Post by Danzig on Mar 27, 2019 15:02:42 GMT 1
The rough ground gave way, cracking beneath the heavy tread of the armor-clad behemoth now setting his first steps upon land after what felt like an age at sea. He had woken up weeks prior, adrift and alone in his longship, the ominously named Dreadfang, with only fragments of memories dancing about within his aching skull. The memories he did have were a shadowy haze, a select few standing in vivid contrast. He recalled great gatherings of steadfast and terrible warriors; yet not the faces of those gathered, nor their names. He recalled acts of savage violence; but not those he slew, nor for what he fought. He recalled wordless, soundless oaths roared toward angry, fire drenched skies; but not to what he paid homage, nor why. The few solid memories he did have were smaller ones, like the name of his longship, and more importantly, his own name.
Vulfbad.
Yet he did not recall who had given him this name. He had not a shred of memory as to who his kin were, nor if he had any. These things were of little import to him in the current moment, however, compared to the relentless throbbing pain in the back of his head, as if nails had been driven through his skull directly into his brain. This sensation only served to fuel his rage, a thing he used to push past the point of extreme physical exhaustion. He had rowed his longship, something that was normally crewed by twelve, alone, through treacherous waters since his awakening. He had scaled great cliffs, and pulled himself onto the desolate land he now stood upon, gazing long into the distance.
Great columns of blackened smoke stretched into the skies, the stench of sulfur so hanging so thickly in the air he could taste it. The great wasteland was teeming with life, not only that of the creatures that clearly prowled and foraged, taking what little offerings sprouted forth from the terrain; but with that of people not unlike himself in some ways. A short distance away a group was gathered, huddled around a fresh kill and stripping away the meat that clung to the carcass. For a moment they met eyes with the brutish Norsk warrior peering down at them, but their attention quickly shifted away. Vulfbad’s lips curled into a vicious snarl. His fists tightened around the haft of the crude axe he carried. He wanted nothing more than to hack the group of strangers limb from limb, his mind showing him glimpses of tearing into their raw flesh with his jagged teeth. The weeks at sea subsisting on nothing but the tiny birds that landed on his vessel had made him ravenous with hunger.
His vision began to blur, a red sheen washing over the world as his knotted muscles tightened, trembling with fury. The pain the back of his skull intensifying with each passing moment, with each word from the voice he heard in his head.
He wanted to let go, to let the red rage take control.
What was this voice in his head? It sounded as a single word being repeated over and over again, a word he could not hear over the intense thunder of pain. Every time his heart began to race with thoughts of battle the voice was there...a muffled, guttural growl; deep within. What was it saying? It had spoken to him on the boat, behind each pull of the oar, driving it's tendrils deeper into his mind.
RaaaahhhhHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
His roar broke the silence as he threw himself forward, his feet kicking up debris behind each powerful step. He tightened both hands around his axe, watching as the knuckles of his monstrous hands turned white, straining under the immense pressure of his grip which splintered the wood on the haft of his axe. He looked up, seeking to meet the eyes of his prey which would either have scurried into a battle formation or be well into fleeing by this moment.
He would rip them to pieces and feast upon their butchered flesh.
He stopped suddenly in his tracks. His prey, those where were there only moments before, were now gone. Not a trace of them in sight. There were no traces of anything in sight, not even the beasts that he had seen wandering in the distance upon reaching the edge of the wasteland.
What was this madness? He spent a few moments heaving with rage, unsure of what was happening to him. He loosened his grip on his axe and fell to his knees, the sharp volcanic glass that coated the wasteland fractured beneath his weight sending small fragments outward. He placed his head in his hands, squeezing his skull tightly in an attempt to quiet the pain.
The sound of a horn blared in the distance, catching his attention immediately as he shot his gaze westward. The dense air carried the sound for long enough to pinpoint it's origin. In the far distance he spotted a large settlement, nestled in the shadows of great ice topped peaks. Even from what seemed to be a far distance he could make out structures. Was this just another trick? Did his mind continue to torment him, Showing him things that weren't there? He would find his answer, for he had reached the point of no return. There was nothing to return to. Behind him was the vast unconquerable sea, to the west great volcanoes billowing smoke and fire. A challenge he would surely take on once he slaked his thirst with mead, and settled his stomach with flesh...be it that of human or wild beast.
Vulfbad lifted his axe from the ground, resting it on his shoulder just before adjusting the rope of skulls dangling from his back to hang the other side of his fur cloak. He spat a thick gob of blood into the dirt, stepping off in the direction of the unknown civilization.
Vulfbad.
Yet he did not recall who had given him this name. He had not a shred of memory as to who his kin were, nor if he had any. These things were of little import to him in the current moment, however, compared to the relentless throbbing pain in the back of his head, as if nails had been driven through his skull directly into his brain. This sensation only served to fuel his rage, a thing he used to push past the point of extreme physical exhaustion. He had rowed his longship, something that was normally crewed by twelve, alone, through treacherous waters since his awakening. He had scaled great cliffs, and pulled himself onto the desolate land he now stood upon, gazing long into the distance.
Great columns of blackened smoke stretched into the skies, the stench of sulfur so hanging so thickly in the air he could taste it. The great wasteland was teeming with life, not only that of the creatures that clearly prowled and foraged, taking what little offerings sprouted forth from the terrain; but with that of people not unlike himself in some ways. A short distance away a group was gathered, huddled around a fresh kill and stripping away the meat that clung to the carcass. For a moment they met eyes with the brutish Norsk warrior peering down at them, but their attention quickly shifted away. Vulfbad’s lips curled into a vicious snarl. His fists tightened around the haft of the crude axe he carried. He wanted nothing more than to hack the group of strangers limb from limb, his mind showing him glimpses of tearing into their raw flesh with his jagged teeth. The weeks at sea subsisting on nothing but the tiny birds that landed on his vessel had made him ravenous with hunger.
His vision began to blur, a red sheen washing over the world as his knotted muscles tightened, trembling with fury. The pain the back of his skull intensifying with each passing moment, with each word from the voice he heard in his head.
He wanted to let go, to let the red rage take control.
What was this voice in his head? It sounded as a single word being repeated over and over again, a word he could not hear over the intense thunder of pain. Every time his heart began to race with thoughts of battle the voice was there...a muffled, guttural growl; deep within. What was it saying? It had spoken to him on the boat, behind each pull of the oar, driving it's tendrils deeper into his mind.
RaaaahhhhHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
His roar broke the silence as he threw himself forward, his feet kicking up debris behind each powerful step. He tightened both hands around his axe, watching as the knuckles of his monstrous hands turned white, straining under the immense pressure of his grip which splintered the wood on the haft of his axe. He looked up, seeking to meet the eyes of his prey which would either have scurried into a battle formation or be well into fleeing by this moment.
He would rip them to pieces and feast upon their butchered flesh.
He stopped suddenly in his tracks. His prey, those where were there only moments before, were now gone. Not a trace of them in sight. There were no traces of anything in sight, not even the beasts that he had seen wandering in the distance upon reaching the edge of the wasteland.
What was this madness? He spent a few moments heaving with rage, unsure of what was happening to him. He loosened his grip on his axe and fell to his knees, the sharp volcanic glass that coated the wasteland fractured beneath his weight sending small fragments outward. He placed his head in his hands, squeezing his skull tightly in an attempt to quiet the pain.
The sound of a horn blared in the distance, catching his attention immediately as he shot his gaze westward. The dense air carried the sound for long enough to pinpoint it's origin. In the far distance he spotted a large settlement, nestled in the shadows of great ice topped peaks. Even from what seemed to be a far distance he could make out structures. Was this just another trick? Did his mind continue to torment him, Showing him things that weren't there? He would find his answer, for he had reached the point of no return. There was nothing to return to. Behind him was the vast unconquerable sea, to the west great volcanoes billowing smoke and fire. A challenge he would surely take on once he slaked his thirst with mead, and settled his stomach with flesh...be it that of human or wild beast.
Vulfbad lifted his axe from the ground, resting it on his shoulder just before adjusting the rope of skulls dangling from his back to hang the other side of his fur cloak. He spat a thick gob of blood into the dirt, stepping off in the direction of the unknown civilization.