08-15-2009, 11:12 PM
Eimund was a fisherman. Just a simple, quiet fisherman. Since living in Norsca could be indeed deadly to those who wander alone, Eimund still lived with his tribe, on their permanent settlement on the southern coasts. When the sea was calm, the waters had lots and lots of fish to catch, so the life was tranquil. Except when the tribes warred against each other, or when the Great Lords of Chaos prepared invasions and went south, taking lots and lots of people to war, driving them like dogs. Otherwise, Eimund's life was calm, and he could live his life quietly.
But today, Eimund thought, today would not be a calm day. The hunters spotted a warband of warriors of chaos wandering in the northeastern woods. Not a good sign. Usually the Chosen would just come, drink, eat, take their women for one night and be away. Because the Chosen did not care. But still, they cared more for the natives of Norsca than for that "blasted southern weaklings". Because the Norscans supplied the warhosts that every now and then went south to plunder for the Gods.
Eimund wasn't worried that his beer would be drank and his fish would be eaten, even that his wife would, maybe, sleep with another man. He was worried about the Gods that these Chosen could worship. Slaneesh? It would be an unconfortable night, for sure.
Eimund was afraid if it would be Khorne. Blood God. Lord of Skulls. If the Chosen wandering northeast worshipped Khorne, he would be dead for sure. Those warriors could smell fear for miles away. And they hunted. Everyone. Man. Woman. Child.
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"They are close now" - Bjorn, the huntmaster, stated, worried - "Maybe in a two days march if they don't know the Pass."
"Someone... someone must awaken Barnikel!!" - Fjeld, the elder, said, troubled - "If our tribe's protector spirit awakes, he can confuse the Chosen for enough time... time to escape."
"But... the whole tribe? Where would we go?" - Eimund, the fisherman, was confused. They could not run. They would surely die, offerings to the Gods.
"Nowhere to run, Fjeld. The Urscan's Tribe will not allow us to pass without a fight. Not will the Sanjar's."
"But we must do something! Eimund... Bjorn... someone must awake Barnikel!!!"
"Stop those foolish ramblings, old man" - the hunter was tired. He could escape alone. He could take his hunters and maybe join one chaos host as marauders...
"To th north! One day north! I beg you, go! Search for Barnikel's Barrow! Find his horn, and he shall slay these Chosen"
"I will" - Eimund suddenly said
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He did not know why he said that. But now it did not matter anymore. The tribe would di, he knew. He would fail. Barnikel's spirit was just an ancestral legend, nothing more.
Still, there he was. Eimund the Fisherman, riding up the snowy hills in the middle of a blizzard, being followed by Bjorn and the hunters.
"The Barrow is just beyond that hilltop" - Bjorn cried.
Eimund froze. There was no way back.
But today, Eimund thought, today would not be a calm day. The hunters spotted a warband of warriors of chaos wandering in the northeastern woods. Not a good sign. Usually the Chosen would just come, drink, eat, take their women for one night and be away. Because the Chosen did not care. But still, they cared more for the natives of Norsca than for that "blasted southern weaklings". Because the Norscans supplied the warhosts that every now and then went south to plunder for the Gods.
Eimund wasn't worried that his beer would be drank and his fish would be eaten, even that his wife would, maybe, sleep with another man. He was worried about the Gods that these Chosen could worship. Slaneesh? It would be an unconfortable night, for sure.
Eimund was afraid if it would be Khorne. Blood God. Lord of Skulls. If the Chosen wandering northeast worshipped Khorne, he would be dead for sure. Those warriors could smell fear for miles away. And they hunted. Everyone. Man. Woman. Child.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"They are close now" - Bjorn, the huntmaster, stated, worried - "Maybe in a two days march if they don't know the Pass."
"Someone... someone must awaken Barnikel!!" - Fjeld, the elder, said, troubled - "If our tribe's protector spirit awakes, he can confuse the Chosen for enough time... time to escape."
"But... the whole tribe? Where would we go?" - Eimund, the fisherman, was confused. They could not run. They would surely die, offerings to the Gods.
"Nowhere to run, Fjeld. The Urscan's Tribe will not allow us to pass without a fight. Not will the Sanjar's."
"But we must do something! Eimund... Bjorn... someone must awake Barnikel!!!"
"Stop those foolish ramblings, old man" - the hunter was tired. He could escape alone. He could take his hunters and maybe join one chaos host as marauders...
"To th north! One day north! I beg you, go! Search for Barnikel's Barrow! Find his horn, and he shall slay these Chosen"
"I will" - Eimund suddenly said
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He did not know why he said that. But now it did not matter anymore. The tribe would di, he knew. He would fail. Barnikel's spirit was just an ancestral legend, nothing more.
Still, there he was. Eimund the Fisherman, riding up the snowy hills in the middle of a blizzard, being followed by Bjorn and the hunters.
"The Barrow is just beyond that hilltop" - Bjorn cried.
Eimund froze. There was no way back.