Short Story: Modern Psi Divinity

I know, it's been a while. I may expand this story at a later time. Mainly was just to make sure I still remembered how to write. ;)

The story is a little graphic, so be aware.

Modern Psi Divinity

Life had never been normal for him. Aer knew this at an early age when he watched what seemed like a normal man drain the soul from his mother’s body. His father dying in a pool of blood next to him, his existence flowing out with the vital red liquid. Years of psychiatric help convinced him that the murderer was your standard misguided serial killer. The comforting words of reason worked wonders until Aer ran into the man. The murder, ten years older now, was still recognizable by the scars and brutal mug. The man recognized the young man too, though knew not his name. He came at Aer with intentions of removing the only witness. When Aer tried to run, the murder was every which way he turned. A burning sensation thrust itself like a blade through tender flesh into Aer’s head suddenly. He felt his vision become clear, as if suddenly sobering up with fright. The killer no longer looked like an ugly human. The man had two thick hooked spikes coming from the inside of his mouth, piercing the flesh of his cheeks, and raising out as if to gore any too close. His eye sockets were blackened, charred over like that of a seared burn. The twisted creature of a man flowed towards Aer leaving dark purple and blood red ripples in the air. It snaked towards him, sinister intentions clear from the curved knife in its hand. Aer closed his eyes, yet was still able to see the creature clearly. In the moment as it raised the blade to coupe de grace the young man, Aer thought of the look in his dying father’s eyes. Rage boiled up, feeling like an intense fire consuming him from with-in. Opening his eyes, Aer noticed that the flames were not mental, but now covered his body. The nightmarish murderer stepped back with confusion and fear. Aer stood up, confidence as strong as the blue blaze upon his skin. Without saying a word, Aer pictured the fire flowing from him onto the creature. The flames did just that, slithering through the air as if alive and hungry. The creature was quickly engulfed, screaming in a twisted agony as it was burned alive.

“Quite a way to start your Awakening.” The female speaker said from the red cushioned armchair across from Aer who did not respond. “You saw the face of a demon with a murderous obsession and not only lived to tell but destroyed it.”

“I had no choice,” Aer said. He was older now, in his early thirties. He ran his hands through his long brown beard and then over his bald head.

“All mortals have a choice,” the woman said, flashing her blue eyes at him as she pushed back her shoulder length blond hair.

“I don’t think I chose this,” Aer pointed at the glowing light blue circle in the middle of his forehead. “I’m pretty sure no one said ‘Hey, do you want a glowing third eye?’, cause if they had I would have told them a very blunt NO.”

“You are correct that you did not have a choice in receiving that burden.” She stood up slowly and walked towards the table near-by. She moved as if gliding across the edge of reality, her beauty a celestial knife cutting known existence. Aer watched her move in awe. After all these years of witnessing terrors in the shape of humanoid demons, this was the first angel he had met.

“Then what choice do I have?”

The woman sighed and ran her finger across the edge of the table.

“Do you know where technology came from?” she asked lightly. Aer shook his head. “The One of Light gave it to humanity as a gift. Forged from the flesh and souls of His Angels.” Her hand ran over Aer’s laptop. “Many of us sacrificed our eternal existence so that humanity would side with The One of Light.” Aer started to respond, but the woman held up a hand silencing him. She touched the laptop screen and her hand pushed into it like it was a pool of murky water. “Your choice, Aer, is to obey the rules of The One of Light or to live with your corruption. That third eye was given to you by The Nameless Horror.” She pulled her hand out and with it came a long sword of intricate design, made to look like steel feathers holding the sharp blade.

“Neither option sounds too pleasant.” Aer felt his third eye open, a pure black pupil appearing in the light blue circle. The world went surreal, yellow and bright white aura colors radiating from the beautiful woman. He could see her wings now, large and metallic, yet perfect in design. Circuits, wires, and machinery far ahead of the technology humanity had replaced more than half her body in random places. Seeing her true form, Aer saw that she had no clothing and was in awe at the perfection of her body. The sword in her hands quickly pulled him out of the trance.

“In the name of The One of Light, I purge the sin and darkness from this creature. The touch of The Nameless Horror will leave as his soul is removed from the shell.” She raised the blade to strike.

“The hesitation is a common mistake on both sides,” Aer said with a light grin. The angel swung downwards with a speed that sliced the very breeze in the house apart. Yet it was not fast enough as Aer’s body changed into pure energy and transferred to behind her. She swung around quickly to adjust, but Aer moved again. Small visible beads of shadow dripped from the surroundings and flew into the dark pupil of his third eye. Opening his mouth, a neon black tendril spewed out, the tip ending in a six clawed hand. It struck the angel on the throat, latching on. Quickly she sliced the middle of the tendril, cutting it in two. The claw continued to sink deeper as the part still connected to Aer slithered back into him. Holding his hands out towards her, his arms changed into black clawed tendrils. They shot forward, extending like a striking serpent. One ripped her hand which held the sword off. Sparks flew as angelic blue and red blood spilled onto the floor. She did not scream, as her throat was being torn and constricted. The other hand went into her left shoulder. The first hand went deep into the center of her chest. Aer looked at the terror in her face. “The Nameless Horror sends minions to kill me and now as does The One of Light.” He pulled her apart with the dark tendrils, ripping her part mechanical, completely perfect body into two bloody uneven pieces. The dark limbs vanished. The angel, apart but alive for only a moment, choked on her own blood.

“The One of Light will never accept you,” she gurgled. Aer shrugged and walked away, his third eye closing.


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Idea: Darkenstorm World Setting

Here is a little sneak peak at the world setting for some short stories (and possibly an RPG) I made.

Darkenstorm World Setting

I live in a world where the mind’s fantasy can be reality. A virus trying to adapt so that it could destroy our bodies instead activated what is known as the God Module in those infected. Such a person gained access to amazing abilities and feats, all performed by the power of their mind. It was just like fairy tale magic! Most of the world was infected with the virus, but only a small strain mutated and adapted to bring about this life changing event. The actual virus itself was harmless, made so by our advances in medical science. Despite our ability to weaken it, we found it impossible to kill. Yet as those in humanity that had received this gift developed it, we learned of consequences that transcended the mortal realm. You see the more powerful a person becomes with their mental energy, the more they attract beings that are composed entirely of that energy. The beings most attracted were what we call Demons. They are malignant creatures that feed on the darkest of emotions: fear, hate, sadness, confusion, pain, and most of all death. Many of us were not prepared and the Demons possessed our bodies and destroyed our minds. They walked on our world in our bodies. These Demons hide behind our faces and had access to powers much stronger then our own. The more powerful ones could even mutate their flesh to make themselves appear horrid and terrifying.

The governments responded quickly after the first batch of Demons came. Anyone showing signs of psionics were to be detained. What the public didn’t know is that those detained would not be coming back alive. Technology was developed to uncover those the Module Virus had Awakened. Though they could not come up with a means to stop the Awakening or to combat our powers, they became proficient in tracking us. A person has to sleep at some point, has to rest, and has to let their guard down. Rumors even circulated that the top brass officials were being given an experimental treatment that would prevent their Module Viruses from mutating or adapting. The treatment didn’t always work, as you could sometimes catch on TV an official suddenly being escorted away by the Service. Yeah, the Service, a military branch brainwashed by some government controlled Psimancer to be resistant to outside influences. In other words they obeyed their commanders’ ever words and couldn’t be mind controlled by an average Psimancer.

It wasn’t long before a powerful group of Psimancers launched an attack on the Service. They were able to badly damage their tracking equipment. Since then we’ve had it a little easier. The Service can still track us, but now there’s hope. Although yet again we found that with hope there is a price tag. As more people are Awakened, more Demons begin to appear. In the many years since their first arrival, many of us have learned how to fight them. To make matters worse there is tell of some Psimancers who side with the Demons. They perform ancient and terrible rituals that taint their souls so that no Demon may destroy them. Becoming tainted grants them incredible power, rival to that of a Demon, but in the process they become much like them. They lose their humanity, feel pain when exposed to natural sunlight, and they thrive on destruction. They are called the Shadowmancers, though they are but a dark whisper in the night.

Despite the many dangers my world has, it is still one of great mystery and beauty. Should you be Awakened by your Module Virus, you will experience a life unlike any other. You will witness the very energies that make up existence and you will learn to bend them as you please. Should you train yourself and develop your power, then no member of the Service, no Demon, and no Shadowmancer can take away your soul. There is no end to it, only new beginnings.


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News Update

Normally I don't give news on my life, but as this relates to my creative writing I feel it is necessary. I would like to explain that the lack of updates currently is the result of my focus on my novels. I'm very picky when it comes to my work and the novel series I am working on has now been completely redone five times. This being the fifth time. I will NOT be posting them to this site most likely. In order to read them you must contact me via e-mail. I may post little samples of the novels, but I am not certain of this happening or not. Should I get a request for a specific medium or piece, I will work on that and post it here. Otherwise, my focus remains on my novels.
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Short Story: "Hidden in Blood" (expanded version)

This is an expanded version of "Hidden in Blood (Dark Norseman)". It includes some grammar and spelling fixes as well as an expansion of material in certain places. I'm posting this separately so anyone that wants to can compare the two. If you notice strange spaces and gaps throughout the story, those are for the footnote markers. The footnotes didn't make it over, so you'd need the original document to see them.

The Dark Norseman: Hidden in Blood (expanded)

Blood gushed from the wound as the battle axe cut deep. The man fell to his knees; the axe went in his skull. Those around quickly stepped back; this foe was unlike the others of his kind. Towering over the sword brandishing guards, he held the bloody massive axe tight. They surrounded him and clearly outnumbered him, yet their victory seemed bleak. Another advanced, feeling heroic, and lost his head to the axe. The headless corpse collapsed on the ground as the circle stepped back once more. The giant of a man took calm breaths, not phased by the many gashes in his skin. The bodies of four men now lay dead around him. A man dressed in the clothing of royalty entered the circle. “Bjørn, renounce your pagan faith and become a child of God.” Between the long hairs that draped across his face in sweat, the berserker named Bjørn made a grim smile.
“You slay my brothers and my sisters in cold blood. You wage war against both the Asgard and Giants alike. You are not elves in the shadows or beasts of the mist. You are not even followers of Loki. Yet you come here to burn Yggdrasil and ask me to betray the All-father !” the final sentence was said in a roar of fury from the berserker as he raised his axe to the sky.

Bjørn beckoned for his companion to come closer. She moved quietly, keeping low to the ground, her simple chainmail armor barely making a noise. The berserker pointed ahead. “By the All-father…” she muttered in horror, her gaze on the place where he pointed. In front of the wooden walls were the corpses of people impaled on spears. There clearly had been no discrimination, as women, children, the young and the old, all were displayed in this gruesome manner. Carved into the flesh of each was a cross. The young woman, her eyes teary with anger, gripped her staff tightly. “The Cult of Loki hides among the Christians.”
Bjørn nodded, “We have faced worse than this, Vilde. We will find the betrayers that hide among the black-hearted.” The berserker picked up his weapons and shield, placing them in the various holsters on his heavy chainmail armor. His female companion, Vilde, drew a shape into the dirt with her staff. It was a rune, this one a prayer to Odin. The rune glowed briefly then went dull.

Two guards stood watch at the gates into the town. Each bore a halberd and bloody armor that was clearly not their own. Vilde walked slowly up to them; the hood of her cloak was drawn close to hide her face. “Halt! You approach a town now under the protection of God! Identify yourself!” one guard called out. Vilde said nothing, still walking slowly towards them. The guards looked at each other, unsure of what to do. It was a lone woman, but something about her gave them a cold shiver. They crossed their halberds to block her from entering the town. “I asked your name!” the one guard yelled. From a small cropping of trees flew a hand axe. It hit the guard in the face with such force that he was pinned to wooden wall behind him. The other guard went to cry out, but Vilde had rushed towards him, longsword unsheathed. With a sweeping strike she cut open his throat. Bjørn came over at a jog and pulled the axe from the man’s broken skull. He placed the hand axe back at his side and looked inside. No one had seen them; giving them only as long as it took for the bodies to be discovered.
“Let us inquire at the tavern while we still have time.”
Bjørn nodded, “Lead on Rune Priestess.”

The tavern was filled with loud drunkards and the floor was sticky with spilled ale. They watched as, for no reason, one man decked another. Those around cheered as the two continued to swing at the other with all their might. “These people are supposed to be mild-mannered?” Vilde said in disgust. They could feel the intoxicated stares as they approached the bar. The woman behind the counter serving the drinks put down the rag she had been using to clean a tankard.
“I don’t recognize either of you.” The bartender looked up, and then up some more, to see Bjørn’s face. “I would especially remember someone as big as you. I’d ask what you’d like to drink, but we don’t serve pagans. Are you a child of God?” Before they could answer a drunkard stumbled out of his seat and leaned over to Vilde.
“You have… pretty long hair… long golden… reminds me of… me wife.” The Rune Priestess gave the man a sideways glance of disdain and did not respond. The swaying man continued, “She’s… she’s dead now. Wouldn’t… wouldn’t convert. S’ not right not convertin’… s’ not right.”
She couldn’t hold it back anymore and sharply replied “Better to die than to be forced to adopt a new faith!” The room suddenly went quiet and everyone felt a lot more sober. The drunken man stood at full height. Though he was nowhere near Bjørn’s size, he was larger then Vilde. He grabbed her arm and muttered “S’ an awful thing for such a pretty young girl to say.” She pulled away from his tight grip easily. “For such a small one there’s strength in ya!” The entire tavern focused its attention on them though Vilde looked to the woman bartender.
“We’re looking for people who claim to be part of the Cult of Loki. My companion and I have traced them to this town. Do you know where we can find them?” The bartender glared angrily and spurted out, “I knew it! Pagans! Kill the heretics!”

Bjørn had been expecting this outcome. When the drunken man accosting Vilde made another grab for her, he brought his massive fist down on his head. The shattering of the man’s spine echoes throughout the tavern. The sound of him hitting the floor was muffled by the shriek of over a dozen blades being unsheathed. Vilde looked down at the blood on the floor and saw it take the shape of a rune. “Run! Out the back! Run with the speed of Sleipnir !” she yelled. The berserker grabbed the tavern woman by the head and threw her into the crowd. Bjørn followed her over the counter and out the back door.
“Why do we flee?”
With panting breath she replied “A rune…appeared…” The berserker nodded, understanding her answer.

They came to a dead stop at the sight before them. Cast before a setting sun which set the sky aflame in orange light was the ruins of a once great shrine. It had been a marvelous structure erected for the worship of the Asgard. The stone was blackened and where there had been wood was now ash. The runes which said the names of the Gods were broken. Bjørn pushed open the large steel door and looked at his hands. The metal was still warm enough to lightly singe his hands. They stepped inside and saw among the charred rubble a dismal scene. Nearly twenty people of all ages had been here when the building had burnt. Their skin and bones were black and what was left of their faces depicted horror. Vilde fell to her knees. “It looks like they died during prayer to the All-Father. The doors must have been sealed from the outside and torches thrown through the windows. They were mostly innocents, only a few warriors here…” she trailed off with tears running down her face. The berserker struck the wall, causing it to shudder.
“They were not even allowed an honorable death. May Odin allow them entrance to Valhalla , despite the means of their demise.” He kicked aside some rubble, revealing a blood stained floor. “Vilde, seek out the All-Father’s wisdom. I do not think the townsfolk will aid us.” She nodded and prepared a small area for her ritual. As she worked, Bjørn looked out through where the ceiling used to be to the enveloping darkness. “May Thor strike them with all the fury he saves for Jormungand .”

Bjørn slowly paced around the ruined inside of the shrine. With his massive hand, he wiped away dust and small debris from the walls. Uncovering runes, Bjørn quickened his work. All across the walls he found them, carved into the very stone. The berserker could not read their language, but he knew the stories they told. With the final bit of grim wiped away from the runes, Bjørn gazed at the symbols as if they were art. Though he had lost track of how much time had passed, it had been a decent amount of time since he had left Vilde to her ritual. The berserker cleared his mind, knowing that it could take a while for her to obtain the wisdom of Odin. Staring at the runic shapes on the walls, he didn’t hear her approach. “These runes tell the stories of our people. The one before us tells of when Odin hung himself from Yggdrasil, pierced by his spear Gugnir . The All-Father did this so that he could understand pain. He took the runes from the World Tree and shared with us their wisdom.”
“Did you find where the Cult of Loki hides?”
Vilde nodded in response. Her tired eyes were nearly hidden by the long golden hair that fell across her face.
Bjørn looked back at the runes on the wall. “The Christians know we are here in town, yet they have not searched this place.”
“Heimdall watches over us from Bifrost . During my divination I saw the Norns . I asked them for their aid and Skuld stepped forward. She showed me a tunnel near here that goes under the wall. The cult uses it to leave the town under guise of night. They gather nearby in the forest. It is there that they meet with the Giant which lords over their sect. Skuld showed me that at this very moment they are congregating.”
The berserker picked up his axe which leaned against the fire stained wall. “Let us strike like Mjollnir upon them and be done with this corrupted land.”

It was night, which made it easier for them to make it to the entrance undetected. It was only a matter of moments before they saw the torch fire of the gathering cultists. Bjørn readied his massive axe while Vilde exchanged her staff for the longsword sheathed at her side. They could hear the low chanting which grew louder as they approached. They were close enough to make out robed figures standing together in a circle. Bjørn counted about sixteen of them, though more could be hidden near-by. The language of their chant was dark and twisted; it could only be the tongue of Giants. Even Vilde, who had been raised first as a scholar, only was able to catch the mentioning of the God of Trickery’s name: Loki. Before they could take another step forward the circle broke in a rush. The robed cultists all turned to face them. The berserker took a deep breath and was about to rush them when Vilde calmly stepped forward. “Cult of Loki, we, the followers of the Asgard, have come to slay you.” Bjørn stood there confused; by Hel, what was she doing? The Rune Priestess continued, “Yet when I approached the town in which you hide I did not see only the loyal of Asgard impaled upon those spears. I saw the Norse there. Both those who follow the Gods and those who follow the Giants hung there desecrated. In my vision when I spoke to the Norns, they told me more then where you gather. They told me that these Christians would bring about a Ragnarok in which no one would be reborn.”

As one voice, the sixteen cultists spoke, “We too have foreseen this outcome. Mimir spoke to us and it is through his wish that we were led here.” The cultists suddenly looked about one another in confusion. They spoke again in an eerie unison, “The Frost Giant who leads us in Loki’s will has not arrived. We must seek his wisdom on this matter.” Vilde knelt down and drew into the dirt with the point of her sword. She traced out the patterns for several runes; each which glowed briefly once completed. When the light of the last one dimmed, a glazed look went over her eyes. In a trance like state she said “The Giant is in danger.”

The roar which thundered across the sky and the crash which shook the ground told them the outcome before they arrived. The Frost Giant was lying on the ground, a deep blue liquid pouring across its translucent ice blue body from the spear wounds. The Christian soldiers cheered at their victory. The cultists stood there in the shadows of the trees; their faces were petrified in horror. Bjørn stood there gazing at the dead Giant. He had slain many of its kind across the years, for they were the enemies of the Asgard. Yet now, seeing the large man-beast there struck him differently. The berserker realized that it was no longer a battle between men, Gods, and Giants. It was now the Norse versus the world.

The cheer of the soldiers died as a bestial roar echoed across the landscape. From out of the shapes charged a living machine of muscles and rage. He ran forward, his war cry unending, with a massive two handed axe raised to strike. The Christian soldiers stared at him and were paralyzed. It seemed like a nightmare, more frightening then the battle against the Frost Giant. When the berserker brought his axe down, severing the nearest man into two bloody pieces, the dream state broke. Bjørn moved on to the next, who raised his shield to block the strike. The axe went through both his shield and arm. As he started to scream, the berserker bent down and used his momentum to shoulder check the man in the chest. The soldier’s ribs cracked, piercing into his heart and lungs. Another soldier ran to him, swinging a long sword and missing horribly. Like an elegant and deadly dancer, Bjørn twisted around to make a diagonal swing upwards, ripping open the man’s chest despite his armor. The berserker then brought the axe down with such force that the weapon pinned the dead man to the ground. The remaining soldiers advanced with swords and spears ready. Breathing heavily, Bjørn looked to the sky. He felt more then just adrenaline pumping through his veins. He felt overpowering ecstasy with each life he took. It was the gift Odin gave to His berserkers.

He left his axe buried in the corpse, instead reaching to his sides. Bjørn took out a sword in each hand. The soldiers looked at each other then charged. The berserker attacked with pure fury, making no attempt to defend himself. The Christian blades cut his skin, pierced his chainmail, and opened bloody wounds. As they cut and stabbed him, he gave each of his own sword blows all his might. Limbs went flying in an orgy of gore. They would slash his arm as he would sever their heads. Bjørn felt no pain from their strikes, being slowed down by neither exhaustion nor blood loss. The number of Christian soldiers thinned rapidly. The final one looked to his right and left, noticing that he was indeed the last of his fellows standing. The panting berserker, covered in sweat, his own blood, and the blood of those he killed, raised both blades in an ‘x’ shape. With one swift motion he beheaded the last soldier.

Bjørn fell to his knees, dropping both blades which were now dulled from use. Vilde ran over to him from the trees, a look of awe and fear apparent on her face. Leaning down next to him, she helped the berserker lay down. “Never before have I seen one of the All-Father’s warriors in action. You served Odin well, but it is not your time to go to the halls of Valhalla.” Using the blood on his body, she drew several runes on his skin. The runes bubbled and vanished. As the last one disappeared, the wounds on Bjørn’s body closed. “Odin gave us the runes not only so we could learn, but so we could live,” she whispered into his ear. The berserker stood up slowly, his muscles aching and body still sore from being cut and pierced.

The cultists bowed in unison. Vilde gazed over them all and said “We travel to each land to slay the Giants loyal to Loki. Since the one here is dead, there is no reason for us to fight. Christian reinforcements will be arriving in the area soon and we must leave.” A single cultist stepped forward and spoke for the whole, “We thank you warriors for avenging our loss. We will stay here and hide among the Christians. They will find the number of people in town slowly dwindling as citizens mysteriously vanish. May Loki spare you in Ragnarok.”

Bjørn was deep in thought as they walked. Up until recently, his quest had always been straightforward. They tracked down the location of one of the many sects of the Cult of Loki. Upon finding them, Bjørn and Vilde would slay the cultists and the Giant that led them. Aside from the followers of Loki, they never before had to kill humans. Yet over the past couple days they had witness horrors done by people from a distant land and by North-men who had converted. Those people were not minion of the Half-Giant , but they were not children of Odin either. These thoughts continued in his mind, causing a silence which made even the air feel awkward. After a while he finally said “I fear that elves plague my mind, as little makes sense and all seems to deceive.” Vilde looked over at him.
“What do you mean?”
He looked ahead; “At first it was simple. We slay the Giants, for they promise death to the Asgard at Ragnarok. Loki was the fiend around every corner...”
The Rune Priestess nodded and added: “Then come the Christians. They burn and massacre what they can’t convert.” They walked in silence for a few minutes before Vilde spoke again.
“Odin shall guide us. We will stop the Cult of Loki from starting the Fibulwinter .” Bjørn stopped and gripped his two handed axe tightly.
“Even in the endless cold we shall hunt down all those who threaten the Asgard! Be them Giant, dragon, or man they will fall by my axe!”


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Poem: "Dream of Our Existence"

"Dream of Our Existence" by Sean Katamay

Once he held a dream
It was a sight for all to behold
Now it fades into oblivion
As does what’s left of his soul

He works nearly every day
Lost more and more each time
The slavery of gaining pay
Breaks his spirit and his heart

In that time which he is free
Recovery from the job
Able to reach less and less
Towards the dream that is far

Can he bring about his strength?
Will he take the chance of life?
Sacrifice that which is safe?
To gain what his soul desires

We as mere mortals
Our foe is time
So few years to reach the purpose
Rarely do we realize

We must act now
Before the dream is lost
Forever.
..
...
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Short Story: "Chaos"

My final short story that is being turned in for my Writing Fiction class.

Chaos

The same dream again… each night since I started this journey I have the same dream. I lay there on a cold stone surface with darkness enveloping my sight. All around I can hear a barely audible chant from what sounds to be over a dozen men and women. I try to move but my body doesn’t respond. Suddenly I see my own face staring at me and I am startled awake.

My eyes jut open only to see him there before me. Dressed in cold black steel armor and brutal scars across his face, he is out of my nightmares. Though I feel sick to think it, I dreadfully recall that he is my brother Daath. We are knights, devote to the lord who knighted us. My king was of pure heart, but my brother’s was not. Fitting, as Daath has always claimed to be a child of evil. “Welcome to hell, Kien. The peasants call it life,” he says to me seeing that I am awake.
“It is only hell because you make it that way,” I respond as I sit up.
Daath chuckles lightly, “We will reach the next town by the afternoon. Suit up before I slit your throat.” As I pull on my white polished metal armor I silently ask the heavens how I came to have such a brother.

We arrived at a small insignificant trading town when the sun was nearing its final trek across the sky. A stable boy tended to our horses as Daath and I wandered the market. “Look at these walking bags of filth. They should use their coin on getting a road.”
I glared at my brother. “This land is in a depression. Peasants and merchant barely make enough to feed their families. They cannot afford to accommodate your convenience.” Just then a woman carrying a basket of apples bumped into Daath.
“Watch where you walk you worm!” he cried out in anger. I could feel the eyes of those around turn our way. The fallen woman got up and handed him an apple.
“Good knight, please take this fruit as an apology for my action.” Daath bit into it and his eyes went wide. My brother spat the rotten apple chunk at her.
“First you run into me as if I am a common man here to be walked on! Now you offer me your worst selection!?” The woman shrank in fear, stammering for forgiveness.
“Daath, leave her be. I am sure she did not mean to insult you,” I said trying to calm his rising anger. He grabbed her by the shoulder and unsheathed his sword.
“This is how we deal with insult, brother!” He plunged the blade into the shrieking woman’s bosom. The merchants and pedestrians gasped and screamed. A pair of young guardsmen rushed forward. They were in rugged leather armor and wielding blades that appeared to be rusted short swords. I tried to grab onto Daath but it was too late. He moved forward to meet them. Their weak weapons did not even mark his breastplate. With a dark joyful laugh he cut the first one’s face open with a swing of his sword. The sick smile of near ecstasy on his face as he stabbed the other young man through the chest. As the guard gasped, his lungs filling with blood, Daath cleaved off his leg. I tried to tackle my brother to the ground but my attempt was futile. He dodged aside easily, eager to continue the bloodshed.
“Why Kien, you should be happy that we are cleaning up the world of these maggots!” As I chased after him, he ran across the market in a savage frenzy. Anyone that could not run fast enough was slain by his sword. I was always one step behind him, unable to prevent the innocent deaths. The carnage ended only because there was no one else for him to kill.

On my knees I saw my tears hit the ground below. “They did not deserve that,” I said through gritted teeth. Daath was leaning against his sword, proudly surveying the scene. Twenty men and women had been brutally slaughtered. I couldn’t purge the image of his happy face as he hacked them each apart. When all others had fled the area, he had turned to the corpses, attacking them until they were only mangled remains.
“Ah today is a good day,” he said gleefully.
I struck the earth with my steel fist. “Damnation upon you Daath! One of them was a priest and another was a pregnant mother!”
He smiled wider before saying, “I know, I’m so happy I was able to get to them.” I felt sick from his replies. Regardless of how many times we went through this, each added a new image to haunt me.
“Were you not my brother I would slay you where you stand…”
“The feeling is not mutual, Kien. I will kill you when you cease to amuse me.”

Luckily the stable boy was not there tending to our steeds. Riding out of the town, I swore that one day Daath would be brought to justice. If only I had the courage and strength to do it myself. The road took us deep into a forest. Stars had appeared in the now dark sky. After several hours of riding we stopped to take a break. The air was cold and it seemed too quiet. Suddenly I heard chanting in the distance. Was I dreaming again? Daath listened intently, obviously hearing the same thing. As if in a daze we both went off the path and into the trees, leaving our horses behind.

Through the gaps between the trees we gazed upon a small clearing. Five figures in deep red robes were surrounding a large rock that had something tied to it. They were barely visible in the light from the torches two of them held. The five men were the source of the chanting. Something felt terribly wrong, yet my limbs seemed to move on their own. I walked forward as they turned to face me. “Speak now of what foul activity you perform.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daath walking beside me.
The middle robed one answered, “We are performing an ancient ritual of sacrifice. Join us and feast in the power the dark gods will grant us.” At that moment they moved aside and I saw a young woman was tied to the rock, completely naked. Her mouth was gagged, but her eyes screamed her terror.
My brother rubbed his hands together eagerly, “It has been a while since I have experienced a good sacrifice.” I gave him a horrified look.
The middle cultist stepped forward. “Knight of evil, we shall give you the honor of performing the sacrifice.” I could feel the smile on Daath’s face from here.
His excitement was echoed in his words: “Thank you and praise be to your dark gods. I gladly accept your offer so that they may enchant me with their unholy gifts.”
I heard this and could take no more. “By the light I will not allow such blasphemy!” The cultists looked shocked and confused. Unsheathing my sword, I ignored whatever Daath was trying to say to me. Seeing my blade, the cultists readied their ceremonial daggers. Pushing my brother back, I launched myself forward. They lashed out with their curved blades. A few struck the skin on my face, but they mostly bounced off my white armor harmlessly. With a strong sweep of my sword I severed the nearest one’s head from his neck. Fueled with holy resolve and residing anger from the recent butchery of the trading town I struck again and again.

I was breathing hard when I sheathed my sword. Looking around, I spotted Daath standing next to the naked girl. I followed his stare and noticed that she couldn’t breathe because her neck was slit wide open. “Nicely done,” my brother said with a short applause. “You were so intent on killing those polite robed people that you haphazardly killed the girl you were trying to save.”
I glared at him darkly. “I will not believe your lies. Her lost life is added to your tally. I will take pride in the defeat of these blasphemers.” Daath shrugged and walked off. I followed him back to the road where our horses still waited.

I am in the dream again, but something is different this time. I can feel the cold stone beneath my bare back. Black nothingness is all I can see as the faint chanting fills my ears. I strain to hear what they are saying, but cannot make out any of the words. Suddenly it goes quiet and I can feel a breeze of cold air. A dim light appears in the distance. This slowly growing spot of white illumination is all I can see in the vast darkness. The light nears my face and suddenly I see the image of someone. The face is familiar, but I am having trouble recognizing it. The chanting voices suddenly whisper in unison a name. They say the name of the knight that is peering down into the darkness, gazing at my exposed soul: “Kien.”

I wake up in a cold sweat as the caw of a raven booms through the silent forest. As I sit up I see my brother do likewise. “The cry of a black bird… Our bad luck or another’s?” he asks, half joking. The sound that follows we instantly recognize: the unsheathing of a blade. Jumping to our feet, Daath and I rush into the trees towards the origin. Not far from where we had made camp we came to another small clearing. Bunched together in a small circle are three travelers and a few bodyguards. Surrounding them, at the edge of where the trees open, are two men in ragged and torn dark brown leather armor. Their faces littered with scars and their eyes looking at the group like a spider sees a fly. The travelers were a husband, wife, and daughter of moderate wealth. One could tell from the fine garments they wore, but the fact that they were traveling in the forest disproved anything greater. I looked into the dedicated and fierce eyes of the three bodyguards. I knew instantly that the thieves stood no chance.

It was then that I noticed Daath had stepped out into the clearing. All eyes turned to the newcomer in black steel armor. A thief called over to him: “Black Knight, lend us your unholy blade in our assault and we will share the spoils with you.” The thief’s voice was haggard and made me think of a rat whose throat was decaying from disease. I knew before his sinister smile the response Daath was going to give. I ran forward, unsheathing my sword, but knowing full well that I was too late.

My brother charged forward as a bodyguard’s halberd harmlessly reflected off his armor. His blade pierced through the iron breastplate to the stomach. Pulling it out with a gleeful expression, he pushed the bleeding man over. I was nearly to the fray when I saw one of the thieves nimbly dodge around a guard, planting a dagger in the back of his neck. The thief looked in my direction with sick satisfaction as I plunged my own sword into his face. Pushing with all my might I felt it go through both skull and brain. Daath moved to the remaining guard who was trying to protect the family from the second thief. As I shoved my blade into the thief’s back, Daath moved forward and cut down the guard with ease. I started to run forward to stop my brother when my vision wavered. I collapsed to the ground.

Daath helped me up as my strength returned to me. Soaking the earth with blood was the corpse of the young girl and her family. The dead thief was still lying near to me. “Both sinister and pure are dead here. As is the case with where ever we go,” I said holding back tears.
“Silence your words of righteousness. We have less then half a day of travel ahead.”
“Let us at least bury the corpses!”
“They are human. They will rot away.”

It was yet another haunting image among what felt like hundreds. We rode in silence, neither wanting to say a word to the other. I replayed in my mind the death of countless by my brother’s hand. It was nightfall when we arrived at the ruined chapel. My gut clenched tight as I knew this was the place. Dismounting, I found it strange, but I kissed my horse as if to say goodbye. The large wooden doors of the chapel entrance seemed to ward off the vanishing rays of sunlight. We entered the place where my brother had so long ago been knighted. It was here that he became a black knight.

He stood there waiting for us behind a stone altar. The lord of the black knights, the one my brother had sworn his life to. “Daath! It is good to see you once more my child. So glad am I that the dark gift has not brought to your mind the plague of chaos.” The blackest knight ignored my presence as if I was not worthy of his attention.
“Milord, you summoned me and I heard your call in the shadows. I have traveled far and brought much terror and death to the world while on my way.” At these words I saw them all again. The dying faces of those my brother murdered. The dead look of his fellow sinners that I killed. The many bodies of those we had slain. My anger rose to the heat of dragon fire. It was because of my brother that they had lost their lives. I looked at the lord of the black knights and I saw Daath. I saw the brother who I hated and yet could never hurt. This man was not my brother, but represented the evil and horror which my brother enjoyed.
“In the name of the light I will slay you, fiend!” I screamed with all the pent up rage of my soul. I don’t even remember unsheathing my sword, but there it was, pushed deep and hard into the lord of the black knights’ heart. The gray eyes of a man without purity were the last thing I saw before my world faded into darkness.

I was there, in the dream once more. Had I succeeded in taking the life of that vile man? How did I go from the act to this dream? As the times before I heard a chanting, yet this time it seemed so much closer. Still I could not see past the dark veil and still I felt my bare back on cold stone. The chanting voices spoke in unison: “Daath has slain our lord.”
I screamed out at them, “It was I, Kien, who brought an end to that unholy wretch!”
The voices continued, “We offer our prayer to the Night Gods, give this evil servant clarity. Rid this vessel of the plague… of a mind consumed in chaos…” The light in the distance suddenly appeared, moving at a rapid pace towards me. In an instant before I could scream I saw several figures staring down at me beneath large hoods. I was in the ruined chapel, still in my armor and lying on the floor. One of the robed men offered me a hand festering with boils and diseased flesh.
“Brother Daath, the curse of the dark gift has been lifted. We were too late however. You have slain the King.”
I reached my hand out to grab his, “I am not Daath, I am…” My words died when I saw the color of my gauntlet. It was black. Seeing the confusion in my face, the robed man nodded in understanding.
“Brother Daath, we the servants of the night walk a path of power. We spread evil across the lands, but must constantly fight off the plague of chaos. Should one of us succumb to it, then neither minion of light or darkness will be safe. The black knights, such as you, are known throughout the shadows as the greatest bringers of death. You are instructed upon being knighted that should you fall into insanity, to journey back here. These unholy halls, maintained by the King himself, are said to purge chaos from the mind of a black knight.”
My head felt like it was spinning. “My brother… Kien?” The robed men looked to each other hesitantly before the speaker replied.
“You killed your brother Kien, proving to our lord that you were worthy of the dark gift. Your brother was such a well known knight of good that the deed inspired waves of others to follow. The act was written in the scrolls so that all would remember.”

Saying nothing more, I slowly stood and looked to the fallen king. Taking off his crown, I slowly wiped the blood away. A beam of moonlight came through a hole in the stone wall causing a shimmer on the crown. In that moment I saw the fading face of my brother Kien and remembered all that I had done. “Yet again I set an example to be written and never forgotten. Let all those who bow their heads to the night know the strength of chaos. We of evil, just like those of light, must retain clarity. For should we fall to insanity’s plague…” I placed the crown on my head. “…then the sacrifices we have made would be for naught.”


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Short Story: "Hidden in Blood" (Dark Norseman)

This is a story with a setting heavily based on Norse "mythology". It also has a strong reference to the horrors the Christians did when they savagely tried to convert the Norse. I may expand upon this short story at another point and turn it into a full story. The setting and main characters may also be used again in other stories, hence the title "The Dark Norseman".

The Dark Norseman: Hidden in Blood

Blood gushed from the wound, the battle axe cut deep. The man fell to his knees; the axe went in his skull. Those around quickly stepped back; this foe was unlike the others of his kind. Towering over the sword brandishing guards, he held the bloody massive axe tight. They surrounded him and clearly outnumbered, yet victory seemed bleak. Another advanced, feeling heroic, and lost his head to the axe. The headless corpse collapsed on the ground as the circle stepped back once more. The giant of a man took calm breaths, not phased by the many gashes in his skin. The bodies of four men now lay dead around him. A man dressed in the clothing of royalty entered the circle. “Bjørn, renounce your pagan faith and become a child of God.” Between the long hairs that draped across his face in sweat, the berserker named Bjørn made a grim smile.
“You slay my brothers and my sisters in cold blood. You wage war against both the Asgard and Giants alike. You are not elves in the shadows or beasts of the mist. You are not even followers of Loki. Yet you come here to burn Yggdrasil and ask me to betray the All-father!” the final sentence was said in a roar of fury from the berserker as he raised his axe to the sky.

Bjørn beckoned for his companion to come closer. She moved quietly, keeping low to the ground, her simple chainmail armor barely making a noise. The berserker pointed ahead. “By the All-father…” she muttered in horror, her gaze on the place where he pointed. In front of the wooden walls were the corpses of people impaled on spears. There clearly had been no discrimination, as women, children, the young and the old, all were displayed in this gruesome manner. Carved into the flesh of each was a cross. The young woman, her eyes teary with anger, gripped her staff tightly. “The Cult of Loki hides among the Christians.”
Bjørn nodded, “We have faced worse then this, Vilde. We will find the betrayers that hide among the black-hearted.” The berserker picked up his weapons and shield, placing them in the various holsters on his heavy chainmail armor. His female companion, Vilde, drew a shape into the dirt with her staff. It was a rune, this one a prayer to Odin. The rune glowed briefly then went dull.

Two guards stood watch at the gates into the town. Each bore a halberd and bloody armor that was clearly not their own. Vilde walked slowly up to them; the hood of her cloak was drawn close to hide her face. “Halt! You approach a town now under the protection of God! Identify yourself!” one guard called out. Vilde said nothing, still walking slowly towards them. The guards looked at each other, unsure of what to do. It was a lone woman, but something about her gave them a cold shiver. They crossed their halberds to block her from entering the town. “I asked your name!” the one guard yelled. From a small cropping of trees flew a hand axe. It hit the guard in the face with such force that he was pinned to wooden wall behind him. The other guard went to cry out, but Vilde had rushed towards him, longsword unsheathed. With a sweeping strike she cut open his throat. Bjørn came over at a jog and pulled the axe from the man’s broken skull. He placed the hand axe back at his side and looked inside. No one had seen them; giving them only as long as it took for the bodies to be discovered.
“Let us inquire at the tavern while we still have time.”
Bjørn nodded, “Lead on Rune Priestess.”

The tavern was filled with loud drunkards and the floor was sticky with spilled ale. They watched as, for no reason, one man decked another. Those around cheered as the two continued to swing at the other with all their might. “These people are supposed to be mild-mannered?” Vilde said in disgust. They could feel the intoxicated stares as they approached the bar. The woman behind the counter serving the drinks put down the rag she had been using to clean a tankard.
“I don’t recognize either of you.” The bartender looked up, and then up some more, to see Bjørn’s face. “I would especially remember someone as big as you. I’d ask what you’d like to drink, but we don’t serve to pagans. Are you a child of God?” Before they could answer a drunkard stumbled out of his seat and leaned over to Vilde.
“You have… pretty long hair… long golden… reminds me of… me wife.” The Rune Priestess gave the man a sideways glance of disdain and did not respond. The swaying man continued, “She’s… she’s dead now. Wouldn’t… wouldn’t convert. S’ not right not convertin’… s’ not right.”
She couldn’t hold it back anymore and sharply replied “Better to die then to be forced to adopt a new faith!” The room suddenly went quiet and everyone felt a lot more sober. The drunken man stood at full height. Though he was no where near Bjørn’s size, he was larger then Vilde. He grabbed her arm and muttered “S’ an awful thing for such a pretty young girl to say.” She pulled away from his tight grip easily. “For such a small one there’s strength in ya!” The entire tavern focused its attention on them though Vilde looked to the woman bartender.
“We’re looking for people who claim to be part of the Cult of Loki. My companion and I have traced them to this town. Do you know where we can find them?” The bartender glared angrily and spurted out, “I knew it! Pagans! Kill the heretics!”

Bjørn had been expecting this outcome. When the drunken man accosting Vilde made another grab for her, he brought his massive fist down on his head. The shattering of the man’s spine echoes throughout the tavern. The sound of him hitting the floor was muffled by the shriek of over a dozen blades being unsheathed. Vilde looked down at the blood on the floor and saw it take the shape of a rune. “Run! Out the back! Run with the speed of Sleipnir!” she yelled. The berserker grabbed the tavern woman by the head and threw her into the crowd. Bjørn followed her over the counter and out the back door.
“Why do we flee?”
With panting breath she replied “A rune…appeared…” The berserker nodded, clearly accepting of this answer.

They came to a dead stop at the sight before them. Cast before a setting sun which set the sky aflame in orange light was the ruins of a once great shrine. It had been a marvelous structure erected for the worship of the Asgard. The stone was blackened and where there had been wood was now ash. The runes which said the names of the Gods were broken. Bjørn pushed open the large steel door and looked at his hands. The metal was still warm enough to lightly singe his hands. They stepped inside and saw among the charred rubble a dismal scene. Nearly twenty people of all ages and genders had been here when the building had burnt. Their skin and bones were black and what was left of their faces depicted horror. Vilde fell to her knees. “It looks like they died during prayer to the All-Father. The doors must have been sealed from the outside and torches thrown through the windows. They were mostly innocents, only a few warriors here…” she trailed off with tears running down her face. The berserker struck the wall, causing it to shudder.
“They were not even allowed an honorable death. May Odin allow them entrance to Valhalla, despite the means of their demise.” He kicked aside some rubble, revealing a blood stained floor. “Vilde, seek out the All-Father’s wisdom. I do not think the townsfolk will aid us.” She nodded and prepared a small area for her ritual. As she worked, Bjørn looked out through where the ceiling used to be to the enveloping darkness. “May Thor strike them with all the fury he saves for Jormungand.”

Bjørn slowly paced around the ruined inside of the shrine. He had left Vilde to her ritual nearly two hours ago. While she meditated, seeking the wisdom of Odin, the berserker cleared his mind. Staring at the runic shapes on the walls, he didn’t hear her approach. “These runes tell the stories of our people. The one before us tells of when Odin hung himself from Yggdrasil, pierced by his spear Gugnir. The All-Father did this so that he could understand pain. He took the runes from the World Tree and shared with us their wisdom.”
“Did you find where the Cult of Loki hides?”
Vilde nodded in response. Her tired eyes were nearly hidden by the long golden hair that fell across her face.
Bjørn looked back at the runes on the wall. “The Christians know we are here in town, yet they have not searched this place.”
“Heimdall watches over us from Bifrost. During my divination I saw the Norns. I asked them for their aid and Skuld stepped forward. She showed me a tunnel near here that goes under the wall. The cult uses it to leave the town under guise of night. They gather nearby in the forest. It is there that they meet with the Giant which lords over their sect. Skuld showed me that at this very moment they are congregating.”
The berserker picked up his axe which leaned against the fire stained wall. “Let us strike like Mjollnir upon them and be done with this corrupted land.”

It was night, which made it easier for them to make it to the entrance undetected. It was only a matter of moments before they saw the torch fire of the gathering cultists. Bjørn readied his massive axe while Vilde exchanged her staff for the longsword sheathed at her side. They could hear the low chanting which grew louder as they approached. They were close enough to make out robed figures standing together in a circle. Bjørn counted about sixteen of them, though more could be hidden near-by. The language of their chant was dark and twisted; it could only be the tongue of Giants. Even Vilde, who had been raised first as a scholar, only was able to catch the mentioning of the God of Trickery’s name: Loki. Before they could take another step forward the circle broke in a rush. The robed cultists all turned to face them. The berserker took a deep breath and was about to rush them when Vilde calmly stepped forward. “Cult of Loki, we, the followers of the Asgard, have come to slay you.” Bjørn stood there confused; by Hel, what was she doing? The Rune Priestess continued, “Yet when I approached the town in which you hide I did not see only the loyal of Asgard impaled upon those spears. I saw the Norse there. Both those who follow the Gods and those who follow the Giants hung there desecrated. In my vision when I spoke to the Norns, they told me more then where you gather. They told me that these Christians would bring about a Ragnarok in which no one would be reborn.”

As one voice, the sixteen cultists spoke, “We too have foreseen this outcome. Mimir spoke to us and it is through his wish that we were led here.” The cultists suddenly looked about one another in confusion. They spoke again in an eerie unison, “The Frost Giant who leads us in Loki’s will has not arrived. We must seek his wisdom on this matter.” Vilde knelt down and drew into the dirt with the point of her sword. She traced out the patterns for several runes; each which glowed briefly once completed. When the light of the last one dimmed, a glazed look went over her eyes. In a trance like state she said “The Giant is in danger.”

The roar which thundered across the sky and the crash which shook the ground told them the outcome before they arrived. The Frost Giant was lying on the ground, a deep blue liquid pouring across its translucent ice blue body from the spear wounds. The Christian soldiers cheered at their victory. The cultists stood there in the shadows of the trees; their faces were petrified in horror. Bjørn stood there gazing at the dead Giant. He had slain many of its kind across the years, for they were the enemies of the Asgard. Yet now, seeing the large man-beast there struck him differently. The berserker realized that it was no longer a battle between men, Gods, and Giants. It was now the Norse versus the world.

The cheer of the soldiers died as a bestial roar echoes across the landscape. From out of the shapes charged a living machine of muscles and rage. He ran forward, his war cry unending, with a massive two handed axe raised to strike. The Christian soldiers stared at him and were paralyzed. It seemed like a nightmare, more frightening then the battle against the Frost Giant. When the berserker brought his axe down, severing the nearest man into two bloody pieces, the dream state broke. Bjørn moved on to the next, who raised his shield to block the strike. The axe went through both his shield and arm. As he started to scream, the berserker bent down and used his momentum to shoulder check the man in the chest. The soldier’s ribs cracked, piercing into his heart and lungs. Another soldier ran to him, swinging a long sword and missing horribly. Like an elegant and deadly dancer, Bjørn twisted around to make a diagonal swing upwards, ripping open the man’s chest despite his armor. The berserker then brought the axe down with such force that the weapon pinned the dead man to the ground. The remaining soldiers advanced with swords and spears ready. Breathing heavily, Bjørn looked to the sky. He felt more then just adrenaline pumping through his veins. He felt overpowering ecstasy with each life he took. It was the gift Odin gave to His berserkers.

He left his axe buried in the corpse, instead reaching to his sides. Bjørn took out a sword in each hand. The soldiers looked at each other then charged. The berserker attacked with pure fury, making no attempt to defend himself. The Christian blades cut his skin, pierced his chainmail, and opened bloody wounds. As they cut and stabbed him, he gave each of his own sword blows all his might. Limbs went flying in an orgy of gore. They would slash his arm as he would sever their heads. Bjørn felt no pain from their strikes, being slowed down by neither exhaustion nor blood loss. The number of Christian soldiers thinned rapidly. The final one looked to his right and left, noticing that he was indeed the last of his fellows standing. The panting berserker, covered in sweat, his own blood, and the blood of those he killed, raised both blades in an ‘x’ shape. With one swift motion he beheaded the last soldier.

Bjørn fell to his knees, dropping both blades which were now dulled from use. Vilde ran over to him from the trees, a look of awe and fear apparent on her face. Leaning down next to him, she helped the berserker lay down. “Never before have I seen one of the All-Father’s warriors in action. You served Odin well, but it is not your time to go to the halls of Valhalla.” Using the blood on his body, she drew several runes on his skin. The runes bubbled and vanished. As the last one disappeared, the wounds on Bjørn’s body closed. “Odin gave us the runes not only so we could learn, but so we could live,” she whispered into his ear. The berserker stood up slowly, his muscles aching and body still sore from being cut and pierced.

The cultists bowed in unison. Vilde gazed over them all and said “We travel to each land to slay the Giants loyal to Loki. Since the one here is dead, there is no reason for us to fight. Christian reinforcements will be arriving in the area soon and we must leave.” A single cultist stepped forward and spoke for the whole, “We thank you warriors for avenging our loss. We will stay here and hide among the Christians. They will find the number of people in town slowly dwindling as citizens mysteriously vanish. May Loki spare you in Ragnarok.”

Bjørn was deep in thought as they walked. After a while he finally said “I fear that elves plague my mind, as little makes sense and all seems to deceive.” Vilde looked over at him.
“What do you mean?”
He looked ahead; “At first it was simple. We slay the Giants, for they promise death to the Asgard at Ragnarok. Loki was the fiend around every corner...”
The Rune Priestess nodded and added: “Then come the Christians. They burn and massacre what they can’t convert.” They walked in silence for a few minutes before Vilde spoke again.
“Odin shall guide us. We will stop the Cult of Loki from starting the Fibulwinter.” Bjørn stopped and gripped his two handed axe tightly.
“Even in the endless cold we shall hunt down all those who threaten the Asgard! Be them Giant, dragon, or man they will fall by my axe!”

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