Well, It turns out that the local Rogue Trader's (Thats a none GW store what stocks GW products to anyone who doesn't know what a Rogue Trader is (And to anyone who doesn't in turn recognize it, GW stands for Games Workshop (Which for the most depraved (or is it Deprived, can never keep those two straight) of you, is a company that markets three seperate table-top wargames. Warhammer Fantasy, Warhammer 40,000, affectionately known as 40K, and Lord Of The Rings))) runs regular gaming sessions, every Friday and Saturday. Admittedly, so far I have made two of them and been the only one there bar the chappy who runs the joint, but meh.
So, yesterday, I went along for the purpose of a rematch. His own personal Dark Angels army, against my Space Wolves. We were to sieze ground, the objectives being a set of Runic Markers emplaced by the Space Wolves. Now, only certain units can sieze such points. I had two such units, both of which I expected to die rather quickly. He had three. So like the vicious and barbaric Space-Going Viking my army is theoretically led by, I decided that if I had no chance of completing my objectives, then I'd make sure neither did he...
Cue slaughter. Although the point when a Dark Angel decided to use a Plasma Cannon for close in defensive work, completely missed the enemy, and blew away his own sergeant was decidedly amusing. As was the point where three Grey Hunters held off ten Dark Angels tactical marines for three rounds of combat before the last of them fell. The Deathwing Terminator ripped apart by a power-armoured werewolf also made me happy. Making me marginally less happy, the Land Speeder Tornado that blew away my Redeemer before being felled by a Wolf Guard carried Assault Cannon... Who'da thunk that one of the more effective guns against Land Raiders being Assault Cannons. But you see it's like this. They get 4 shots. At space marine ballistic skill you need a 3 or better to hit, and if its mounted on oh, say a land raider or a razorback it's twin-linked and thus you re-roll the misses. So really, you should be hitting AT LEAST 3/4 of the time. with the twin linked ones, you shouldn't miss more than once every other turn... Then you need to roll a 6. on the other hand, on 4 dice, that shouldn't be a problem... and then taking that 6 you need a 3 or better to glance, 5 or better to penetrate. Tis not quite as good as Lascannons where you need a 3 or better to hit, a 5 to glance and a 6 to penetrate, but then again, you only get a single shot with a lascannon. Tis not as good as Melta's where you need to get a 3 to hit, and a 6 to glance, where if you be at half range you get two dice to reach that 6, but again, Meltas are single shot. Ideally, against Land Raiders, and possibly Monoliths, and other Epic tanks of massive armour, give me a twin-linked assault cannon, or Thunderwolf Cavalry with Thunder Hammers.
However enough of quibbly rules thingies...
I could sit here all day debating the effectiveness of Space Marine weaponry, Although in several cases such discussions would be entirely theoretical, as I've never fielded Skyclaws (Assault Marines), or Swiftclaws (Biker Squads), or most of the tanks beyond Land Raiders. But I'm not going to. (At least not unless someone asks me to)
I'm not even going to mention my other 40K army, the Tyranids, partly because my 'Nids are stuck in Scotland, and thus the chances of me playing them any time soon are slim.
But no, we were fighting a six turn game, which we called on turn 4 when neither of us could actually complete the mission. And then we went and watched a film called the Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest. I was informed that it was likely to contain copious quantities of Sex and Violence. Always fun. It turned out to be far more intellectual. And indeed, very enjoyable. I would heartily advocate watching it, if you be fond of conspiracies and the like (Believable conspiracies for preference.) Although apparently watching The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played With Fire first is marginally useful. And on that note, SKAAL, and Luck In Battle.
Saturday, 29 January 2011
Thursday, 27 January 2011
With Fire And Axe And Ruin...
Well, the past few days have found me in a mood best described as grim...
Don't ask why...
Not because I be unwilling to tell anyone, but rather because I don't much know myself. It's good though. I prefer this grim mood to the mild depression I've laboured under the past two and a half months now.
However their has been one major consequence of this mood...
Before I left this place for my studies, My brother and I had a fort up behind our house... It wasn't much, a wooden structure in a pit, the top level with the ground at the back of it, and raised about a foot of the ground in front of it. Inside it was maybe 4 foot high, with plastic wrapped and wallpapered ceiling...
Anyway, my parents be trying to sell the house, and my 5 years in scotland, and thus five years of no care resulted in this fort, termed Moria or Khazad-Dum (I demand guesses for the source of that name. Claire, if you read this, you are exempt from this. You Know Where That Be From.) And perhaps, If I make it over come the summer, we can have that marathon we always talked about...
anyway back to topic... After 5 years of neglect, Moria was a mold and spider infested eyesore. And so I descended upon it (Ascended to it actually, to be entirely accurate) with Axe and Ruin... Fire shall come on the first of February, as a means of disposing of the rotted timbers... It's a complete coincidence that that just happens to fall on Imbolc, the ancient Celtic Festival... Honest.
And to anyone who believes that, I be selling tickets for suntanning trips to Niflheim...
Until this morning, I did the work properly, with the correct tools, and had intended, as all I had left were the bits that it was difficult to get at, to use a power-saw to sort the rest. However, Grim Mood... Argument with brother... I decided effectively, Hel with it. I am effectively a Norseman, I'll do it in the Norse manner. So I spent some time up there, putting an Axe through half inch plywood, knocking down supports of 4"x4".
In fact, I just realized, come the Burning I will have preformed a professional Sack...
SKAAL...
Oh. And I also just found out that Turisas, one of the best Folk Metal bands out there, and in fact, the one that got me into the genre is playing in Vancouver on the 13th of February. Vancouver is but 3 or 4 hours drive away, damn close by Canadian standards. Will I make it to see them? No. No Money, No Transport, No Place To Stay... Hence my Grim Mood grows grimmer. Wodin help he who crosses the Jared in the near future... And if he doesn't, well Draugadrottin take them...
Don't ask why...
Not because I be unwilling to tell anyone, but rather because I don't much know myself. It's good though. I prefer this grim mood to the mild depression I've laboured under the past two and a half months now.
However their has been one major consequence of this mood...
Before I left this place for my studies, My brother and I had a fort up behind our house... It wasn't much, a wooden structure in a pit, the top level with the ground at the back of it, and raised about a foot of the ground in front of it. Inside it was maybe 4 foot high, with plastic wrapped and wallpapered ceiling...
Anyway, my parents be trying to sell the house, and my 5 years in scotland, and thus five years of no care resulted in this fort, termed Moria or Khazad-Dum (I demand guesses for the source of that name. Claire, if you read this, you are exempt from this. You Know Where That Be From.) And perhaps, If I make it over come the summer, we can have that marathon we always talked about...
anyway back to topic... After 5 years of neglect, Moria was a mold and spider infested eyesore. And so I descended upon it (Ascended to it actually, to be entirely accurate) with Axe and Ruin... Fire shall come on the first of February, as a means of disposing of the rotted timbers... It's a complete coincidence that that just happens to fall on Imbolc, the ancient Celtic Festival... Honest.
And to anyone who believes that, I be selling tickets for suntanning trips to Niflheim...
Until this morning, I did the work properly, with the correct tools, and had intended, as all I had left were the bits that it was difficult to get at, to use a power-saw to sort the rest. However, Grim Mood... Argument with brother... I decided effectively, Hel with it. I am effectively a Norseman, I'll do it in the Norse manner. So I spent some time up there, putting an Axe through half inch plywood, knocking down supports of 4"x4".
In fact, I just realized, come the Burning I will have preformed a professional Sack...
SKAAL...
Oh. And I also just found out that Turisas, one of the best Folk Metal bands out there, and in fact, the one that got me into the genre is playing in Vancouver on the 13th of February. Vancouver is but 3 or 4 hours drive away, damn close by Canadian standards. Will I make it to see them? No. No Money, No Transport, No Place To Stay... Hence my Grim Mood grows grimmer. Wodin help he who crosses the Jared in the near future... And if he doesn't, well Draugadrottin take them...
Sunday, 16 January 2011
Vinland... Week Four... Day One
Well, In reference to yesterday, In the (Sadly) Longer-lived than he was words of Halfdane (Pronounced Hilt-Ae) (Somehow) (Not that being longer-lived than Halfdane was difficult, he died within minutes of uttering the line) Anyway, back to the original track... Today Was A Good Day *Slam Sword Fist Against Chest* A Good Day *Drag Self Up Wall And Ready To Meet The Wendol*
Now to explain this fine day. We shall begin, as all good storytellers do (Ignore this advice, its probably lies) At the End.
We ended, and by we I mean me, With a Metal gig at a local pub called the Pogue Mahone (Eirin's Isle Gael, Pogue Ma Hoin, Kiss My Arse) which bills itself as an Irish Alehouse, even though apparently they stock no ales. Sad Jared. On the other hand they let me have Wodin's Wroth. Happy Jared.
Anyway, I had to rely on my parents for transport... which resulted in me seeing but two bands. The first was from Vernon. A black metal band called Zool or Zule or Zuul or Zhuul... However it be spelled, it was pronounced like the name of the Minion of Gozer from Ghostbusters (Who you gonna call?). They were pretty good. Not very distinctive, but pretty good. The second band was more of the same, and there name (As close as I can figure) was *Indecipherable Growl* *Indecipherable Growl*. Don't ask me how its spelled. Twas the lead singers birthday I was told... they had a decent set as well...
I wound up right up by the stage, which had the end result of me being right on the edge of the Mosh Pit. Which had the end result of me constantly getting jarred back onto the chappy behind me's toes. and bracing myself off the speaker... which may help to explain why it took about an hour after the gig for my ears to stop ringing... All told a good night and an epic end to the day, which had its high point earlier, when I had a warhammer 40K battle.
An Expeditionary Force of Space Wolves encountered a similar force of Dark Angels. 5 Grey hunters were stood amidst a set of large boulders, and another 5 were in an old walled watchpoint. A Wolf Guard Battle Leader was standing next to the boulders with his two Canid companions when the first of the Dark Angels appeared. Chapter Master Belial, accompanied by two squads of Terminators. The Space Wolves reacted first, with the Wolflord on his mighty Thunderwolf, accompanied by his two lesser Wolves charged onto the field, side by side with the Land raider that bore his Wolf Guard. At the same time, his Long Fangs moved up the side of the watchpost to take up firing positions.
In response the Dark Angels brought up a land speeder to attack the Long Fangs, and accompanied it with an Attack Bike, with Multi-Melta. A Land Raider Crusader and Hellfire Dreadnought came straight down the middle of the field, and a squad of Bikers came at the grey hunters in the boulderfield
The battle was a mutual slaughter. The high points were the Long Fangs obliterating the Land Speeder with Plasma Cannon, although bar shooting the assault cannons off the crusader, immobilising the dreadnought, and wrecking its lascannons, they accomplished little. on the other hand, of the five of them they lost two men. Two Dark Angels Terminators fell to Power Armoured Were-Wolves, and Another was torn apart by such a beast in Terminator Armour. I like this Idea, I like it a lot.
All of the Grey Hunters were wiped out, as were All the Wolf Guard, and All the Fenrisian Wolves. In the end Of the score of Space Wolves to take the field, 6 walked off. Which was better than the Dark Angels. They had 24 men, 2 of whom left the field under their own power. and those had been the Land Raider Crew. All Told, The Sons Of Russ taught the Dark Angels that one doesn't cross the Space Wolves. A suitable response to Lion El'Johnson's Treacherous attack on Leman Russ...
Now to explain this fine day. We shall begin, as all good storytellers do (Ignore this advice, its probably lies) At the End.
We ended, and by we I mean me, With a Metal gig at a local pub called the Pogue Mahone (Eirin's Isle Gael, Pogue Ma Hoin, Kiss My Arse) which bills itself as an Irish Alehouse, even though apparently they stock no ales. Sad Jared. On the other hand they let me have Wodin's Wroth. Happy Jared.
Anyway, I had to rely on my parents for transport... which resulted in me seeing but two bands. The first was from Vernon. A black metal band called Zool or Zule or Zuul or Zhuul... However it be spelled, it was pronounced like the name of the Minion of Gozer from Ghostbusters (Who you gonna call?). They were pretty good. Not very distinctive, but pretty good. The second band was more of the same, and there name (As close as I can figure) was *Indecipherable Growl* *Indecipherable Growl*. Don't ask me how its spelled. Twas the lead singers birthday I was told... they had a decent set as well...
I wound up right up by the stage, which had the end result of me being right on the edge of the Mosh Pit. Which had the end result of me constantly getting jarred back onto the chappy behind me's toes. and bracing myself off the speaker... which may help to explain why it took about an hour after the gig for my ears to stop ringing... All told a good night and an epic end to the day, which had its high point earlier, when I had a warhammer 40K battle.
An Expeditionary Force of Space Wolves encountered a similar force of Dark Angels. 5 Grey hunters were stood amidst a set of large boulders, and another 5 were in an old walled watchpoint. A Wolf Guard Battle Leader was standing next to the boulders with his two Canid companions when the first of the Dark Angels appeared. Chapter Master Belial, accompanied by two squads of Terminators. The Space Wolves reacted first, with the Wolflord on his mighty Thunderwolf, accompanied by his two lesser Wolves charged onto the field, side by side with the Land raider that bore his Wolf Guard. At the same time, his Long Fangs moved up the side of the watchpost to take up firing positions.
In response the Dark Angels brought up a land speeder to attack the Long Fangs, and accompanied it with an Attack Bike, with Multi-Melta. A Land Raider Crusader and Hellfire Dreadnought came straight down the middle of the field, and a squad of Bikers came at the grey hunters in the boulderfield
The battle was a mutual slaughter. The high points were the Long Fangs obliterating the Land Speeder with Plasma Cannon, although bar shooting the assault cannons off the crusader, immobilising the dreadnought, and wrecking its lascannons, they accomplished little. on the other hand, of the five of them they lost two men. Two Dark Angels Terminators fell to Power Armoured Were-Wolves, and Another was torn apart by such a beast in Terminator Armour. I like this Idea, I like it a lot.
All of the Grey Hunters were wiped out, as were All the Wolf Guard, and All the Fenrisian Wolves. In the end Of the score of Space Wolves to take the field, 6 walked off. Which was better than the Dark Angels. They had 24 men, 2 of whom left the field under their own power. and those had been the Land Raider Crew. All Told, The Sons Of Russ taught the Dark Angels that one doesn't cross the Space Wolves. A suitable response to Lion El'Johnson's Treacherous attack on Leman Russ...
Friday, 7 January 2011
And on the topic of Saga's
A certain friend of mine started writing short stories starring her Alter-Ego, and Myself... after some time, I decided to add one to the tale, and here it is.
It was bound to happen.
Leave a large enough trail of bodies and word would get around
now they couldn't even go into the little villages without fear of capture
thus, the Bear's suggestion
Madness was Roda's prompt response...
'Hey, it makes sense to me' the former guardsman replied with a laugh
Naked bar his braies and his belt, and a harness across his chest with his axe and a sword lashed to it. with a bag of coins and a poniard at his belt, He strode towards the beach.
behind him followed the Redjay, wearing slightly more, with her Bow and Quiver wrapped in oilskins acquired specifically for the task, and a dagger and more coins at her belt Together they waded out as far as they could, and then begin to swim, with the slow steady strokes of the practiced
The cog was anchored far out into the bay, and when they reached it, they could barely manage to hang onto the anchor line whilst they caught their breath. But, catch their breath they did, and then, with the Bear in the lead, they shimmied up the rope.
A few minutes later found them standing on the stern, facing down the crew and its captain. 'What is the meaning of this?' Bellowed the short, stout master of the ship. 'I'll have no stowaways on my ship.' 'We're not stowing away' Came the Redjay's swift response. 'We want passage. Out of Norman lands. We can pay.' At that the Ships Master's eyes lit up, and then dimmed again as the start of the previous statement registered. 'OUT of Norman Lands?' 'Aye' answered the one they called the Bear. 'They be less than happy with us... Something to do with a certain bow-happy woman. And truth be told, an Axe-gleeful me.' The Redjay continued his sentence, them having been travelling along together long enough that they thought much alike. 'But we'll not put you in harms way. we'll pay our passage and work our way.'
The Captain thought this over. 'And if I choose to put you off here and now?' he asked, his voice thin and reedy. Before he had even finished his sentence, the Bear, a former Guardsman, had his axe in hand, and the Redjay had pulled his sword from his back. They stood there, backs to the ships rail, edged steel held at the ready. 'You and what army?' they asked in sync. As the captain of the ship gestured expansively at his crew, a rough-looking bunch, the outlaw and her ex-guardsman ignored him, to glance at each other, standing at each others shield-arm (Something that only worked on the grounds that the Redjay bore her blade in her left). And to land light blows on their respective off-arms. It was perhaps this lack of concern that did it. The ships crew began to look somewhat apprehensive, and the Captain reconsidered his position.
'Fine. We sail north. To Scottish lands. Trading with the coastal clans. If we're lucky we won't meet the Danes. If we do, it'll be your job to drive them off.' And just like that, the deal was done. The Bear handed over most of his coins, and he and the Redjay went to work. Neither of them knew overly much about how to sail a cog, but under the eyes of the captain and the teaching of the crew, they learned. They never forgot how they had come to be there though, and slept lightly, with steel at their sides, even if they had to bed down on the open deck alongsides the crew. 'Twas around a weeks worth of sailing later, putting in at every village along the way, before the storm blew up and drove the ship far out to sea. And it was there that whilst sitting her watch atop the single mast, the Lady Redjay saw a single sail.
Her cry of Sail-Ho sent a shiver down the spine of most of the crew. That far out to sea, and off the main trade routes, any ship was almost certainly a Viking raider. This was borne out as the sail drew close enough that those closer to the sea could make it out, and that the Lady at height could make out the colours, striped in Red and White, with a raven sewn onto the pennant. A carved Dragon's head graced the prow, and blue and yellow round shields with steel rims and bosses graced the sides of the ship. The men at the oars were huge, bigger than any on the cog bar the Guard and the Redjay. Their hair and beards were long and pleated in braids, their mailled coats worn but serviceable, and their steel sharp. Arrayed against them were the crew of the cog, outnumbered, more lightly-armed, and all unarmored. As the dragonboat made its approach, the Redjay began to feather the men at its oars with her red-feathered arrows. Bodkin points to pierce their armour, the fletching spiralled to get the shafts spinning in flight. Even as she loosed as fast as she could aim, her companion sat quietly at the base of the mast, calmly waiting for his foes to close. With a borrowed whetstone he put an edge on each of his blades, and his calm spread to those around him.
The ships closed, for even as the cog had turned and begun to flee, the Norsemen were swifter. As they closed, their archers began to return the Redjay's favour, the shorter bows of the Vikingr being no match in range for the Redjay's longbow. As the first shafts went past her head, she bellowed on her companion and dropped him her bow, before shimmying down the mast. As she reached the bottom, He handed her his sword and pointed at her bow, now cased and safely nestled amongst the cargo. They stood there, at the base of the mast, and waited till the ships drew alongside. Then they moved to the side nearest the Viking Longship. As the first of the raiders began to leap the ever shortening gap with ropes, crossing amidships where the two craft drew closest, they were met with the sword of the outlaw, and the steel axe of he who had once been a guardian of that law. It had been a long road that lead to the two fighting, again, side by side, but none of that mattered now, as the first of the Vikingr fell into the sea, their leaps cut off in mid-air. As the open space between the ships vanished, the two warriors could not stop every foe from crossing, and within minutes they were hard enough pressed that they could pay no attention to anything bar the swirling melee they were embroiled in. The battle-hardened norsemen rolled over the cogs crew of thugs and cutthroats like a tide of blood and steel. The ships were roped together, and the heaving decks soon became slick with blood and other, less mentionable detritus that had once been men. Despite the numbers against them, and the treacherous footing, the pair that stood amidships more than held their own. Although their foes had taken the shields off the side of the longboat and they had none, they had ways around this. The guardsmans axe struck at whatever was open, his left hand wrenching shields out of the way. Meanwhilst the Lady Redjay, holding her blade in her left had an easy time, parrying blows wide, and then twisting the blade in her wrist, sliding it into a kidney, or a liver, or a spleen, and then pulling it out as the now-corpse fell. The fight was short and deadly intense, and before long there was almost a dozen corpses piled around the pair. They were not unscathed themselves however. Long ragged gashes covered the guardsmans torso, and a blade had sunk deep into the fleshy part of the Redjay's leg. Blood covered the pair head to toe, beginning already to crust. As the Norseman readied for another rush, their leader stepped forward. 'Cease!' he bellowed, his hands gripping the haft of a large two-handed axe. The pair took advantage of the lull they were granted to shift around, and place their backs to the sea. 'Why?' they asked in concert, to which the response was swift. 'You fight well. And between you, you have felled a dozen men. Enough that I either need to find new warriors, or call off my Viking.' Shifting blades in their hands, adjusting their balance, the two warriors looked at their foe warily. 'Go on' uttered the Redjay, and the Bearsark followed it up with 'We're listening'. The burly Norse commander looked back at them, and grinned. 'Well, there be two of you there I'd be willing to hire. A share in the plunder, a space on the deck, and all the food and drink you'll need.' The response to this was simple. 'Drink?' 'Ale?' 'Mead?' came the swift responses. 'Aye' was the viking captains answer. 'Ale, Mead, whatever you wish to drink. You in? or shall I have my men gift you to Njord?' Blood-drenched, bleeding from many wounds, all of them admittedly superficial, the two against the rail lowered their blades. 'Done.' 'Excellent!' roared the norseman. 'The Names Sven. Glad to have you aboard. Strip some armour off the dead, gather your kit, and help us loot this tub, afore we scuttle her.' And like that, the deal was done. The One called Jared, known to various people as the Guard, The Bear and the Bearsark, and Roda, Commonly called the Redjay, were about to go Aviking!
It was bound to happen.
Leave a large enough trail of bodies and word would get around
now they couldn't even go into the little villages without fear of capture
thus, the Bear's suggestion
Madness was Roda's prompt response...
'Hey, it makes sense to me' the former guardsman replied with a laugh
Naked bar his braies and his belt, and a harness across his chest with his axe and a sword lashed to it. with a bag of coins and a poniard at his belt, He strode towards the beach.
behind him followed the Redjay, wearing slightly more, with her Bow and Quiver wrapped in oilskins acquired specifically for the task, and a dagger and more coins at her belt Together they waded out as far as they could, and then begin to swim, with the slow steady strokes of the practiced
The cog was anchored far out into the bay, and when they reached it, they could barely manage to hang onto the anchor line whilst they caught their breath. But, catch their breath they did, and then, with the Bear in the lead, they shimmied up the rope.
A few minutes later found them standing on the stern, facing down the crew and its captain. 'What is the meaning of this?' Bellowed the short, stout master of the ship. 'I'll have no stowaways on my ship.' 'We're not stowing away' Came the Redjay's swift response. 'We want passage. Out of Norman lands. We can pay.' At that the Ships Master's eyes lit up, and then dimmed again as the start of the previous statement registered. 'OUT of Norman Lands?' 'Aye' answered the one they called the Bear. 'They be less than happy with us... Something to do with a certain bow-happy woman. And truth be told, an Axe-gleeful me.' The Redjay continued his sentence, them having been travelling along together long enough that they thought much alike. 'But we'll not put you in harms way. we'll pay our passage and work our way.'
The Captain thought this over. 'And if I choose to put you off here and now?' he asked, his voice thin and reedy. Before he had even finished his sentence, the Bear, a former Guardsman, had his axe in hand, and the Redjay had pulled his sword from his back. They stood there, backs to the ships rail, edged steel held at the ready. 'You and what army?' they asked in sync. As the captain of the ship gestured expansively at his crew, a rough-looking bunch, the outlaw and her ex-guardsman ignored him, to glance at each other, standing at each others shield-arm (Something that only worked on the grounds that the Redjay bore her blade in her left). And to land light blows on their respective off-arms. It was perhaps this lack of concern that did it. The ships crew began to look somewhat apprehensive, and the Captain reconsidered his position.
'Fine. We sail north. To Scottish lands. Trading with the coastal clans. If we're lucky we won't meet the Danes. If we do, it'll be your job to drive them off.' And just like that, the deal was done. The Bear handed over most of his coins, and he and the Redjay went to work. Neither of them knew overly much about how to sail a cog, but under the eyes of the captain and the teaching of the crew, they learned. They never forgot how they had come to be there though, and slept lightly, with steel at their sides, even if they had to bed down on the open deck alongsides the crew. 'Twas around a weeks worth of sailing later, putting in at every village along the way, before the storm blew up and drove the ship far out to sea. And it was there that whilst sitting her watch atop the single mast, the Lady Redjay saw a single sail.
Her cry of Sail-Ho sent a shiver down the spine of most of the crew. That far out to sea, and off the main trade routes, any ship was almost certainly a Viking raider. This was borne out as the sail drew close enough that those closer to the sea could make it out, and that the Lady at height could make out the colours, striped in Red and White, with a raven sewn onto the pennant. A carved Dragon's head graced the prow, and blue and yellow round shields with steel rims and bosses graced the sides of the ship. The men at the oars were huge, bigger than any on the cog bar the Guard and the Redjay. Their hair and beards were long and pleated in braids, their mailled coats worn but serviceable, and their steel sharp. Arrayed against them were the crew of the cog, outnumbered, more lightly-armed, and all unarmored. As the dragonboat made its approach, the Redjay began to feather the men at its oars with her red-feathered arrows. Bodkin points to pierce their armour, the fletching spiralled to get the shafts spinning in flight. Even as she loosed as fast as she could aim, her companion sat quietly at the base of the mast, calmly waiting for his foes to close. With a borrowed whetstone he put an edge on each of his blades, and his calm spread to those around him.
The ships closed, for even as the cog had turned and begun to flee, the Norsemen were swifter. As they closed, their archers began to return the Redjay's favour, the shorter bows of the Vikingr being no match in range for the Redjay's longbow. As the first shafts went past her head, she bellowed on her companion and dropped him her bow, before shimmying down the mast. As she reached the bottom, He handed her his sword and pointed at her bow, now cased and safely nestled amongst the cargo. They stood there, at the base of the mast, and waited till the ships drew alongside. Then they moved to the side nearest the Viking Longship. As the first of the raiders began to leap the ever shortening gap with ropes, crossing amidships where the two craft drew closest, they were met with the sword of the outlaw, and the steel axe of he who had once been a guardian of that law. It had been a long road that lead to the two fighting, again, side by side, but none of that mattered now, as the first of the Vikingr fell into the sea, their leaps cut off in mid-air. As the open space between the ships vanished, the two warriors could not stop every foe from crossing, and within minutes they were hard enough pressed that they could pay no attention to anything bar the swirling melee they were embroiled in. The battle-hardened norsemen rolled over the cogs crew of thugs and cutthroats like a tide of blood and steel. The ships were roped together, and the heaving decks soon became slick with blood and other, less mentionable detritus that had once been men. Despite the numbers against them, and the treacherous footing, the pair that stood amidships more than held their own. Although their foes had taken the shields off the side of the longboat and they had none, they had ways around this. The guardsmans axe struck at whatever was open, his left hand wrenching shields out of the way. Meanwhilst the Lady Redjay, holding her blade in her left had an easy time, parrying blows wide, and then twisting the blade in her wrist, sliding it into a kidney, or a liver, or a spleen, and then pulling it out as the now-corpse fell. The fight was short and deadly intense, and before long there was almost a dozen corpses piled around the pair. They were not unscathed themselves however. Long ragged gashes covered the guardsmans torso, and a blade had sunk deep into the fleshy part of the Redjay's leg. Blood covered the pair head to toe, beginning already to crust. As the Norseman readied for another rush, their leader stepped forward. 'Cease!' he bellowed, his hands gripping the haft of a large two-handed axe. The pair took advantage of the lull they were granted to shift around, and place their backs to the sea. 'Why?' they asked in concert, to which the response was swift. 'You fight well. And between you, you have felled a dozen men. Enough that I either need to find new warriors, or call off my Viking.' Shifting blades in their hands, adjusting their balance, the two warriors looked at their foe warily. 'Go on' uttered the Redjay, and the Bearsark followed it up with 'We're listening'. The burly Norse commander looked back at them, and grinned. 'Well, there be two of you there I'd be willing to hire. A share in the plunder, a space on the deck, and all the food and drink you'll need.' The response to this was simple. 'Drink?' 'Ale?' 'Mead?' came the swift responses. 'Aye' was the viking captains answer. 'Ale, Mead, whatever you wish to drink. You in? or shall I have my men gift you to Njord?' Blood-drenched, bleeding from many wounds, all of them admittedly superficial, the two against the rail lowered their blades. 'Done.' 'Excellent!' roared the norseman. 'The Names Sven. Glad to have you aboard. Strip some armour off the dead, gather your kit, and help us loot this tub, afore we scuttle her.' And like that, the deal was done. The One called Jared, known to various people as the Guard, The Bear and the Bearsark, and Roda, Commonly called the Redjay, were about to go Aviking!
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Happy New Year! Sorta...
Well, 2010 has gone out the door, and a good riddance to it...
In future years when someone goes to sterilize an arrow hole in my chest I will come out with 'Feels like a twenty-ten Burgundy, Not a good year'
I'd love to say alls well that ends well, and I suppose the ending wasn't too bad.
Coulda done with more to drink, but my parents, with whom I be staying at the minute, have this rule about no more than two drinks in the house on any given day. And my brother, on the grounds that he is a prat and had no mixers raised a fuss about a Wodin's Wroth being classed as a single drink. So, being the mature, responsible individual I am, I settled for the one. which resulted me in being distressingly (And by that I mean completely) sober at the bells.
The lad doesn't even know the words to Auld Lang Syne...
'Twas a far cry from my original plan, which involved a full bottle of Mead, in one of the Muirhead Flats back at Stirling Uni...
So, what we had, apart from nowhere near enough booze, was a film about the knights templar called Arn. Bar backhanding a broadsword, I had no issues with it. My idiot brother did, but then again, he be my IDIOT brother.
and then we watched the latest Resident Evil. 'Twas most dissapointing... Milla Jovovich had two different shower scenes. and in both of them all of her clothes remained on her person... :-(
on the other hand, bar that one wee quibble 'twas a fun film.
And on that note,
Happy Hogmanay,
Happy New Year
May 2011 be better by far than 2010
In future years when someone goes to sterilize an arrow hole in my chest I will come out with 'Feels like a twenty-ten Burgundy, Not a good year'
I'd love to say alls well that ends well, and I suppose the ending wasn't too bad.
Coulda done with more to drink, but my parents, with whom I be staying at the minute, have this rule about no more than two drinks in the house on any given day. And my brother, on the grounds that he is a prat and had no mixers raised a fuss about a Wodin's Wroth being classed as a single drink. So, being the mature, responsible individual I am, I settled for the one. which resulted me in being distressingly (And by that I mean completely) sober at the bells.
The lad doesn't even know the words to Auld Lang Syne...
'Twas a far cry from my original plan, which involved a full bottle of Mead, in one of the Muirhead Flats back at Stirling Uni...
So, what we had, apart from nowhere near enough booze, was a film about the knights templar called Arn. Bar backhanding a broadsword, I had no issues with it. My idiot brother did, but then again, he be my IDIOT brother.
and then we watched the latest Resident Evil. 'Twas most dissapointing... Milla Jovovich had two different shower scenes. and in both of them all of her clothes remained on her person... :-(
on the other hand, bar that one wee quibble 'twas a fun film.
And on that note,
Happy Hogmanay,
Happy New Year
May 2011 be better by far than 2010
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