Post by Mr. C on Mar 29, 2009 22:32:46 GMT -5
XI.
“This was the dragon’s flight across the waves.”
The night sky was starless, clouds covering all but the golden glow of the moon. There was a strong breeze that pressed in to the sails of their dragon-headed longboat. The beast they rode through the dark night cut through the even darker seas with ease. Its wooden brow was pulled tight over sunken, hollow eyes. Its razor-toothed grin was pulled back playfully, its forked tongue leading the way like a spearhead. Cross and Glaeg rode fast and unhindered, slicing through the waves on their midnight quest.
The wind was strong, but relatively quiet. The waves crashed quietly against the front planks of the boat and then unfolded to either side. The quest was undertaken in the quietest of night, even the gull that flew overhead did not open its mouth to caw and let its presence be known. It flapped its wings once, twice, and then turned with the heavenly gusts and glided off in to the darkness. The scene, especially for what the quest was about, was miraculously quiet, and almost peaceful. One would think the boat that was sent out was actually a funeral ship by how the scene appeared. That is until Glaeg broke the wondrous silence.
“Do ye remember our first raid, ‘Ammer?”
Cross looked up to see Glaeg was fast at work running a whetstone along the blade of his hand-axe, the question was certainly posed of Glaeg’s minds’ wanderings. And, when the realization came to Brett, he smiled. For he did remember it and he remembered it fondly. A raid for a Viking, and especially their first, is not something one forgets easily. And this one was especially unforgettable.
“Aye, I remember, Glaeg. We ‘ave always been like brothers, ‘aven’t we?”
Cross put his feet up on the planks before him and reclined back against the bow of the ship. Glaeg looked up at his Odin-brother with a smile and nodded, before going back to work. Cross closed his eyes with a smile of his own and rested both hands behind his head, drifting off in to thought. The fiercely quiet winds whipped his wavy hair and beard about as he thought back on the raid Glaeg spoke of.
Where ever Cross has gone, Glaeg has followed. The two of them for as long as Cross can recall, have been like brothers. Through the years, Brett and Glaeg have fought side by side on more bouts than they could possibly recall. Through thick and thin, through fruitful victory and devastating defeat, they not only survived, but survived with each other at their side. Even many years ago, for this first raid, their destinies were intertwined. Cousins were all they were if one was to be technical. Glaeg was just Hammer’s uncle’s son. But between them, they were brothers. Brothers bound by war-blood.
Trent Sickness and “The Norse Hammer” one could argue are much the same. They’ve been in EUW in some form or another for a very long time and they’ve been wrestling, fighting, for even longer. With no true relation between them, and this even being the first time they’d face one another, there was an undeniable kinship. They were warriors, and that was enough to relate them on some level. A brotherhood born of battle’s blood.
Back then, Cross and Glaeg were not the elite warriors they are today. Obviously, they had to start from the ground up, to prove themselves in the Viking army. And prove themselves they did that day. Cross and Glaeg in those days were young, were brass, were untrained and thought they’d seen it all. They’d been playing Viking all their life, there was nothing more for them to learn. But, their armor and weaponry showed otherwise. They did not wield the axes they wore today, the signs of Viking leadership. Nay, they carried spears and wooden shields that showed they were nothing more than grunts for hire. But even back then, even when they each thought they were the best there was and ever could be, they worked together: they were a team. Hammer and Glaeg always stood by one another in the heat of battle, and this day was no different.
Trent’s a warrior, a fighter, one of them. Brett Cross would certainly agree with that sentiment one hundred percent. He’s been through it all and come out on top more times than most. Cross could certainly respect the man, and would consider him one of his own. But, even Vikings must sometimes fight one of their own. Granted, many times differences are put aside for mutual gain there are times when you must war from the inside out to get the greatest good. This week, Cross looks to pad his resume with one more accolade, one more accomplishment. The defeat of an EUW legend like Trent Sickness.
And much like this battle coming MNS, was the original raid for Glaeg and Hammer – a battle waged upon one of their own. The enemy was an old Viking king named Surt, a proven warrior much like Trent but one way past his prime and way past his time to rule. Again, much like The Sick 1. So, Cross and Glaeg who were very young and green at the time were contracted from a powerful ruler in their Norse homeland to join their ranks. For that was how young Vikings gained their reputation before gaining hold of a village of their own, they worked freelance, fought for whomever paid the best, until their skill and coin purse was great enough for them to gain their own stake in the world.
These two young warriors set out in a longboat much like the one they sat in now, armed with their toy-weapons and hand-me-down shields, as children among Viking elite. The battle plan was simple, even for them; they would engage Surt’s navy at the coast between their lands, as it would be their weak link and where they’d expect an attack least. The dragon-boats cut through the waves silently to their prey, and in the darkness the vessels latched on to the unknowing prey and the fight ensued. All around Cross and Glaeg, before they even had time to realize someone had said “go”, weapon met shield and flesh alike, and the tides of war engulfed them both like babes drowning in the depths of the darkest oceans. For the two of them, being surrounded by death, by anger, by ferocity the likes of which they’d never seen, they were completely overwhelmed. But they stood side by side and held strong, hacking out with instinct, fighting not to win but to survive and doing it together.
These two green Vikings fought for survival, and all around them men were being felled. One man to Glaeg’s right had his arm hacked off at the elbow as he stupidly fell right in to the ploy of his opposition, and it fell between the ships and to the bottoms of the sea, with his shield still intact, and now undefended, Glaeg watched the poor one-armed man shredded alive by a rusty crimson blade, all the while being showered in the gore-geyser. And to Cross’s left, a man foolishly attempted to gain leverage on his opponent at the wrong moment and as he went to step over on to the other ship, his leg was torn asunder at the ankle at nearly the exact same moment he was impaled through the soft muscle between his neck and collarbone. The poor soldier didn’t cry out, and instead his limp, death-soaked body fell back on to Cross, soaking him much the same.
And with all the death around Cross and Glaeg, something finally clicked. These wars, this fighting, it was not some childish game like they played in the woods when they were kids. No, it was far better, a much greater excitement and rush. Because, this was not a game. It was way better than any childish game. Nor were they children anymore, this was their blood-stained bar mitzvah. And beyond that, they saw the mistakes that the presumed “Viking Elite” made, and knew that they would never had made those same foolish mistakes. This was when they knew they’d be the Viking elite. That was when the two became men, and became brothers. It was blood that bound them. It was the blood of their wars. It was Odin’s blood.
Cross thrust his shield forth and pressed the corpse that was on it on to the soldiers of the other ship, and together, Cross and Glaeg thrust their spears forward in to the opposition, and fluidly stepped over together. Then, turning their backs to one another, they spun their spears free from their first fresh kills and continued on, taking no time to revel in it and leave their opponents a chance to retaliate. They kept on fighting without regard, fighting as hard and calloused Viking men. The war slowed over time, and soon their legions had destroyed every last one of Surt’s men, and even Surt himself was felled and his head placed on a stake that faced out in to the oceans. Their way of showing to the world what great power they had at their disposal. But to Cross and Glaeg, it was a way of saying thanks. As it was them, together, who had killed Surt, a story they told time and time again in the mead hall upon their return home. Together, with their blades’ first tastes of blood, they defeated Surt, the great Viking King.
And this Monday, another similar defeat would come true. Cross would defeat the old, worn king Trent Sickness in their very first meeting. The similarities between the two “great kings” were startling, and most prominently was the fact that each held so much power despite being far past their prime. And, even way back then, when Cross and Glaeg were weak little warriors for hire, they were able to defeat that pompous Viking King. So Trent Sickness would surely be a piece of cake, now. Because, this is surely not then and Cross has only improved. Cross has developed, and in fact now he is the King, he’s the Pure Champion. As for Trent? He’s only gotten older and hasn’t anything to brag about. And, this Monday, Cross plans to help The Sick 1 understand just that. That “The Norse Hammer” is the better fighter and that Trent Sickness is just past his prime.
Then, the winds picked up harder, signaling they were nearing land. Cross took the signal and stood, time for the joys of reminiscing would come again, but now he had to return to the mission at hand. “The God of Midgaard” stood and untied the sails, and then with the ropes in his hands, he made his way to the back of the boat and braced himself. Now, he held the reigns of the dragon. He was in control and could steer the sails as they maneuvered inland. It had been many, many years since Cross had traveled these waters, and for a split-second Cross felt he no longer remembered the way. But the dragon they rode upon would get them there. The winds roared out, and the wings of the beast billowed out further, and Cross let out a booming laugh and held the reigns tight as the beast flew inward.
