Title:           Norse Anon (thread died)
Author:          DickBiscuit
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/ds0Uj3h9
First Edit:      Sunday 21st of February 2016 02:59:49 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Friday 7th of October 2016 03:11:35 AM CDT

>a salty wind whips at your face, stinging ever so slightly as you look forward
>you have to hold the rudder strong lest control is ripped from you
>it's a rough storm, your men have been rowing near constantly to break through and push to foreign waters
>"To send such a storm our way, Thor may be displeased with us"
>you turn to see your friend and brother in arms Bjorn beside you
"It would seem so; we should make an offering once we land ashore"
>"A good one I hope, the storm is truly unnatural"
>Bjorn is an overly faithful man and but you have to agree
>purple swirls through dark clouds as green lightning strikes ever so often
>not to mention the thunder, quiet as a mouse
>it has made many of your men anxious, but you're too far to turn around now and your people needs both the slaves and whatever wealth you can take
>"Anon? Are you there?"
"Hmm? Oh yes, I was just thinking" you say handing over the steering rudder
>"you think too much, leave your fate to gods and kings for once"
>screw that, your king was an idiot and judging by the storm the gods weren't kind today
>you sit down near the oar Bjorn left behind and begin to row
"Row men! We land at dawn!" You yell, loudly enough for even the other ships to hear
>and hear they did, a chorus of hollering came from all around
>You've got riches to plunder
?
"Forward men! The gods grant us a victory!"
>when you say that it's usually not so literal
>but the strange storm had followed you all the way to the battlefield and now the lighting was striking the enemy
>truly a blessing from Thor himself!
>you charge into the panicking and broken defenders
>acts of god tend to do that
>you move forward and slice through two men rounding on a third who's kept his wits about him
>the commander judging by the iron helm and full scale armor
>you swing again and again but he backpeddals and expertly blocks with his shield
>a quick shield bash puts him off balance, another, coupled with the rain and slippery mud, sends both of you tumbling into the mud
>you come out on top and plant your knees on his shield, pinning him to the floor
>you raise your sword for one final blow
>as it comes down to lop off his head everything tenses
>your body locks up and your vision is clouded by green
?
>you wake up very uncomfortably
>you went to sleep with your armor on what did you expect?
>but this is worse, it feels like there's a boulder on your chest
>you open your eyes
>you weren't far off
>the Saxon bastard's got a foot on your chest and a sword raised high
>pulling his foot you knock him off balance and roll to the side
>standing up you look around for anything to use as a weapon
>you find a discarded shield off to the side and hurriedly strap it on as the Saxon charges
>Thor's beard this thing is light
>pussy fucking Saxons and their womanly arms
>you raise your shield to block his swing
>he lets out a scream as he swings again and again
>shit, shit, shit, you need to be on the offensive soon
>you're forced backwards due to the onslaught of blows
>tripping on a root as you back up you land on your back
>you're really starting to run out of options
>he lodges his sword in the side of your shield
>and you send out a deft kick
>perhaps their arms aren't the only womanly thing
>because that was quite high note
>you stand up and once again scan your surroundings for a weapon
>your eyes fall on a hand axe, discarded in the dirt
>perfect
>you grab it and move towards the Saxon
>he's found himself a shield and now stands no more than a man's length away
>this is going to be up close and personal
>you wouldn't have it any other way
?
>You stand there for a while, less than ten feet away from each other
>neither of you moves a muscle
>this can go two ways
>either you take each other out a look like total badasses in the eyes of Odin and all the gods
>or you kill him
>because you’re not going to lose to a wimpy fucking Saxon
>you raise your weapon and get ready to charge when something catches your ear
>a low thundering
>coming from west
>you hear whinnying in the distance and feel the dull roar of thundering hooves
>"Normans?"
>you look to the Saxon
"Normans? At this time of year? At this time of day? In this part of the country? in a-" you look around "-a dense wood?"
>"yes"
>well… you don't really have a better explanation
"wanna kill them?"
>"sure"
>you form a small shield wall with just the two of you and brace for the charge
>and find some very short horses coming your way
>who aren't carrying any riders
>you soon find yourself facing a wedge of at least twenty horses and around five flying horses
>"What manner of sorcery is this?"
>it might be a little bit too much for your Saxon friends little brain
>not too much for yours though
>unlike his uneducated Christian mind you know better
>the gods taught you that Pegasus and smart horses exist, like Hófvarpnir and Sleipnir
>they may have a few less legs than you were led to believe but-
>"surrender now and you will be treated well, refuse and we will take you by force"
>ok Thor didn't mention shit about them talking
>but he did mention what to do when presented with an opportunity for honorable surrender
"Fuck Off!"
>a horse dressed in a lot more purple than all the others stands tall and speaks again
>"This is your last chance, give yourselves up, or face the consequences"
>"the only thing I give myself to is your wife!"
>haha nice
>this is going to be a fun death
?
>the horse creatures charged, the Pegasus making dives at you with bows
>their arrows shatter on your shield
>both you and the Saxon charge together with an mighty roar, quite different from their relatively quite stoicism, and it gets to a few of them
>some in the front line flinch, others hesitate
>all of them get their asses kicked
>you take your shield to the side of a fearful pony's head, knocking him out cold
>with a quick swinging your axe you catch one in the side
>Their armor is thick, but you swing hard enough to draw blood
>you tug at your axe trying to wrench it free
>and it's stuck
>shit
>you hide as much of yourself behind your shield as you can before you charge
>pushing through the crowd you go as far as your legs take you
>spears and arrows bounce uselessly off of your shield
>until you stop
>looking up you've got ten or so horses pushing against your shield, just barely holding you at bay
>you swing your fist wildly around the side of your shield, taking two three of them out in some good well placed swing
>you gain the advantage and slowly begin to walk forward again
>until you lose traction
>all traction really
>you're surrounded by a purple glow and lifted high into the air
>the one who spoke earlier is looking right at you with a glowing horn
>"Stop him! Use the potion!"
>potion?
>fuck that you don't want to be poisoned by some magical horse witch
>you start swinging wildly at the Pegasus nearing you
>then you're hit with two or three arrows
>ouch
>and now you've just hit the ground
>ouch
>you look to see their leader on the floor with a broken horn and the Saxon above him
>man, he's a pretty good guy for a weakling Saxon bastard
>maybe he'll be nice enough to wake you up later
 
?
>you wake up lying down on your stomach in a soft bed
>wow, maybe it was a dream?
>"you awake yet heathen?"
>looking around you find that you're in a small cell, iron bars, stone walls, the works
>and the Saxon is in a similar cell across from you
>both you and the Saxon are heavily bandaged, especially your back and where the arrows struck
"yes, where are we?"
>"the horse's dungeon from what I can tell"
>oh boy
>you're probably going to be tortured
>"we're probably going to be tortured "
>definitely going to be tortured
"astute observation for a simple Saxon"
>he looks at you angrily
>"Simple Saxon? I'll have you know-"
>"keep quiet over there!"
>you look to the side to see two guards playing cards in a table a few feet away
"listen to the horse, keep your filthy Saxon mouth shut"
>he narrows his eyes
>"we were allies not more than a few hours ago!"
"that doesn't stop you from being a Saxon bastard." You say matter-of-factly
>he sighs in defeat
>aww, you were just getting to riling him up
>"I have a name you know, other than Saxon"
"oh?"
>…
>you're not going to ask him
>that would be admitting defeat
>"it's Cedric you ass, what's yours"
>victory
"I doubt you could pronounce my name, how about a simple title?"
>he looks at you, trying to figure out if it was another jab at his intelligence
>it was
>"fine, what should I call you?"
"your mother's lover"
>"RAAAAAGH"
>he's shaking the bars trying to break through to you
>hehe
>asshole
>"such disharmony between you two"