Post by oorali on Mar 10, 2019 4:47:06 GMT 1
Pine needles hissed ceaselessly and trunks groaned under the force of the wind. Oorali had her back to one trying to shield the message, and herself, from the gale. A scribble on the parchment indicated either the hand of a child or the hand of someone in distress. Deciphering the text took longer than she’d liked and the Nomad was glad when her hands were back inside the warm Hapalops mittens Ragnar had made. Ordinarily the light-footed Nuruk made quick work of a short journey up hill but not today. Her nimble feet found themselves sinking knee deep in snow. When finally she reached Crixus and Ragnar, Oorali attempted to relay the message through the barrier of wind.
“It’s Jandal, she needs help.”
“Where?” Crixus queried.
“In the land of the Forsaken.”
Even the best Norsk explorers struggle to determine direction or make progress in such conditions. The group made their way down the mountain and took shelter in a nearby forest. There they spent the night to allow the storm to pass and in the morning began their journey east. The directions in the message said to walk deep into Forsaken land until they saw a circular mountain. Ragnar, the War Master, dictated their movements. He took advice from Crixus who has a natural affinity for combat and war, almost as if he had built up years of experience in the trade. Oorali was new to all this, and so, by Ragnar’s command, stayed ahead as a scout. She relayed information to the boys by scratching agreed upon symbols into tree trunks or limestone. They walked further east than any of them had been before in search of their friend, a fellow Crusader.
The Crusaders came upon a river that was flowing too fast to cross safely. From the rudimentary map Oorali had acquired from a merchant in New Heaven the group decided to move south. Along the sandy riverbank a weeping willow hung over the river and draped its long foliage into the water. The crew suddenly froze when they noticed a Norsk maiden asleep in the shade. Ragnar nodded first at Crixus who began to move in slowly, and then Oorali who drew her bow taking aim. Crixus nudged the girl to wake her and before he knew it she’d taken a swing at him. He dodged a strike that would have felled most warriors; such is the agility of the Mythos. Oorali let an arrow fly striking but barely piercing the maidens armour. The War Master hung back and let the Berserker blood his weapon while the Nomad shot arrows at the opportune moment. Oorali and Crixus worked together like the synchronization of the gears of a common mind.
Of the eight tribes discovered so far in Agonia the Norsk are no pretenders when it comes to battle. The maiden fought valiantly but with Crixus’ agile maneuvers and Oorali’s arrow landing in her gut she had little hope of surviving the fight. The War Master gave the order for Oorali to head further south and scout once she had finished reciting a poem for the dead. Before the Nuruk took off, she watched Crixus lean down and place a gold coin on each eye of his victim.
When he caught her stare he said, “I’m not completely barbaric, Nuruk.”
Oorali smiled, flicked her cape over her head and was gone.
At the mouth of a canyon she waited and waited. Her mind began to tick over. Perhaps they had missed the sign she had left. Perhaps the enemy had captured them or worse. She paced in and out of the canyon letting her eyes adjust to the darkness and then to the light each time. Finally she caught sight of them moving across the field towards her and sighed in relief. They arrived out of breath and bloodied.
“What happened?” she asked.
After catching his breath Ragnar spoke. “We saw two silhouettes in the wasteland and charged. We took them down. Afterwards we went to pay our respects. I’ve never seen the Longbeard before but we recognized the Giant as O, a member of the Free Folk.”
“What?! Our mission was to come and save a comrade, not slaughter innocents.” Oorali cried.
She turned, walked into the canyon and stared into the darkness.
“They could have been converts or spies for all we know. This is war Nuruk. This is revenge! They attacked us first, remember?” Crixus chirped in.
Ragnar stepped in. “He’s right Oo, this is war. There will be casualties and some people will get caught in the middle, that’s just the way it is. Remind me what it is we came for?”
Oorali replied without turning around. “Jandal.”
“No, what did we come to this island for?” Ragnar insisted.
The Nuruk turned around and made eye contact hesitantly with the War Master. Under her breath almost as quiet as a whisper she said, “We came for fame and glory.”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” Ragnar questioned.
A little louder the Nomad said, “We came for fame and glory.”
Ragnar looked at Crixus and asked, “Did you hear her Crix? I’m know I didn’t.”
The Mythos pursed his lips and shook his head.
“For fame and glory!” Oorali shouted at the top of her lungs making an echo through the canyon.
“Alright then, fame and glory it is.” Ragnar said as he smiled wryly.
The Crusaders decided to find a spot to camp over night. While looking for a suitable place to lay for the night Oorali discovered an arctodus on the mountain-side. With its back turned she took the opportunity to better position herself and drew her bow. As she took aim Crixus walked up behind her and startled the creature. What had appeared to be a large mountain bear turned out to be a Norsk warrior wearing a bearskin complete with head and fangs. The Norsk charged. Oorali scuffed her shot and before she could reload found herself on the floor wincing. The Norsk didn’t stop at the Nuruk and charged on toward Crixus who stepped to the side at the last moment and delivered a body blow. Oorali caught her breath, scrambled on to all fours and picked up her scattered arrows. She crouched on one knee, took aim and released the string burying an arrow into the Norsk’s shoulder. The strike angered the snow dweller who, in a fit of anger, put his foot into Crixus’ chest. The Mythos took steps back to regain his balance giving the Norsk enough time to snap Ooralis bow in half and knock her off her feet. This time he used the handle of his weapon to deliver a blow to her face knocking her off her feet once again. Vision blurred and feeling dazed Oorali looked up to see Crixus swing at the enemy. The Mythos took advantage of the Norsk’s heavy frame. He struck blow after blow until the Norsk’s body lay lifeless on the mountainside.
Crixus walked over to check on the Nuruk who was still on the ground. He helped her to her feet and steadied her for a moment until she could balance on her own. She thanked him and took a moment to gather herself. With one hand she felt at her bruised jaw and spat a slug of blood. The pain radiated through her skull. The old Nuruk poem trickled into her mind.
The cutthroat’s way is always best.
Leave the banners and drums behind.
Kill your enemies while they rest.
Leave no trace for others to find.
“It’s Jandal, she needs help.”
“Where?” Crixus queried.
“In the land of the Forsaken.”
Even the best Norsk explorers struggle to determine direction or make progress in such conditions. The group made their way down the mountain and took shelter in a nearby forest. There they spent the night to allow the storm to pass and in the morning began their journey east. The directions in the message said to walk deep into Forsaken land until they saw a circular mountain. Ragnar, the War Master, dictated their movements. He took advice from Crixus who has a natural affinity for combat and war, almost as if he had built up years of experience in the trade. Oorali was new to all this, and so, by Ragnar’s command, stayed ahead as a scout. She relayed information to the boys by scratching agreed upon symbols into tree trunks or limestone. They walked further east than any of them had been before in search of their friend, a fellow Crusader.
The Crusaders came upon a river that was flowing too fast to cross safely. From the rudimentary map Oorali had acquired from a merchant in New Heaven the group decided to move south. Along the sandy riverbank a weeping willow hung over the river and draped its long foliage into the water. The crew suddenly froze when they noticed a Norsk maiden asleep in the shade. Ragnar nodded first at Crixus who began to move in slowly, and then Oorali who drew her bow taking aim. Crixus nudged the girl to wake her and before he knew it she’d taken a swing at him. He dodged a strike that would have felled most warriors; such is the agility of the Mythos. Oorali let an arrow fly striking but barely piercing the maidens armour. The War Master hung back and let the Berserker blood his weapon while the Nomad shot arrows at the opportune moment. Oorali and Crixus worked together like the synchronization of the gears of a common mind.
Of the eight tribes discovered so far in Agonia the Norsk are no pretenders when it comes to battle. The maiden fought valiantly but with Crixus’ agile maneuvers and Oorali’s arrow landing in her gut she had little hope of surviving the fight. The War Master gave the order for Oorali to head further south and scout once she had finished reciting a poem for the dead. Before the Nuruk took off, she watched Crixus lean down and place a gold coin on each eye of his victim.
When he caught her stare he said, “I’m not completely barbaric, Nuruk.”
Oorali smiled, flicked her cape over her head and was gone.
At the mouth of a canyon she waited and waited. Her mind began to tick over. Perhaps they had missed the sign she had left. Perhaps the enemy had captured them or worse. She paced in and out of the canyon letting her eyes adjust to the darkness and then to the light each time. Finally she caught sight of them moving across the field towards her and sighed in relief. They arrived out of breath and bloodied.
“What happened?” she asked.
After catching his breath Ragnar spoke. “We saw two silhouettes in the wasteland and charged. We took them down. Afterwards we went to pay our respects. I’ve never seen the Longbeard before but we recognized the Giant as O, a member of the Free Folk.”
“What?! Our mission was to come and save a comrade, not slaughter innocents.” Oorali cried.
She turned, walked into the canyon and stared into the darkness.
“They could have been converts or spies for all we know. This is war Nuruk. This is revenge! They attacked us first, remember?” Crixus chirped in.
Ragnar stepped in. “He’s right Oo, this is war. There will be casualties and some people will get caught in the middle, that’s just the way it is. Remind me what it is we came for?”
Oorali replied without turning around. “Jandal.”
“No, what did we come to this island for?” Ragnar insisted.
The Nuruk turned around and made eye contact hesitantly with the War Master. Under her breath almost as quiet as a whisper she said, “We came for fame and glory.”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” Ragnar questioned.
A little louder the Nomad said, “We came for fame and glory.”
Ragnar looked at Crixus and asked, “Did you hear her Crix? I’m know I didn’t.”
The Mythos pursed his lips and shook his head.
“For fame and glory!” Oorali shouted at the top of her lungs making an echo through the canyon.
“Alright then, fame and glory it is.” Ragnar said as he smiled wryly.
The Crusaders decided to find a spot to camp over night. While looking for a suitable place to lay for the night Oorali discovered an arctodus on the mountain-side. With its back turned she took the opportunity to better position herself and drew her bow. As she took aim Crixus walked up behind her and startled the creature. What had appeared to be a large mountain bear turned out to be a Norsk warrior wearing a bearskin complete with head and fangs. The Norsk charged. Oorali scuffed her shot and before she could reload found herself on the floor wincing. The Norsk didn’t stop at the Nuruk and charged on toward Crixus who stepped to the side at the last moment and delivered a body blow. Oorali caught her breath, scrambled on to all fours and picked up her scattered arrows. She crouched on one knee, took aim and released the string burying an arrow into the Norsk’s shoulder. The strike angered the snow dweller who, in a fit of anger, put his foot into Crixus’ chest. The Mythos took steps back to regain his balance giving the Norsk enough time to snap Ooralis bow in half and knock her off her feet. This time he used the handle of his weapon to deliver a blow to her face knocking her off her feet once again. Vision blurred and feeling dazed Oorali looked up to see Crixus swing at the enemy. The Mythos took advantage of the Norsk’s heavy frame. He struck blow after blow until the Norsk’s body lay lifeless on the mountainside.
Crixus walked over to check on the Nuruk who was still on the ground. He helped her to her feet and steadied her for a moment until she could balance on her own. She thanked him and took a moment to gather herself. With one hand she felt at her bruised jaw and spat a slug of blood. The pain radiated through her skull. The old Nuruk poem trickled into her mind.
The cutthroat’s way is always best.
Leave the banners and drums behind.
Kill your enemies while they rest.
Leave no trace for others to find.