmoving wife.
With tears in his eyes, Ragnvaldr watched, helpless to do anything as the Elven male levelled the crossbow at the back of his fathers head, uttering a phrase in Elvish the boy scarcely understood. Then after a few quiet moments the Elf snapped the trigger and loosed a final bolt, planting it into the back of Utrhed's neck.
Everything slowed to a crawl as Ragnvaldr watched his fathers lifeless body drop on top of his mothers. Both in some twisted way embracing each other in death. Refusing to look back, the once hopeful boy stayed absolutely silent as a stream of tears poured down his face. Turning on his heel the boy finally ran toward the tree line behind his house, clutching tightly onto the axe that once belonged to his powerful father. Now the last memento he carried of the life he watched turn to ash right before his eyes.
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Two decades later, a fully matured Ragnvaldr sat upon a log situated in a small clearing in amongst the towering, thinly trunked trees. A small, dimly fire crackled and burned in front of him as the towering, muscular mans long strands of red hair fell slightly in front of his face. Sitting hunched over it for whatever warmth it along with the grey wolf skin draped across his shoulders held in place across his bare chest by a circular pin provided. A thin leather strip pressed tightly against his large pectoral and travelled at and angle to the hem of his leather skirt which, just as his fathers did, stopped more than half way up his veiny thigh.
His face had become all the more mature with time, from his sharp jawline to his gaunt cheekbones. Even in the dark, the two thin scars on the left side of his face stood out against his pale grey skin.
Similarly coloured strips of pelt had been fastened around his waist for just a little bit of extra warmth. Even after leaving his uncles care and travelling to the land of Tal'Dorei, he still carried his clans cultural pride, refusing to abandon it, even if it meant possible death should the wrong person discover his origins.
Especially with the sizeable bounty that was placed on his head sometime ago. Yet no mainland milk-drinker seemed able to best him. All would be hunters either ended up in the dirt or fleeing upon realising their target was an Oldegårdian.
Slowly as the memories faded of the fateful night, that had driven his meagre existence for his entire adult life Ragnvaldur shot his head to the grassy forest floor as the white dire wolf curled at his feet stirred ever so slightly, whining softly in its sleep. Mindlessly, the Outlander reached down and gently scratched his bloodied hand through Moonless's soft fur.
A sense of satisfaction fell over him, knowing full well that his blood oath was almost fulfilled. Most surviving members of the Knights of the Midnight Sun, were dead, either by mother nature or the vengeful mans own hand. Yet one amongst so many still alluded him. The monster than had executed his father and murdered his mother still lived. The only thing he had was a face that was burned into his memory and a single name...
Aymon Leovaris...