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 Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 3:43 pm
Chapter XIX Heimdall rode across the plain aback his horse, Gulltoppr. Together they raced at Loki, but my vision was torn in two, half watching this development, while also enticed by the hound dog of Hel, Garm, who now attacked the one handed god of war, Tyr. Garm, saliva foaming from his dark mouth, bounded after the god of single combat and heroic glory. Tyr lost his hand when Fenris was fettered, thus making it much more difficult for him to fight. Tyr was called the Leavings of the Wolf because of when his hand was bitten off, and ever since then, he has fought with only his sword, not able to use a shield. They squared off, circling and testing each others limits. Loki fought the guardian of the gods for a very long time, the two locked in mortal combat for what seemed like an eternity. Swords clashed with a long and loud ting! sound. Sparks flew from the two blades, the force driving the weapons so fierce that it started fires from those sparks. Heimdall reached out, connecting a wild right hook which was meant more to disorientate than anything else. Loki shook his head, but before he could attack Heimdall was there, planting a boot to his chest. The Trickster, which was another name for Loki, flew backwards, crashing to the ground. Heimdall was on him in a flash. *** Meanwhile, over on the other side of my attention, Tyr lashed out with his sword as the guardian dog of Hel, dancing in a circle. Tyr thrust forward, his blade finding nothing but thin air, Garm sidestepping easily. That hound dog of the undead came down hard, teeth bared, ready to latch on to Tyr’s only remaining hand. Tyr jumped to the side, slashing down with his sword, barely connecting to the side of the guardian dog. This might take awhile. *** Heimdall stabbed down, hoping to end this short feud before he was injured severely. Heimdall, the Ram as he was also known, knew all too well the prophecy and what role he played. One might ask why is it that they forever contend in vain, especially when every other vision the Seeress had has come true. I can only surmise that he felt as we all did, as we all were as one here in our last stand, that they simply could not be permitted to win under any circumstance. His attack touched nothing but air, and from that thrust he stumbled, nearly hitting the ground. His right foot dragged, and he used that momentum to plant his left and spin back to balance. Loki scampered to his feet, trying to take advantage of the situation. The Trickster parried an off balance blow from the guardian of the gods, Heimdall, countering with a fierce succession of fast and relatively decent powered offenses. Heimdall sidestepped, still partially disorientated from the stumble and his now defensive state. The guardian pirouetted, slicing multiple times in a continuous spin. Loki turned into his own tornado like spin, blade extended. Their weapons clashed, sparks flying again. *** Garm snarled, growling at Tyr through clenched teeth. He shook his head, bounding towards the one armed god of single combat and of glorious heroism, anxious to end his fight. His jaws snapped, saliva flinging from the hound dog of Hel’s jowls. Garm, greatest of all dogs, was but inches away from teeth clenching on to Tyr’s only arm. Tyr leapt backwards, amply flying through the air, desperately trying to avoid his certain demise. This god lashed out with his sword, touching but only the tip of the snout of that mighty dog. Thus they went on, back and forth, recklessly not caring for anyone else’s life, Garm crushing many underneath his massive paws. Tyr, while not being massive enough to flatten anyone as the canine could, knocked over and knocked out well more than his share. *** The White God, as Heimdall was known, struck out with his sword, a blood red line now painted across the chest of Loki. With a flick of the wrist, the horizon of crimson was now crossed by a straight vertical line. Heimdall held the blade at his side, still dripping wet with blood. A small puddle began to form beneath the point. Loki glanced down at his chest, his tunic now ripped open. His hand slid open, clutching the crossed lines that he now bled from. His right hand moved to his sword, now sheathed, while his left remained on his sternum. The sheathe was on his left hip, and he hid his actions by doubling over, hoping to catch Heimdall off his guard. Grinning his wretched smile, Loki threw his previously doubled over chest up, snatching the sword out and slicing across the chest of Heimdall in an arced curve. The White God hopped backwards, right hand still grasping the hilt of his sword, left hand now on his own wound. Heimdall shook his head, eyes narrowing, his right hand tightening all the more around his sword. The Guardian of the Gods jumped forward, thrusting forth with his blade, digging the point into the stomach of the Trickster, burying the steel all the way to the silver guard above the hilt. The sword protruded from the back, slightly to the side of the spine, red liquid pouring down, staining the blade second by second. Loki coughed, blood spewing from each exhale. His words were laced with crimson, “Damn you and all of your nine mothers…” Heimdall extracted the blade, pivoting as he stepped forward, stepping out with his right foot and swinging his sword through the air, hoping to connect to skin and sever the neck. CLASH! Sparks flew as Loki, still clutching his stomach, threw his sword up, blocking the White God’s attack. His parry stopped but inches before his head would have flown. Loki’s blade was crossing Heimdall’s, forming an X shape close to his shoulder, even closer to his throat. Loki shot up, kicking the Guardian of the God in the chest and sending him flying backwards. The Trickster grasped the sword, twirling his wrist as the blade danced in a circle, both hands flying to the hilt, one hand resting just below the pommel. With both hands now, Loki plunged the sword into Heimdall’s stomach, the blade going straight through his body and into the ground below. He ripped it out, twisting his wrist again, now trying to dislocate the Guardian of the God’s head. Heimdall thrust the heel of his boot into the knee of Loki, shattering it under the pressure of his kick. He rolled back to his shoulders, placing his hands back behind him on either side of his neck, temporarily dropping the sword. He pushed up, kicking out with both legs and landing on his feet. They squared off once more, Loki thrusting with his sword. Heimdall side stepped, rolling along the out stretched arm. At the end of his spin, the White God drove the end of the sword, the pommel, into Loki’s lower back, specifically into the spine. The Trickster shivered, rising to the balls of his feet, eyes falling to his side. His face drained of color, his head twitching slightly, neck gone stiff. Loki fell to his knees, head bowed. The blow to his back had partially paralyzed him, only retaining feeling in the hand that held his sword and that was only just barely. Blood spilled from his stomach, and he fell backwards, blade now pointing upwards. Heimdall held the blade at Loki’s neck, ready to plunge the point through the Trickster’s throat. The Guardian of the God drew back his sword, but not before Loki threw his blade into Heimdall, the point going under the rib cage and into the heart. The White God collapsed, falling over to the right of Loki, his sword piercing the lung. When Heimdall hit the ground, he rolled over to his right, hand slowly letting loose of the hilt. And there it was, on the bloodied battlefield Vigrid that the Trickster god Loki finally met his end, as did the Guardian of the Gods, the Son of Nine Mothers. I was sad to see Heimdall go, but Loki… well it could not have come soon enough for me. *** Tyr grinned, bloodthirsty as ever. If there ever was an Ás who yearned for combat, it was him. The God of Heroic Glory, the Leavings of the Wolf, ducked under the tail of Garm, who whipped that appendage around, trying to level Tyr. Before he could counter with an offensive of his own, the hound dog of Hel’s jaws snapped around, forcing Tyr to sidestep and duck once more. Tyr darted forward, running a line down the side of the great black beast. The canine howled, much akin to the sound Fenris made as Odin fought against the wolf. He was sick with delight, anxious for this fight. His blade point danced designs of intricate lace work along the belly of the hound dog of Hel. Saliva and spittle flew from the jowls of the canine, but judging from the ferocity in Garm’s eyes, it might as well have been the poison from the Midgard Serpent’s fangs. Garm’s ears pressed back against the beast’s skull, teeth and fangs bared. His mouth shot forward, wide open, head cocked to the side. The jaws closed around Tyr, pressing into the breastplate armor that covered his torso. Tyr roared, hefting his sword and driving his fist into the top of the watch dog of Hel right between the eyes. Garm howled, dropping Tyr, who rolled out and onto the ground, landing on his handless arm. CRACK! The forearm snapped under his weight and the pressure from the fall. He winced, slowly rising to his feet. He bent down, picking up his fallen sword. Garm tried to take the advantage presented to the dog, bounding forward to snap his immense jaws, this time aiming for the head. He had decided once and for all that he would end this fight by bighting off the war god’s skull. Tyr stood groggily; slightly unaware of what was going on. He shook his head, blinking his eyes. The Ás tried to rub his eyes, temporarily forgetting that his arm ended in a stump and that it was broken. He screamed, eyes widening as the white lightning of pain that shot through his brain. He didn’t realize where he was, or what the drooling canine was doing hovering over him. When he finally understood what was happening, it was almost too late. Garm, the hound dog of Hel, cocked his head to the side as he threw his jaws open, ready to devour the Ás, one of the Gods of War. Tyr understood his fate, shoving his blade straight through the breast bone and into the heart, driving the sword through the heart. He let go, clutching his arm in that last split second before the guardian watch dog of Hel closed his jowls around the God of Heroic Glory. The blood spewing headless cadaver that was once one of the Æsir fell to his knees, before the torso collapsed forward, crashing into the ground. Garm died before it even had a chance to enjoy the meal it just had. *** Deep below the roots of Yggdrasil, trouble began to stir. The serpents that fed upon the roots, gnawing and gnashing, began to slither out of their dwellings. Nidhogg himself took to flight, beating his black wings as he soared to the final resting place of so many warriors. They were all heading to that same place, Asgard, specifically the plain Vigrid. Who knows what their evil intent was, but it most certainly was not going to be good for most of us?
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Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 3:45 pm
* Just so everyone knows and is clear, I will explain a few of these things. First, Ás is the singular form of AEsir, which is the plural.
Other than that, if you are confused about something, ask and I shall tell.
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Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 5:46 pm
*nods* we are our own worst enemies, after all.
Ooh, new chapter! *stores*
I need to get reading...
*sigh* and writing. But first, Geometric proofs await...
help!
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Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 7:15 pm
Chapter XX I stared at the fire giant across the open field, about a league away now. Leif gripped his sword, as did Randgrid. She looked absolutely stunning, her long flowing hair dancing in the soft breeze from Hraesvelgr, the giant who transformed into an eagle and whose wings create all wind. I glanced down at my own sword, Laevatinir, placed in a side scabbard that I had wore specifically for my final battle, and then back to the fire giant. I bowed my head, listening for my fylgja, hoping that its soft midnight wings would grace my ears, letting me know that it was with me always. The tell tale caw warmed my heart, and I smiled, ready for the fight ahead. I placed my hands on their arms, and nodded. With lightning quick moves, I ripped the sword from its sheathe, racing forward, Laevatinir at the ready. I crossed the threshold almost instantaneously, faster even than when I had drawn my sword. Leif and Randgrid were on my side, flanking me. When I got within a few feet, no more than ten, of the Jotun, they spread out, forming a triangle – a trifecta of dangerous force. “Who are you giant?” I said, staring intently at him, the three of us circling around him. He was large, maybe about seven or eight feet tall. Thick and broad, this Jotun was going to be a force to be reckoned with. “My name is Gunnlor, but that is none of your business you filthy little Einharjar… Well, of course m’lady… well no, you are none better Valkyrie.” His words were as thick as the venom from Jormungandr’s jaws. I glared, hatred brimming to my very eye sockets. My hands tightened on their grip on the hilt of my sword, Laevatinir. I stopped, as did Leif and my Valkyrie lover, Randgrid. Once more we formed a triangle around our adversary who stood facing me, full frontal. He glared back, just as grim faced as I. My eyes wandered to Randgrid, then to Leif, trying to get their attention. When they finally met my looks, I signaled for them to attack on my cue. At that, I stepped forward, swinging wide and in a beautiful arc, the offense more to test him than to do any real damage. Gunnlor stepped forward, parrying with his axe and lashing out with the double bladed axe. I had to duck under the weapon, sliding forward and thrusting up with my sword. When the Jotun attacked, Randgrid and Leif were actually so surprised they had forgotten to attack, and it wasn’t until my second advance on Gunnlor that they came back to their senses and began their own offensive measures. Leif swung straight down over his head, hoping to bury his sword into the skull of the fire giant, though because of the angle it would have been a strange and difficult task to accomplish. Randgrid, who was at a diagonal from Gunnlor’s back left side, swung her side much like I had in my first attack, wide and straight out though instead of my arcing assault. If her blow could connect, the Jotun would find a sword dug almost to his spine if not farther along. Alas, none of these advances were lucky enough to connect. For a creature of his stature, he was a nimble thing. Gunnlor had managed to continue his attack, but instead turning it into a blocking move. Then he spun, furthering his defensive maneuver, throwing his axe up and bouncing Leif’s sword off and away. He finished by bending over the Valkyrie’s attack and planting his hand over the sword, cart wheeling over the swinging blade. He returned to his feet, finishing out the stylish move. The fire giant, the Son of Muspell, definitely had a degree of finesse about him. Randgrid stood, astonished, but Leif was not so hesitant. When his blade was knocked backwards, he let the blade fly back over his head, pivoting with his back foot, swinging the blade down then in an almost equally agile maneuver, he continued, the momentum gaining as he angled the blade upwards and across, this time in an attempt to sever the spinal cord of the Jotun. Gunnlor would not have that though, rolling forward, hefting his huge axe in but one hand, something neither Leif nor I could have done. His right arm shot out, the axe all but sure to connect to the right arm of his assailant. Leif was surprised yet again, but he hopped backwards, avoiding the blow by mere inches. I, however, was ready for another attack. When Gunnlor rolled forward, he placed himself literally at my feet. Without a moment to lose, I kicked him square in the chin, sending him sprawling backwards at the boots of my brother in arms; the fire giant would have barreled him over had he not already jumped back. Leif spun his sword, ready to plunge it straight down and end the fight now if he could. Gunnlor, now on his back, held his axe in both hands just over his torso, spinning the axe in a flat gyrating, circular, and clockwise motion. I stared, eyebrow raised, wondering just what it was that he hoped to accomplish by this. Then I understood. The fire giant attempted to cut Leif’s legs clean off. Leif didn’t have time to move, and consequently suffered severe cuts to both shins. He fell backwards, a cry of pain slipping from his lips, completely uncharacteristic of him. I gasped, wanting to run over to his side, but I thought about it quickly. The wounds were not fatal, he would survive. The best thing for me to do was to end this feud as quickly as possible. I swung Laevatinir over my head, hoping to have this done and over with now. He rolled, the axe back in his right hand only, rising to his feet. I returned my sword to an offensive stance, blade pointed diagonally at the ground to my right side, both hands on the hilt. He glared, realizing that he had the upper hand. His hands tightened on the handle, ready to attack. He held the axe up, in an offensive stance. I’m not too familiar with axes, maces and the like, but I assumed it to be an offensive positioning. His left leg was out, not quite straight, knee bent. His right leg formed an L shape to his other appendage, toe pointing at a ninety degree angle away from the body. I readied myself, eyes faltering only once, to glance at Randgrid and Leif. She was inspecting his wounds, and I could tell from here the gashes were deep. I knew he would be fine though, especially as she helped him to his feet. My gaze returned to the fire giant before me. He stepped forward, launching a devastating series of blows, one after the other, all aimed at my head and or chest. I dodged and side stepped, as desperately trying to avoid these assaults as he so desperately tried to have them contact and connect. I finally jumped to the side, landing lightly on the balls of my feet, coming down on my heels as agile and smooth as an elf. I launched a counter as soon as the opportunity arose; Gunnlor lashed a harsh blow, one I narrowly avoided. I swung my sword in the same direction, knocking it away with extra momentum and force, using it to pirouette and finish my attack by slicing a deep gash into his right arm, one that was sure to leave a scar if by chance he survived long enough for the wound to heal. Sadly, I was not as prepared for what was to come next as that attack. Leif had managed to return to his feet, and launched his own assault. When I struck Gunnlor’s axe, I added my own momentum to it, and as Gunnlor swung around his axe finally struck home, in the belly of my brother in arms, my comrade, Leif. The wound cut deep, not quite severing in half, but certainly a deadly mortal injury. One so deep and dangerous that there was no possible way even the most skilled and able of clerics or healers could do a thing to aide him. I rushed to his side, ignoring Gunnlor. It was a code of honor thing, never to strike a man who was tending to a dying friend. Whether we agreed or not, our viewpoints far different, it was a well respected and upheld tradition. So deep were the roots of this rule, that if I had witnessed one of my own comrades breaking it, I would have killed him myself. Before he could mutter a word, his eyes went blank, and I closed them with my fingertips gently. I lay his head down slowly, and then rose, turning to face the fire giant. My brother’s, through time and experience and friendship, blood covered my hands, still warm and wet from his abdominal region. My eyes narrowed as I wiped the blood off on my tunic. I was reluctant to do so, thinking maybe, just maybe that I was wiping him from my life when I did that. I had to though, for if I didn’t, I could not wield my blade. Laevatinir called out to me, and although it was a simple weapon not enchanted, I could feel it yearning for revenge. Maybe that was just my rationalization, but it certainly felt that way. I leaned over and picked up my sword, having dropped it as I rushed to Leif. It felt hot in my right hand, burning almost. That might have been the blood, for I could not get it all off. I grasped the hilt as tight as I could, my knuckles going white from the exertion. Before I could think of or formulate a plan, I attacked. Furiously I swiped at the fire giant, a barrage of sword thrusts and swings. He blocked equally as fast, and those that he could not parry, he dodged. I continued my blitz, never hesitating, never relenting. I would kill him, for Leif, for my family, for all the lives that he had ended. I did not even realize what had happened until it was too late. Randgrid had moved behind him, and while he was preoccupied with surviving the volley of assaults I laid on him, she had spun, sinking to the ground, one knee on the ground, the other bent tight, heel touching thigh. My Valkyrie had sliced both of his tendons at the back of his ankles, essentially felling the creature. When he had winced, I thought I had struck the Jotun, but I was wrong. In my false rejoice, I sliced and diced that much more furiously, blow after blow finally connecting to the fire giant. He slipped over Randgrid, falling to the ground and landing hard on his spine. I tripped over her as well, flying through the air and landing atop of my adversary. My sword plunged through his ribcage and into his heart, stopping it cold. I rose slowly, leaving my sword inside of the fire giant’s corpse. Let Nidhogg have his soul, to gnaw on eternally as the dragon chewed on the root of Yggdrasil. Randgrid, my Valkyrie, rose as well, coming to my side and placing a hand on my shoulder. I turned and took her right hand, which was on my right shoulder, with my left. Finally I was able to grieve for Leif, and the tears flew freely. She turned, placing her hands on my cheeks and pulling me close to her. I held her close, staring into her eyes. She wiped away the rivers of grief that ran down my cheeks. I smiled and said, “He has moved on to a better place... he will be reunited with his family..." My voice trailed off, watching her eyes. They were on the verge of spilling, and I wrapped my arms tightly around her, pulling her head to mine with my hand. Fire. A sharp and fiery pain shot into my lower right side. I stepped back and felt down; blood. My eyes wandered, first to my hands, then slowly up. The first thing I noticed was the crimson stains on his battle skirt, and they appeared fresh. Then I spotted something shiny and silver... no, iron. It took me a minute to realize what it was; an arrow.
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Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 7:22 pm
GASP!
Kirby skimmed while she copy-pasted. COOL!
This looks really good. All these names are confusing, though...who is Loki again?
ToS, thank you--I know half of these words already. Heimdall, Asgard, Yggdrasill...woot.
keep it up!
Kirby has...46k? About to be more. heart
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Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 7:34 pm
KirbyVictorious GASP! Kirby skimmed while she copy-pasted. COOL! This looks really good. All these names are confusing, though...who is Loki again? ToS, thank you--I know half of these words already. Heimdall, Asgard, Yggdrasill...woot. keep it up! Kirby has...46k? About to be more. heart If you don't watch out I might catch up, I've typed 4k words today and I'm not stopping... Loki is the main bad guy, a trickster who causes more harm than good. I mentioned him in the very first paragraph of the novel. Right now I'm typing a prologue, which will explain a few things. Like what a fylgja is and more. I need to type it now or the rest won't make sense.
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Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 8:34 pm
3nodding
I figured Loki was evil. From the beginning, though I didn't really get why...
meh. I'll figure it out. The last few chapters are more clear than ever before...I think it started with the Three Fates, when I finally understood things ^^
words: 239k! woot!
oh wait...wrong document.
47k! YES! considering I have to be in bed in a half-hour *grumbles*
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 1:58 pm
Added Prologue, 42,528 words as I speak...
which means I only need 7473 words to finish. This is SO mine. I AM going to win this.
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 2:27 pm
LOL I totally forgot to post Chapter XII so.. here it is: Chapter XIII Back at my house, I sharpened and shined my weapons one by one. In the sparse amount of light, the silver from my knives and various other blades warmed my soul. I was at peace, these repetitive tasks keeping my mind off the war drums. It was soothing, rubbing the rags over the blades until they glowed like slivers of silver moonlight. Oh how I missed Mani. Everything I would need tomorrow for the war of wars was laid out on my table. They glistened and glimmered in the luminance – knives, swords, axes, even the tips of my arrows. My shield hung from a peg on the wall, illuminated from the fading light. I stood in the radiance, turning slowly in a circle. There were blades everywhere, and I knew them all. I had stories and tales of each, how all of them had once saved my life or from certain defeat. I hadn’t quite decided on everything I was taking, though I knew that several of them would have to go with me such as my sword, Laevatinir; this time my shield would be essential to my survival. I would take my bow and quiver, just in case I had the need to attack anything from a distance. Maybe to drop a giant or some other would be assailant before either of us was within striking distance. A knock on my door brought me back to Earth, and I turned to answer it. Turning the knob, a figure emerged from the darkness. First an outline, then the shape came forth, and kissed me. Her silver hair fell all around me, and I took her by the hand and led her inside. I pulled up a chair for her and a stool for me, sitting down slowly so that we could talk. Pushing aside my weaponry so we might have a place to set down drinks or anything else if we so chose to get up and make it. For a couple hours we just talked, I told her of my trip and what all we had seen. She informed me that Odin noticed we were gone, and had to stop Thor from killing us. Frigg spoke up, saying of our intentions and where we were headed. Odin sighed and sat back down, shaking his head. He permitted our absence, and we were pardoned for our treasonous acts. I grinned because we had gotten away with it. I grinned because she was with me. I grinned because I was at peace for now. If tomorrow I was going to die then so be it. Tonight would be a night to remember… *** Odin stepped off his mighty eight legged horse, Sleipnir, taking a few long strides towards the well. He was at Mimir’s well, trying to gain all the knowledge he could before this war. Staring down into the dark stone well, he began to think deeply. He pulled a chalice from a cloth sack and dipped it into the water. Taking a long drink, the All Father started to understand everything. After conversing with Mimir’s well through drink, he sat back under the tree, the same tree from whence he hung for nine days. It wasn’t the same spot, but he hung from the Yggdrasil tree, the same from where he sat now. After hours of thought and contemplation, he returned to his noble steed, racing back to Valhalla. He glanced up above the roof, to the goat and stag that stood up there. The stag, Eikthyrnir was nibbling on the leaves of the Yggdrasil tree. The goat was called Heidrun, and he too nibbled on the trees leaves. Odin walked into his quarters, and stared at his armor. In a matter of hours, he would don this armor and lead his men to war. The armor was golden, as was everything in this section of Valhalla. A cold wet and soft muzzle pressed itself to his hand. A split second later another nose pressed against his other hand. He glanced down through his only eye to his wolves, Geri and Freki. He petted them softly, rubbing their fur simultaneously. The Val Father smiled down to the canines and turned to his bed. Rest he needed, for at least an hour or two before the battle. That still left plenty of time to assemble the troops and march them to Vigrid. *** I smiled at her as I drifted into sleep. It was a peaceful dream of happiness and tranquility.
I stood on the edge of the cliff, staring down into an abyss. I spread my arms, and leapt off, plummeting into the darkness. As I fell, I slowly began to change shape. First it was my arms as the transformed into wings, far too small to support my weight. Then my legs turned into tail feathers. My body shrank into the soft black feathered body of a crow. The scaly legs popped out, and last my head transfigured into a beaked miniature. I was a bird, a crow, and I could fly.
Soaring over the land, I crossed a plain. Glancing down I could see a war going on. I circled a few times, peering down with my superb vision to try and understand what was going on. I could make out Odin, then Thor, and then Surt. This plain was Vigrid; this battle was Ragnarok. I dropped a couple hundred feet and circled a few more times before I saw myself. I was a damn good fighter. I laughed as Leif and I fought, shouting out numbers to each other – our kill count. That sounded like something we would do.
Then an arrow pierced my left shoulder, I screamed out in pain, breaking it off and attacking that elf. I drove my sword into his stomach, letting him slowly bleed to death. I glanced about and I was by myself, surrounded by the enemy – the elves; giants, both frost and fire; and some of the other creatures like trolls and dwarves. I leaned back and yelled a mighty war cry, then dove at the nearest Jotun. Another arrow pierced my body, and another. I was turned into a human pin cushion. I dropped to my knees, mouth hanging open. Blood trickled down my chin and I stared down at my chest. I broke off one of the arrows that had punctured my sternum and then stood up. I roared one last time, and then threw my sword at the largest giant. It plunged through his chest, and I collapsed.
That was when I noticed I couldn’t fly anymore. I plummeted to the ground, flapping with my arms for I had transformed back into my true human form. I landed in my body, not on top of it but actually falling through it and taking the corpse’s place. With my last dying breath, I whispered, “Aeternum vale…”I awoke startled. Seemed I was doing that a lot recently. I climbed out of bed and dressed. As I was pulling on my pants, a horn sounded. Heimdall’s horn, Gjallarhorn, blared through the small house. Randgrid jumped out of bed and threw her clothes on in a blur. We were both in a daze, but we dressed and I slipped my sword in his sheath, sliding it on my back. My bow I attached to its leather strap with a clip. That way it wouldn’t move when I ran, and would slip out with a gentle yet firm tug. My shield I strapped to my left arm, not too tight so the leather wouldn’t chafe, but not too loose so as to lose movement capabilities. She raced out, giving me a kiss before she did. She had to return to her lodgings and gather her equipment as fast as possible. We would meet up on the battlefield… that is what I told myself to stay sane. I did not want to be worrying about her all day during the battle. She would be ok… I hope. We fell in line, Leif at my left shoulder in the next squad. I glanced at him and nodded, then turning my head straight forward, shoulders back, arms at my sides. We marched as one, four hundred and thirty two thousand men. The world itself seemed to shake under our feet. I could see the armies of Elves, Dwarves, and other various creatures to either side of me. We were fighting against extinction, and if we lost then we will have lost to a valiant cause. Odin led us, on the back of his eight legged horse Sleipnir, adorned in his magnificent golden armor, Gungnir in his right hand. That spear inspired fear in all of his enemies… all of them save one. As we neared the plain, I could see the Jotun army cresting a hill, maybe 20 leagues away. Even at that distance, I could make out the monstrosities that had arrived. Jormungandr, the Midgard Serpent, slithered towards us. Fenris bounded towards Odin specifically, destined to get back at him for his deception. Hel’s army marched along side the Sons of Muspell, while Hrym and the frost giants ornamented his other side. Staring a head of me, I saw several of the gods tense up, Tyr, Frey, Heimdall, Magni and Modi, Vali, and several others. These gods were fixing to fight some of the most horrible of creatures. These people were about to lose their lives or their loved ones. I knew how they felt. *** I watched as the Einharjar, the Valkyries, the Æsir and the Vanir came into sight. They weren’t as fearsome as we were led to believe. Glancing to my side, I saw the mighty Jormungandr, eyes fixed intently on the red headed Thor, one of if not the strongest god. They were going to fight a most magnificent duel. Alas, neither would walk away. I saw the traitorous elves and dwarves who refused to side with us. We would show them no mercy. I would personally crush their skulls under my might gauntlet. I gripped my hand tight around the handle of my axe, the hatred burning in my eyes. I wanted to break out into a sprint right now, racing forward and dropping my axe into the skulls of every last one of those vermin. *** Both armies reached the edges of Vigrid at the same time. This plain was one hundred and twenty leagues in all directions, so the armies were one hundred and twenty leagues away from us right now. The two massive armies paused – over a million creatures staring their adversaries down. Both militias spread out, more horizontal than they were when they marched. Surt, The Black God, raised Laevateinn, the light blazing from it bright enough to light the entire battlefield. Odin stared him down and raised Gungnir. Thor stood before Jormungandr; Tyr paired off against Garm – the hound dog of Hel, who guarded the entrance. Heimdall glared at Loki, and they raised their swords to each other. Fenris moved forward and took his stance against Odin, while Surt pointed Laevateinn to Frey, the previous owner of that sword. Frey was surprised to see his own sword raised against him, and it was at that moment that he realized what he had done. Everyone seemed to pair off against another, and as fate would have it, Gunnlor stood before our faithful hero. Gunnlor glared at him out of his long brewing hatred for mankind, and our hero glowered back for all he had lost – his wife, his sons, his whole life. They were both determined to win this war. The sky burned blood red, the only light emanating from Laevateinn. It danced red, orange, yellow, and black. The myriad of colors inspired as though from a muse, a painting of epic proportions. A soft wind gusted through the empty plain, and as if on cue, Heimdall blew his horn. Either army’s drummers sounded off their beats, while the horns blasted through the emptiness. A cacophony of Hel ended that preternatural silence once and for all. Odin looked back at his army and over his shoulder he bellowed, “Men, we have trained for this day for countless years. Today we fight ‘til death, TONIGHT WE DINE IN HEL!”
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 3:29 pm
.................now, Kirby's confused.
what number is that again? (in english)
48k! which is good, because I have CRAPLOADS of homework X.x
heeelp...
toomuchtodotoomuchtodo...religion and spanish and more spanish and english...
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 4:22 pm
KirbyVictorious .................now, Kirby's confused. what number is that again? (in english) 48k! which is good, because I have CRAPLOADS of homework X.x heeelp... toomuchtodotoomuchtodo...religion and spanish and more spanish and english... Right now I'm on 21, the one I missed was chapter 13. I'm at 43k and steadily climbing ahead, I just might take off school tomorrow to finish.
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 4:58 pm
I have..........
...precisely 2k words to write.
But I have to finish my English hoemwork first *sigh*
I hate homework.
I really should get on reading this, it looks so good! good luck!
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 6:32 pm
Chapter XXI I cried out, shouts of disbelief in vain. She stared at me, coughing as a miniscule line of crimson trickled down the edge of her mouth. Her eyes were wide and staring off, into some other place I could not follow. She collapsed, falling to her rear as the knees buckled underneath her. I held her up, not daring to let her just collapse to the ground. My left arm cupped the back of her head as I helped her to lay on the ground. I slid the arrow out of her with my right hand as gently as I could. I tossed the arrow to the side then wiped the blood off on my leg. I caressed her cheek with my left hand, sliding a stand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear with my index finger. I smiled softly, biting my lip to suppress the tears. She whispered, "...You tried... That's all that matters. I love you..." between sanguine laced coughs. I slammed my eyes shut, too weak to meet her dying gaze. "Kiss me...” was the last thing she whispered to me before those beautiful emerald green eyes went blank, before her chest stopped rising with inhalation and falling with exhalation. I leaned in and kissed her, tears once more gracing my cheek, leaping off my skin and landing on her lifeless face with a soft plop. I could taste her blood on my lips; a liquid which I had never dreamed would touch my tongue. I glared, malevolence gripping my heart as firmly as my love for her had. The affection and adoration which I had so long possessed for both Leif and Randgrid was now taken over by a sickening need for vengeance, a venom I had not known since that day oh so many years ago. I lifted my head, my eyes finding the murderer instantly. I stood up and saw the elf, the same elf from my dream that night with Randgrid. Not everything was exactly the same, and maybe in some way we had changed our fate. Leif had already died, as had my Valkyrie lover. I stood slowly, drawing my sword, Laevatinir, from the scabbard on my hip. My eyes were fixed on the elf in front of me, not wandering, wavering, nor moving at all. I refused to even blink. The elf matched my stare, raising his bow and notching another arrow, fingers tight on the fletching. I gasped as I recognized what was about to happen next. The elf was standing slightly higher than me, on the crest of a small elevated part, which stretched all the way around. I was at the center of the cavity, essentially a miniature valley. I saw a fire giant here, frost giants there. A troll or two strode up as well, flanked by dwarves and dokkalfar - dark elves. I glanced up, shocked and surprised. The scene was almost exactly the same as I saw it in my dream. I turned in a circle, trying to judge how many were there. When I was about halfway through my turn, a sharp stinging pain bit my back, all the way through to the front of my shoulder. I howled, staring down at the missile in disbelief. The prophecy was coming true, this was the first arrow that had hit, just later than before. I raised my hand to break the arrow off and reached behind my back to pull it out, this way the fletching wouldn’t tear through my body. I slid it out, slowly, but as fast as I could. As the last of the shaft touched air, I brought it in front of me, only to have that same lightning of pain shoot through my brain. I looked down to the iron arrow heads that riddled my chest and arms. I screamed, dropping to my knees, not capable of moving my arms that easily, at least, not without an immense amount of pain racking my skull. Clenching and gritting my teeth, trying to block all sensation and feeling, I began ripping arrows out of my body left and right. It was not until I plucked the last one out that I realized how loud and intensely I had been screaming; my throat now burning as if I had swallowed fire. I was hoarse, barely able to shout or cry out from all of my wounds and afflictions. I picked up my sword, not even able to remember it ever leaving my hand. Rising to my feet, I growled, ready to get my revenge. I grasped my sword, Laevatinir, tighter than I had ever been before. I ached with blood thirst; never had I wanted vengeance like this. I wasn’t sure where to begin; I was surrounded on all sides, by all manner of creatures. The elf had to die, that was for sure though. I began to run forward, stepping out with my right and then left. When my foot came down, the leg collapsed from the wound it had suffered. I pushed myself up and narrowed my eyes on the light elf. He raised his bow, another arrow notched and ready to fire. I ran forward, ready for the kill. The arrow flew, spinning so fast that it was but a blur. I leaned in, picking up speed. I didn’t even flinch when the missile drove into my chest, so caught up in this moment. I was animalistic, barbaric, and truly carnal. I thought of nothing but the slaughter of my lover’s murderer. Seconds after the elf let loose of the fletching, the arrow rocketing off the drawstring, I was upon the elf. I shoved the blade of my sword, Laevatinir, into his stomach. Before he could even respond, I tore the sword out of his abdomen, pivoting and swinging the blade towards his head. His skin made the most horrible ripping sound, and then an even more disgusting cracking sound as the edge sliced through the bone. His head flew off, landing on the ground just a few feet away. The rest of the horde that surrounded me closed in now, and I turned, lashing out with the blade. I skewered one of the giants, leaning back and kicking him in the chest as I freed the sword. The impact was so great that I’m not sure if there was more pain or pressure, the wound tore all the more wider from the exertion I expelled. It did not really matter, either way, I was going to be dead soon. Perhaps I could take some of these vile fiends with me. Slashing and slicing, cutting and stabbing, thrusting and slaughtering, I made my way through the hellions. I screamed in pain as one of the archers I hadn’t slain yet launched a volley at me, one after another. I fell to my knees, the most recent arrow piercing the sternum, straight though the thick and solid breast bone and even my armor. I leaned back, still close to the ground, as the closest savage bore down on me. I blocked, raising my sword horizontally to stop his vertical and straight down strike. I shoved his blade back, and then sliced diagonally down, from right to left, across his left shoulder and down to his right waist. A dark elf, a dokkalfar, came in with two scimitars, one that was an icy blue color, adorned with a large sapphire. The other was darker, sprinkled with diamond. He was tall, light white hair, purpleish eyes and darker than midnight skin. He spun, foot over foot, pivoting perfectly in a never ending tornado of bladed death. I blocked an attack here, parried and dodged. I wasn't quite sure whether I was ever hit or not, I was too concerned with killing this black elf to care. I held the sword with my right hand, the sharp edge facing the ground diagonally, my left hand on the flat side, for added defense. I was weary, wobbling back and forth. I just wanted this fight to be over, no matter the outcome. The elf swung straight down, and I stopped the attack, letting my arms fall some to carry the energy and momentum of his assault. When the timing felt perfect, I shoved back up, using his own force against him. He stumbled back, and I continued the manuever by sliding my left hand to the hilt and slicing a deep jagged trail across the dark elf's chest. He dropped to his knees, seconds before I impaled him with Laevatinir, the last kill my sword would ever have the luck of tasting. With the last of the vermin killed, I looked straight up, and my eyes focused on only one thing. My fylgja soared high above me, his white feather standing out amidst the midnight hue of the small crow body. He cawed, the last thing I ever heard, that dreadful caw. I did not hear the sound of the sword as it pierced my heart, that heart filled with venom and vengeance, with love and loneliness. I was not even aware that I had fallen over, my eyes fixed intently on only the sight of that chthonic creature, that eidolon, an apparition, a phantom, a seemingly divine yet mystical bird. My last dying thought was only of … well, it was a tear between my Valkyrie lover Randgrid, and my family – Veseti, Vasad and Fenja. I thought of the nights I had spent with all of them, all of my cherished memories. I love you…*** With one of the last mighty warriors lying dead at the crest of a small hill, just another unnamed and faceless Einharjar, the noble forces of the Æsir and Vanir fell. Valkyrie bodies were strewn here and there. Piles upon piles of corpses and cadavers littered the battle field. It wasn't until then that the surviving, and there weren't many, warriors felt the rumbling. Elsewhere in the World Tree, that gigantic Ash, Nidhogg and the serpents that gnawed on the roots of Yggdrasil were steadily closing in on the battle plain, hungrier than they had ever known before.
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 6:55 pm
SWEET!
I read, and I was awed.
I'm a bad person for not reading it all, but that was SO COOL!
I loved the ending.
Is Yggdrasill really an ash? I thought it was more of an oak-type thingee.
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 7:07 pm
KirbyVictorious SWEET! I read, and I was awed. I'm a bad person for not reading it all, but that was SO COOL! I loved the ending. Is Yggdrasill really an ash? I thought it was more of an oak-type thingee. Yeah, Surt and his bad guys are in for a world of hurt coming up. Serpents and snakes and the like gonna bring some whoop arse. Thanks... I don't like most of what I've wrote, most of it seeming like word vomit to me but thanks. Just under 45 k. w00t.
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![[ In Nomine Satanas ]'s avatar](https://a1cdn.gaiaonline.com/dress-up/avatar/ava/1b/c4/6aa1e08031c41b_flip.png?t=1244610061_6.00_01)
