/lit/ - Literature

The influx of infernal creatures in the Heartlands of Elleswhaer drew the attention of the elfs, the children of the fey spirits of nature and fertility. The elf lords grew concerned that the kingdoms of Men were walking down a dark path that they would not soon be able to turn from, and so they too prepared for war.

The elfs readied their mighty warhorses, beasts that put to shame the animals that the Men used for battle, sharpened the tips of their obsidians spears, and strung their bows of yew and sinew as they prepared to ride to war against the army they feared would herald in the last days of Elleswhaer. The threat posed by the elfs forced the kingdoms of Man to forge an alliance and march their combined legions to meet the elfin horse warriors. Led by Vadik, the sorcerer king who sat upon the Iron Throne, the legions met the elfin army. Vadik, a powerful Man blessed by the Black God himself, slew hundreds of elfs alone with his great sword of black metal. His sword was a mighty and terrible weapon, said to have been forged from the metal of a fallen star and possessing the spirit of an ancient and powerful dragon. Vadik slew the elf king Emrys in single combat and forced the elfs to retreat back to the heart Choedwig and far away from the Heartlands.

The kingdoms of Man rewarded Vadik by naming him their king and renaming the Heartland the Iron Kingdom his honor. The Black God was pleased by such events, and used Vadik as his puppet to conquer nearly all of Elleswhaer, leaving only the forests of Choedwig, the Iron Mountains of the north, and the lands beyond the mountains and seas untouched by his rule. Vadik used the resources of his newest provinces to fuel the engine of destruction his people had become.

The sorcerer king had grown old during his campaigns to conquer Elleswhaer, and he feared that he would not live to see the björn and elfs fall to the Iron Kingdom. Summoning the Black God one last time, Vadik offered his very soul in exchange for immortality and power. The Black God grinned wickedly upon hearing such a request, and so Vadik and the Black God became one and the same: Vadik the Black, the Iron King and ruler of Elleswhaer.

The björn looked to their king, Asgeir the Thunderpaw, for guidance. Asgeir was a noble and mighty king and had held the björn together for many winters. It had been Asgeir who lead the drengr björn, the mightiest of björn warriors, against the goblin tribes that had once called the mountain caves home. It had been Asgeir who defeated the armies of giants who had come to reclaim their lands and former servants. It had be Asgeir who slew Cadoc, elf lord and champion of Choedwig, in single combat.

Asgeir wore mighty armor fashioned from the hides of a hundred beasts. It was seven layers thick, and each layer had taken the king of the björn a year to make. The armor was part of his very soul, as was true for all drengr björn. He wore also a red cloak rumored to be made from the skins of many Men from the south and dyed with their blood. His weapon was a mighty hammer forged by the Old Gods themselves from the heart of a mountain in order to bring down the ancient dragons that once terrorized Elleswhaer. Each item had been blessed by the prestr of Asgeir’s tribe, powerful and mystical shamans all, to destroy the fiends that lived amongst the Men.

Asgeir gathered the drengr björn from each tribe and marched with them to the southern reaches of his mountains and waited for Iron Kingdom’s legions. He was accompanied by four heroes of the björn: Eirik the Axe, a mighty warrior, Garik Ironheart, slayer of Sköll, Tyrant Wolf of the Mountains, Gunar, his own son and future ruler of Hjálmer, and Skjöldr the Blessed.

Each hero carried their own weapons and armor into battle, and each had a story. Eirik the Axe carried a powerful axe so heavy that he could swing it only with both hands. The haft was formed from the bones of a giant, while the blades were said to be made from the scales a powerful dragon. His armor was forged from the hides of the foolish drengr björn who had hoped to stand against him, and it was well-known by all that Eirik loved to eat the hearts of his foes to steal their strength. Garik Ironheart carried a mighty mace made of purest iron. It was the weapon that killed Sköll, the wolf that once tried to eat Garik but now served as his armor and protection. Gunar wore armor fashioned from the hides of an entire herd of deer, the very same herd that he slew to feed his tribe through the longest winter the mountains had ever seen. In the hands of Asgeir’s son was a granite maul that he had taken from a stone giant king after killing him with his claws and teeth. Skjöldr the Blessed carried a single-handed axe with a haft fashioned from an elk’s horn and a blade of steel. His armor was negligible, but he carried a mighty shield five layers thick crafted from the tusks, bones, and hide of a mastodon, which he had killed when he was only ten winters old.

For nine days and nights the drengr björn built stone walls and waited for their enemy. The walls were as thick a björn and stood at their waist and would easily be able to withstand the armies of the Iron Kingdoms. They stood at Man’s chest and would require two strides for a Man to cross over it. It was on the tenth day after the walls were complete that Skjöldr the Blessed spotted a mounted force travelling quickly from the southwest with his far seeing eyes.

A single rider branched off from the main force and made its way directly to Asgeir’s hidden camp. The horse ran so fast as if flying over the earth, which struck fear into the hearts of many of the lesser drengr björn, who had never before seen such a beast. Many of them raised and readied their weapons to do battle with the lone rider and prove their worth to the mighty king Asgeir, but he stayed their eager hands.

“Let us see who Eurfron has sent to us.”

The ride had raven hair that was adorned with beads, feathers, and a single long braid. His ears were shaped like a leaf and extended beyond the back of his skull. His eyes were yellow and like a hawk’s, and his skin the color of birch and covered in the blue die of the woad leaves. As he slowed his mighty steed, which stood at the same height as King Asgeir himself, the elf was greeted by the laughter of the björn, for they viewed his furs, armor, and bow as signs of weakness. The elf carried a falcon on his forearm, to which he whispered a message in a secretive language and sent it flying back to his kinsmen.

“Who is it that enters the camp of Asgeir Thunderpaw, king of the björn, Goblinbane, Giantfoe, and Slayer of Cadoc?”

The elf didn’t flinch at the proclamation of the death of one of his people.

“I am Sulien,” he declared, his golden eyes flashing as they caught the light of the sun. “Herald of Eurfron the Fair, Queen of Choedwig and daughter of the Gods Above. I have come to extend the hand of alliance against our mutual enemy: Vadik the Black.”

Mighty Asgeir placed snout in paw and contemplated what the elf had said. The björn believed that they alone would be able to stand against the Iron Kingdom. Asgeir did not want to belittle his people by accepting aid, but he also did not want the unnecessary deaths of his drengr björn on his hands.

“What do you have to offer us in the ways of war?” Asgeir demanded of Sulien Goldeneyes.

The elf drew his mighty bow of layered yew and sinew and presented it to the björn king. Asgeir was impressed by the craftsmanship of the weapon, for it outclassed anything his own people, the goblins, or the giants could ever make. Sulien drew an arrow from his quiver and laid it across his bow. It was perfectly straight, tipped with sharpened obsidian, and fletched with the feathers of an eagle.

“My people do not use steel or iron,” Sulien said. “It is poison to our flesh.”

Many of the drengr björn laughed, for they were proud of their iron axes and hammers. Sulien ignored their laughter and nodded towards a deer that was several spearcasts away. He his bow back to the ear, held his stance for a heartbeat, and let fly the arrow. The deer fell down mid-leap, the arrow had pierced its heart.

“But what shall you do when you have no arrows?” Gunnar asked of Sulien.

“My people use obsidian tipped spears and clubs to fight up close, though we do not enjoy doing so,” Sulien said. The elf walked to his horse and drew his spear from its holster, tossing it to Gunnar. The björn prince inspected the weapon before handing it back to the elf.

“It is a mighty looking tool indeed,” he said. “But I fear my maul could smash it.”

“It is made from the most ancient of trees in our forests,” Sulien said. “Trees so old as to be as strong as stone.”

“Show me,” Asgeir said. “Battle my son.”

Sulien gripped the spear in both hands and made ready to fight. Gunnar drew his maul and slapped the head against his open palm. The drengr björn bared his teeth and growled. He swung his maul with both hands, aiming to strike down the elf in a single blow, but Sulien was as quick as a wind-borne leaf. The elf blocked the weapon with his spear, which was truly as strong as stone. Sulien pivoted and maneuvered his spear quickly, striking Gunnar in the fork of the legs with its butt. The drengr björn grimaced and faltered slightly, but held his ground. The duel continued for several more moments with neither warrior gaining the upper hand before Asgeir called for an end to it.

“Tell your queen that my drengr björn will fight alongside her warriors,” Asgeir said. “Your men and women are more than welcome in my camp.”

Sulien bowed low and returned to his horse. “We shall arrive before nightfall good king Asgeir,” the elf said. “And tomorrow if the Gods Above will it, we shall destroy the armies of the Iron Kingdom.”

Before the sun dipped below the forest far to the west, Sulien returned to king Asgeir alongside twenty and four score elf warriors. Among them were three elfin heroes besides Sulien Goldeneyes: Dafydd the Beloved and Prince of the Glades, Fayne the Archer, and Rhain the Horseman.

That night the two armies celebrated their alliance with song, dance, and competition. The björn introduced to the elfs the sport of wrestling, while the elfs taught many of the drengr björn the graceful dance of their people. Garik Ironheart foolishly challenged Fayne the Archer to a mead drinking contest and had to be roused by his comrades the next day long after the sun reached its zenith in the sky. Promises of continued friendship and future alliance were made between Asgeir and Dafydd, who served as the voice of Eurfron in the camp.

The next day proved to be more industrious. The elfs scouted the region for areas where their archers would be most beneficial while the björn continued building their walls and sharpening their axes. When the sun set on the eleventh day, the elfs and the björn could see the fires of the approaching legions of the Iron Kingdom. They knew that dawn would greet a new day filled with bloodshed and death.

Dafydd ordered a score of his finest men to ride hard and harry their foe. The elf lords with the greatest war-craft readied their spears and bows and rode forth to carry out the orders of the voice of their queen. Asgeir sent Eirik the Axe and Garik Ironheart to assist the elfs and return with glory for the björn.

The two björn heroes and their elfin comrades were intercepted by a band of their enemies, scouts sent to the size up the defenses of the elfs and björn. Of these Men, Garik slew six with his great mace and another with his claws. Eirik cleave three in twain with a single swing of his mighty axe and killed another four with his fangs. The elfin warriors slew the remaining thirteen with their arrows and spears. As the force travelled farther south, they encountered yet another group of Men. Garik and Eirik slew another eight each, leaving the weaker Men for the elfs to slay. A third group of men, this one numbering five score, was spotted by an elf.

“We must return to our camp where we are better outfitted to fight these Men,” the elf lord said.

Garik laughed. “Our arms are still strong enough to swing our weapons! Let us press onward and appease the gods with the blood of our foes!”

Eirik, not wanting to let Garik slay more Men than himself and gain the favor of the Old Gods, agreed.

“These Men are weak,” Eirik declared. “They cannot see at night and they rely on sorcery to win battles! We will crush them beneath our heel.”

Many of the elf lords agreed with the two drengr björn, and so the small army continued forward to meet the advancing battalion. The elfs unleashed volleys of arrows while Eirik and Garik charged headfirst into the fray, quick to prove their might in combat. Men fell with each sweep of the two björn’s mace and axe. Their white fur quickly became red with the blood of their enemies, the weak Men who had so foolishly desired to conquer the mountains and forests of Elleswhaer.

Among the Men a champion appeared. Pyotr the Warlock, a powerful sorcerer. Eirik and Garik raised their weapons and charged the man, hoping to slay him and offer his black heart to their gods before he could summon a fiend to do his bidding. Pyotr proved to be the faster and called forth a mighty beast from Hell to fight for him. The serpentine creature wrapped its body around Eirik and began to squeeze, hoping to suffocate the mighty björn hero. Eirik tore at the serpent’s flesh with claws and teeth and soaked himself in its vile ichor.

Garik threw his mace at Pyotr, striking the man in the temple and breaking his neck. Armed with nothing more than his claws and teeth, Garik Ironheart torn into the Men standing about him that brandished spears and swords. Twenty and ten he slew before he finally fell under the waves and waves of soldiers.

The elfs rode into the fray, trampling bodies beneath the hooves of their steeds. One elf let fly an arrow that struck the serpent in the eye, killing it instantly and freeing Eirik from its crushing embrace. The drengr björn retrieved his axe and attacked the soldiers of the Iron Kingdom, making his way to the body of Garik Ironheart. Eirik and the surviving elfs surrounded the body of the fallen champion, killing every Man that approached them with spear, arrow, and mighty axe. Their arms were leaden before the fight ended, but they continued on. The moon passed its highpoint when the last Man fell to the ground and offered his blood as a sacrifice to the Old Gods and the Gods Above.

Eirik carried Garik’s body back to his king while the elfs set fire to their fallen, as was their custom. Asgeir and Dafydd met the returning warriors and both sent words to their gods in hopes that their comrades would be welcomed as heroes in the Heavens. Garik was placed beneath a cairn of stones and his mace was taken by one of his kin to be returned to his home and given to his son. Asgeir walked to the edge of a cliff and let loose a feral roar that could be heard by the Men many leagues to the south.

“The blood of the Old Gods flows through my veins! So long as I live, the Vadik the Black will not rule over my people!”

He returned to his tent and slept for the remainder of the night. The next morning the legions of the Iron Kingdom were nearly upon the base of the mountains. The elfs and björn hastily prepared for battle as their enemies began the treacherous climb up to the plateau that Asgeir had chosen to defend.

It was nearly midday when the Men were within a bowshot of the camp, and so it was nearly midday before the battle begun. Dafydd ordered his elfs to rain death upon the evil Men of the south, and before the sun marched another inch in the sky, the mountainside became slick with the blood of Vadik the Black’s soldiers. When the soldiers found the mountain path that lead to the camp, Skjöldr the Blessed and Gunnar Thunderpaw and twenty drengr björn were there to meet them. Skjöldr sent several of the Men falling to their deaths with a sweep of his mighty shield, which had been made from the bones and hide of the mighty mastodon. His axe cleaved a champion of Men in twain. Gunnar swung his maul back and forth, breaking the bones and armor of tens of Men. The fur of both björn heroes was red with the blood of their enemies within an hour’s count, but they knew neither weariness nor cowardice, and continued to kill their enemies.

Elfs led by Sulien and Fayne rode through secret paths to circle about the main force of Men that had foolishly marched up the side of the mountain. With his bow and falcon, Sulien slew two score of his enemies, and half that again with his spear. Fayne trampled a dozen with her horse, and when it became lame from the spears of the Men, she killed them with her club. The Men retreated before nightfall, leaving Sulien, Fayne, and their elfs soaked in the blood of a hundred fallen legionnaires.

So it continued for four more days during which Dafydd ended the lives of ninety Men, Skjöldr slew and ate the hearts of seventy legionnaires, Gunnar killed sixty Men, Eirik defeated eighty Men and three of their fiendish servants, Sulien and Fayne together killed one hundred and thirty Men, and Asgeir alone slayed more than eight score Men from the south. Rhain the Horseman fell on the second day defending his soldiers from six fiends summoned by the sorcerers serving Vadik the Black.

Of the hundred elfs that rode to Asgeir’s aid, only sixty remained alive. Of the drengr björn that had marched behind Asgeir Thunderpaw to defeat these weak Men, seventy were still able to fight. Seventy and sixty against the hundreds of legionnaires that continued to draw breath.

“Our enemy outnumbers us greatly,” Prince Dafydd said to King Asgeir at dusk of the fifth day of combat. “We cannot hope to stand against them.”

“We cannot retreat,” Asgeir said to Dafydd. “For such is cowardice and unbecoming of a drengr björn. Not even a weakling ósterkligr björn would retreat for fear that it would bring dishonor upon his tribe.”

“What then shall we do?” Dafydd demanded.

The mighty and noble Asgeir, lord of the björn, placed snout in paw once more as he thought.

“I shall challenge the Iron King to single combat!” he declared. “To see who truly deserves to rule Elleswhaer.”

The drengr björn cheered in approval while the elf lords shook their heads, for they knew that Vadik the Black would not agree to such terms. The Iron King knew nothing of honor, only merciless bloodshed.

But Asgeir could not be swayed. The king of the björn picked up his hammer and marched down to the camps of the legions of the Iron Kingdom. He was accompanied by his son Gunnar, Skjöldr the Blessed, and Eirik the Axe, his remaining drengr björn champions. Dafydd rallied his remaining champions and followed the mighty björn king to what he believed would be the death of them all.

Asgeir Thunderpaw was stopped by the guards of the camp, but he pushed his way through and demanded to see Vadik the Black, ruler of the Iron Throne. He was instead met by the sorceress Kira, a queen amongst the race of Men.

“Tell your cowardly king Vadik the Black that I, Asgeir Thunderpaw, wish to face him in single combat,” Asgeir demanded of the woman. “And let that battle determine the result of his damnable war for Elleswhaer.”

“My king does not answer to peasantry such as you,” Kira said in a voice full of venom and scorn.

In his rage, Asgeir hurled his hammer, a weapon forged by the Old Gods themselves out of the heart of a mountain. It struck one of the fiends flanking Kira, killing it instantly.

“My next one will not miss its true target,” the björn king said with a roar. His son Gunnar recovered the hammer and returned it to his father and king.

The woman’s dark eyes flashed and she turned to her soldiers.

“Gather the sorcerers,” she demanded. “Let us call forth Vadik the Black to send these beasts to Hell.”

The Men cheered as they ran to summon the sorcerers. Calls of praise for Vadik the Black filled the air all around Asgeir’s björn and Dafydd’s elfs. Men wearing armor forged from the blackest metals formed a ring around their enemies, cutting them off from retreat.

But Asgeir did not have retreat on his mind. His thoughts were of victory and death.

Before the björn and the elfs a cabal of sorcerers and sorceresses gathered, encircling Kira. They began chanting fell words of dark and forgotten magicks that had been better left forgotten. The sight of ten thousand enemies could not put fear in the hearts of Asgeir or his drengr björn, but the words pouring forth from the lips of these Men made even the mighty king uneasy.

“They corrupt Elleswhaer herself with these words,” Dafydd said in a low voice. “Whatever comes for to answer their call must be slain, lest we all perish.”

Asgeir nodded and tightened his grip on his hammer.

The sun climbed from the far east to the center of the sky before the Men finished their invocations. One by one the sorcerers fell to the ground dead, except for Kira. Their bodies became immolated in the flames that formed the gate from the battlefield to the Iron Throne, a site of power many weeks away as the horseman rides.

Asgeir Thunderpaw knew no fear and stared directly into the gate and beheld Vadik the Black, the sorcerer king and ruler of the Iron Throne. He was a towering Man, nearly as tall and broad as Asgeir himself. The sorcerer was encased in bronze armor adorned with spikes and images of fiends, dragons, and skulls. From beneath the gaps in the armor flowed a reddish light as though Vadik was forged from the very fires of Hell. His eyes glowed red with malice and thoughts of destruction, but their gaze failed to strike terror in the heart of Asgeir.

“Come forth and face me sorcerer!” he demanded of Vadik.

The Man laughed and rose from his throne, drawing his great sword in the process.

“Who is so foolish as to face the Black God in combat?” Vadik hissed. “Who is it that wishes for their soul to be consumed by my blade?”

Vadik the Black stepped through the portal and into the ring formed by his minions, who all cheered at the sight of their god-king. The sorcerer king raised his arms and shouted a word, filling the skies with thunderheads and making his sword sweat fire.

“Foolish björn,” he said. “I am Vadik, the Black God and ruler of the Iron Throne, Conqueror of Elleswhaer and Slayer of the dragon Daarjanikup! What claims do you have that make you worthy to fight me?”

“I am Asgeir Thunderpaw!” Asgeir roared at the sorcerer. “King of the björn, Goblinbane, Giantfoe, and Slayer of Cadoc. Soon I shall add Killer of Vadik and Defender of Elleswhaer to my titles, foolish and weak sorcerer!”

Vadik the Black merely laughed and swung his great and terrible sword at Asgeir.

“Let us see!”

c-c-c-c-combo breaker!
Seriously though, I'm enjoying this. Please continue.

>>1771699

Thank you kind anon, I shall proceed.

Asgeir raised his hammer to deflect the blow, sending wide far and to the left. The björn king slashed at Vadik the Black with his mighty claws, but they failed to do more than scratch the enamel on the sorcerer’s armor. As Vadik brought his sword down to cut Asgeir in two, the björn twisted like a serpent and struck the Man in the side of the leg with his hammer. Vadik gasped in shock and pain, but continued his attack, which caught Asgeir’s shoulder. The blade tore through the layers of Asgeir’s armor as if they were little more than silk, and the mighty björn king roared in agony as the flames bit into his flesh.

With the fury of his mighty gods, Asgeir swung his hammer, smashing it into Vadik’s chest, cracking armor and breaking the bones beneath. His strike did not go unanswered for long. The Iron King punched Asgeir on the side of the face with a spiked gauntlet and cut open the björn’s back with a stroke from his sword.

The sun marched across the sky as the two foes traded blows. Vadik fell to the ground as the sun began to sink below the western edge of Elleswhaer, and Asgeir stood over him, hammer poised to strike.

“Prayer to the false gods you serve for your soul,” Asgeir demanded.

Vadik uttered words, but they were not any prayer.

“I am my own god!” he roared as fire burst forth from his hands, surrounding Asgeir.

The mighty björn king fell back, screaming in pain as the flames ate away at his flesh. His drengr björn and the elfs were forced to watch as their champion fell to the ground and ceased moving.

Vadik, the treacherous king of Men, raised his arms, this time in victory. He declared himself a god and ruler of all of Elleswhaer. His men pointed their spears and swords at the drengr björn and elf lords who had come down from the mountain to battle the god-king of the Iron Throne.

“Kill them all,” Vadik demanded. “Let their blood feed the soil of Elleswhaer.”

The Men moved in to kill the drengr björn and elf lords, but they were met with resistance. Skjöldr the Blessed killed twelve with a single swipe of his axe and crushed twice that with his powerful shield. Gunnar leapt over the Men and stood by the body of his father and crushed the skulls of all those who dared defile it further. Eirik the Axe stood at Skjöldr’s back and cleaved three Men in twain with his axe and ripped out and consumed the hearts of seven more with his claws and maw.

Of the elf lords Fayne the Archer slew twenty and eight Men with her deadly arrows, which she had poisoned with sap of a rare flower from Choedwig. Sulien Goldeneyes ran his foes through with his powerful spear while directing his falcon to claw out their eyes. Dafydd swung his mighty club back and forth, cutting those who stood before him to ribbons with the sharp pieces of obsidian that he had placed in the weapon.

The spirit of Asgeir Thunderpaw, king of the björn, travelled to the heavens to be judged by the Old Gods and the spirits of his ancestors. He walked along the slopes of the Great Mountain to stand before the five beings he had worshipped all his life.

“You have arrived too early King Asgeir Thunderpaw,” the first of five said.

“Why is it that you try to enter the blessed realm before your time?” the second demanded.

“I was slain by Vadik the Black,” Asgeir said.

“You failed your people when they needed you most,” the third god declared.

“Heroes enter our realm, not the weak and undeserving,” the fourth god said.

“Return to Elleswhaer, Asgeir Thunderpaw,” the fifth and final god demanded. “Slay Vadik the Black and free your people!”

The Old Gods breathed on Asgeir, dissolving his spirit. The king of the björn’s mind exploded in agony as he was returned to his physical form. The sounds of battle and death were thick about him as he opened his eyes.

“We are with you,” a chorus of voices, the Old Gods, whispered to Asgeir.

He could feel their strength flowing through his veins; their might forced his heart to beat again. Asgeir reached for his hammer and held it in his iron grip. He roared as he rose to his feet. Asgeir pointed at Vadik with his free hand as he drew back his arm to throw his mighty hammer, a gift from the gods themselves.

“Vadik the Black!” he roared over the din of battle. “Your rule ends this day! I am Asgeir Thunderpaw, king of the björn, Goblinbane and Giantfoe, Slayer of Cadoc, and Destroyer of the Black God!”

A bolt of lightning struck Asgeir’s hammer as the björn threw it at Vadik. It spun end over end seven times before striking the sorcerer king in the temple and snapping the Man’s neck. Vadik’s sword fell from his hand and into the dirt. Its fires ceased to burn.

The armies of Man and the champions of björn and elf ceased their fighting to watch Vadik sway and fall to the ground. As his body struck earth, the clouds opened up and poured rain down upon the battlefield to wash away the blood that had been spilt.

“Come drengr björn and elf lords, let us wash away this blight upon Elleswhaer,” Asgeir roared. “Kill every last Man that swore fealty to Vadik the Black and the Iron Throne!”

Asgeir tore the head from one man and ripped the limbs off of the body of another. His son Gunnar crushed tens with his maul, offering all of them to the Old Gods in praise. Eirik the Axe feasted upon the hearts of two score Men, and when Skjöldr the Blessed was slain by the combined effort of three and thirty Men, he recovered the hide shield and bore his brother in arms away from the battlefield.

Prince Dafydd crushed the skulls of seventy Men before the battle’s end. Fayne the Archer let fly arrow after arrow until she was slain by the fiend summoned by Kira, who Sulien killed with a throw of his spear. The heroes of björn and elf continued fighting until their skins were soaked in blood and their arms were heavy like leaden weights.

Asgeir brought down his hammer one last time, caving in the skull of the final living Man and ending the battle.

“We are free,” Prince Dafydd said. The elf lord wiped the blood of his foes from his face. “But at a cost.”

Asgeir Thunderpaw nodded. “But we have destroyed a great evil, Dafydd of Choedwig, Slayer of a Thousand Men. Vadik the Black is dead and Elleswhaer is free from the Iron Kingdoms.”

“What will you do when you return to Hjálmer?” the elf lord said to Asgeir.

“I shall find a female and create another son,” Asgeir declared with a fierce grin. “For that is the way of things! I am a björn! My life is battle and has not yet ended!”

Asgeir gathered his drengr björn champions and with them carried the body of Skjöldr the Blessed back to the mountains. The two elf lords watched him go.

Sulien whistled sharply, summoning his falcon to his side. He gripped his spear loosely.

“Long live Asgeir Thunderpaw, King of the Björn.”

Thus ending the tale of Asgeir Thunderpaw, King of Hjálmer.

What does /lit/ think of it? I had fun writing it, and hopefully you enjoy reading it.

>>1771719
*begins slowly clapping*
I saved the thread as a pdf for future reading.

>>1771737

Thank you. I was a little leery of the ending, but I wanted to showcase the fact that battle is natural to the bjorn, and once they're done fighting they pretty much go home and resume life as normal.

"Bear people, bear people. Look like bear, talk like people."

Although in all seriousness, it wasn't bad. Bump for general interest.