Another lightning strike lit up the sky above Alwin's head. His lungs burned and his legs ached more than he could ever remember from running the marshes during the great hunts. The rain came down in huge sheets, his long hair was plastered to his face, his clothes saturated, the water simply ran off him now, he could absorb no more. A huge crash of thunder followed the lightning, the wind blasting the rain into his face in stinging gusts, but still he ran. The wind battered him from all directions, he stumbled over hidden rises amongst the tall grasses on the headland, and tripped as he lost his feet in rabbit holes and divots, but still he ran. He'd barely heard what Aiken the Black had shouted into his ear on the beach, he'd had to press his head to the mouth of the King's Champion to receive the message, his eyes widening as he understood. His task was simple, run. Run as fast as possible to the castle and with the authority of Aiken bring the king and his guard to the shore.
Aiken stood waist deep in the sea staying close enough to the shore so as not to be overpowered by the rolling surface, whipped to a frenzy by the storm. He stood silently scanning the surface of the water and occasionally glancing at the hulk of the broken ship. His sword was held in a double handed grip over his head, ready for anything that might leap out of the sea in front of him. He steadied himself amidst the swell of another wave and summoned two of his chosen men who were carrying torches, the flames billowing crazily in the wind, he needed to see as much as possible. More lightning lanced from the sky and a sharp crack followed almost immediately, the night was turned to day for an instant and Aiken saw the bodies of the Vikings rolling lifelessly in the tumbling waves. There was a long, drawn out groan from the dragon ship speared on the rocks as it rolled onto its side, more bodies spilling out into the sea. Aiken stood still, waiting with menace, like one of the rocks jutting out of the Viking ship's hull, he waited for another flash of lightning and when it came he squinted into the violence of the storm. As soon as his vision cleared he grunted to himself and lowered his sword, he was satisfied there were no other ships, no other Vikings save for the ones rolling in the waves, washing up onto the sand behind him. The men of his company were dragging the bodies out of the surf and laying them in a line on the sand. Aiken waded back to shore, caught the eye of Grimm his Captain and tipped his head back in the direction of the sea, Grimm immediately dispatched two chosen men to the surf to keep watch.
Aiken looked at the line of bodies. He was no stranger to the Vikings, all his men had fought them in battle. The raids were becoming more frequent, in some places up the coast they had actually settled, none yet brave enough to try and kick them back into the sea, raiding fleets had been spotted by their coast watchers passing from North to South mostly. It was impossible to tell anything from the wet, lifeless bodies gathered here and Aiken gave the order for the bodies to be burned.
'And this one?' shouted Grimm over the howling winds, stepping to the side to reveal another Viking body. Aiken stepped forward, puzzled by Grimm's raised eyebrow and sardonic smile. He stopped in his tracks, this one was still alive. A deep gash across his forehead had stained his blonde hair red, angry, hateful eyes stared out of a mask of blood. Grimm's sword was pressed against the big man's chest. Aiken studied the wounded Viking, there was something about this man, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Grimm was obviously having the same thoughts. He was clearly a leader of men, he was adorned in furs and leather, not just the blue and red tunics of the other Vikings around him. By his side were two axes that had been worn crossed on his back before Grimm disarmed him and dragged him through the sand. The warrior met Aiken's gaze, moved his head to the side and spat into the sand.
'Bring me a shield!' Aiken shouted and held out an arm. Within a few seconds one of his men handed him one of the large Viking shields, he turned it round. It was painted white with a blackbird sigil painted in the centre, Aiken smiled and looked to Grimm. He was nodding his head, trying to look nonchalant but he had a twinkle in his eye that made Aiken begin to laugh.
'Ragnar Lodbrok, rapist, murderer, thief and scourge of the Franks' Aiken span round. There behind him at the head of his honour guard, sat on a jet black horse was his King, Aella. At his feet was the most notorious, most hated and despised warlord of all the Norsemen, Ragnar Lodbrok. The viking looked from Aella to Aiken to Grimm and spat in the sand again.
Ooooooooo.... {registering for comment tracking} (https://www.grogheads.com/forums/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.wargamer.com%2Fforums%2Fsmiley%2Fviking4.gif&hash=d45dc3b822ab5fa0ef4806ceac875b76bf295f55)
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um. There wasn't a period at the end, so, was that the end of the first entry, or was there a copy-paste error?
Quote from: JasonPratt on March 21, 2014, 08:55:10 PM
Ooooooooo.... {registering for comment tracking} (https://www.grogheads.com/forums/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.wargamer.com%2Fforums%2Fsmiley%2Fviking4.gif&hash=d45dc3b822ab5fa0ef4806ceac875b76bf295f55)
{squinting}
um. There wasn't a period at the end, so, was that the end of the first entry, or was there a copy-paste error?
fixed just for you :P
Okay, good, I just wondered if there was going to be an execution or something to round out the scene. :)
Huzzah, another geek AAR! Glee!
lol - im going for the big story type - hope it works!
Great story so far Geek. You have a gift for this sort of thing.
King Aella best be careful how he handles Ragnar Hairy-breeks: "How the Little Piglets would grunt if they heard how the old Boar suffers..."
I predict a lot of striped sails off the coast as a result.
Quote from: undercovergeek on March 22, 2014, 04:59:56 AM
lol - im going for the big story type - hope it works!
The CK2 system (and hopefully transitioning into the new EU4 system) should work great with that!
Ragnar woke to the darkness behind his blindfold, his body aching all over. He suppressed a murmur of pain, he would not give his captors that satisfaction. He felt a moment of grief as he remembered the King putting a torch to his warriors on the beach, the bodies heaped in an unceremonious pile. He also remembered his hands and feet being bound, the other end of the rope tied to the King's horse, he was pulled off his feet by the strength of the big horse and dragged over the rough ground and rocks to Aella's castle. His battered and bruised body was chained to the wall where he hung helplessly, men of the castle taking turns beating and kicking him until he lost consciousness, only for him to wake and have the process start all over again. It was from the last round of beatings that he woke now, it took him a while to realise he was been moved, and he tensed for the inevitable flurry of fists and boots, but it didn't come. The blindfold was ripped from his head and an angry face appeared in his field of vision. The man whispered something close to his ear that he didn't understand and then he spat in his face, drew his knife and pressed it to the skin under Ragnar's eye.
Aiken had been sent to bring the Viking to Aella. He chose three men to follow him and gestured to them to cut the warrior down. Ever the enthusiast for violence, Arth was taunting the Viking and thrusting his knife at his face.
'Leave him be' growled Aiken
'He killed my brother, burnt our homes, killed your father' shouted Arth
'And the time has come to answer for that, leave him be'
The disgruntled chosen man punched Ragnar in the face as he reached up to release his bonds
'As you wish' he mumbled
The pain lanced through Ragnar's shoulders as his arms were released from the chains above him.
'Meyla krafla mikli thur syr' growled the Norseman into Arth's face. Arth looked into the big mans' eyes and then over to Aiken.
'Something about your mother and dead pigs, don't ask me'
Arth's fist connected with Ragnar's face again, Aiken rolled his eyes and shook his head.
'Bind his hands and follow me'
Ragnar was led by a rope around his neck into a large stone chamber. Broken arches ringed the room and there were toppled and smashed columns strewn about the floor with other bits of broken masonry. In the centre of the floor was what looked like a wide, disused well or a pit of some sort with a low, stone wall ringing the top. Stood by the wall, accompanied by two men holding torches was Aella, his honour guard behind him, his counsellors were dotted around the chamber and they all turned as Ragnar was dragged into the room and thrown to the floor. Aella looked down at Ragnar without pity, and studied him. After a while he shook his head and sighed then nodded towards the pit. Arth and a fellow chosen man hoisted Ragnar to his feet and roughly pushed him to the edge, Aiken stepped forward and drew his sword. Ragnar looked down into the pit, the floor a deep, seething mass of snakes. He turned to Aiken and held out his hands
'I claim the right of a Viking to die with a sword in my hand'
'What did he say?' asked Aella, Aiken roughly translated Ragnar's request
'And I deny him that right, go ahead, push him in' Aella waved his hand towards the pit
'Cut my bonds and give me your sword' growled Ragnar to Aiken
'Why should I?' replied the King's Champion
'Would you deny me the right to enter the home of my Gods?'
Aiken narrowed his eyes and stared at Ragnar for what seemed like an eternity, the Viking stuck out his hands again. Aiken looked from Ragnar to his outthrust hands and back again, the Viking's shoulders slumped in resignation. Suddenly Aiken swung his sword and sliced through the ropes around Ragnar's hands.
'What are you doing you fool?' shouted Aella
Ragnar held out his hand, Aiken studied the man for a long while before passing him his sword, hilt first. The honour guard around Aella drew their own swords.
'Aiken.........' warned Aella
Ragnar stood there, sword in hand, the tip pointing at Aiken's chest. For a long time the two warriors stared at each other. A smile broke on Ragnar's face, he roared a challenge and feinted a leap in Aella's direction, the King flinched and the honour guard jumped forward as one, Ragnar burst into booming laughter. He slowly cast his gaze around the room, sweeping the sword in front of him
'My sons will return here and avenge this day'
His menacing stare settled on Aella
'Swina bqllr' he bellowed and leapt into the pit.
Eighteen months later.........
Arrows seemed to have little effect on the Vikings.
Aiken stood amazed and appalled at the top of the gate's watchtower. The battle was in the hands of Aella, he simply stood with his men, the scouts and messengers, watching, waiting for the order from his King. He had plenty of time to watch the horror unfolding. The Great Heathen Army as it had come to be known was not attacking his section of the wall... yet, and his chosen men stood watching tensely as the bezerkers barreled toward the Main gate and Ouze gate by the river. Even in the distance, his height on the tower affording him a view over the city to where the Main gate lay, Aiken could see the Vikings running straight through hailstorms of arrows. Some fell dead, the rest just continued to charge, his men murmured to each other on the tower.
'Quiet there' he shouted, as much to calm his own nerves as theirs
Even as he watched the oncoming slaughter his commander's eye surveyed the enemy. He could see in the distance Vikings carrying ladders to scale the walls, and battering rams to hammer down the gates. They simply weren't ready for this, spies and scouts had given them ample notice of the coming invasion, but they could not have been ready for this. The first Viking wave reached the wall. Men began to toss down rocks and other heavy items. Aiken's own section had similar piles, one just above the arch of the gate where he stood. If arrows had no effect what good would rocks do? The Norsemen gathered around the base of the wall like a dammed up river. Distant thumps sounded as they began to beat against the gates.
'Chosen men!' a messenger shouted from below, running up to Aiken's gate. 'My Lord!'
'Here!' shouted Aiken
'Ouzegate needs reinforcements immediately! The King commands you to send five companies with me!'
Aiken began shouting the orders. Five of my companies, he thought to himself, five hundred of my two thousand men, he was already concerned about how thinly they'd be spread. The five companies marched away leaving the courtyard before the gate and the walls alarmingly empty. The remaining men glanced at each other and shuffled quietly. Aiken looked to the Main gate, he could hear the battering rams hammering against the gate, the screams of men. The Vikings were answering the rain of rocks with their own hunting bows, and they appeared to be much more accurate than the defenders.
'Stand firm!' he heard Grimm shout, further down the wall. 'Stand firm...........' His voice becoming uncertain as he noticed something in the distance. Aiken turned to follow his gaze, the Vikings had started to spread out from the Main gate and Ouzegate, they were starting to surround the city. Large groups of them were breaking off from the main attack as the ladder bearers joined them, heading for the city's remaining gates and straight toward the Mickelgate where they stood.
King Aella stood with his men and honour guard in the courtyard of Ouzegate. Soldiers shuffled and clanked, standing in ranks before the gates, waiting and watching their companions atop the wall. The gates thumped, Aella flinched involuntarily, he soothed his men.
'Be strong' he shouted, 'Fear, uncertainty, I take these away. Death may come through these doors but you can fight it, you can win...... Be strong'
He walked to the other side of the courtyard so that all his men could see him, 'Fear and terror, i take these away from you. We will be victorious this day!'
The gates continued to boom. Men clustered on the walls, throwing down rocks and spears, firing arrows and fighting with frantic panic. Occasionally one of them would yell and fall into the courtyard, an arrow protruding from them. Aella tried not to imagine what was on the other side of the gate, the thousands of enraged Vikings bent on slaughter and revenge.
'Fear, anxiety, terror.....' he muttered to himself
The gates shook and quivered, splinters appearing at the edges.
'Look to the King, men' shouted Aelfheah the commander of the honour guard. 'We are undefeated, we have fought the rebels, warred with the nomads and pushed back the Celts. No man can stand before our might, seek courage from Aella and sweep all before us!'
The men cheered.
And the gates burst open.
'Ouzegate has been breached my Lord!' Aella's messenger cried, puffing slightly as he crouched beside Aiken. They were both crouched behind the wall's battlements listening to the Vikings pounding on their own gate.
'It is the most well defended' said Aiken quietly, 'I'm sure the King will be able to hold it'
The messenger nodded, arrows chipping the stone just above them and zinging off into the courtyard. Aiken peeped over the side of the wall, the Viking corpses were piling up, however, he could also see the splintered gate. At it were hordes of Vikings chopping at the gates with their axes and being thrust aside by the constant movement of the battering ram. They both climbed down from the watchtower and joined the chosen men in the courtyard. The soldiers on the walls had run out of stones but the archers were still working against the enemy.
'Tell the King I fear for this gates defences' the messenger nodded and took off toward Ouzegate.
Aiken felt motion beside him and turned to Grimm the Captain of the Chosen Men. Tall, with thick, dark hair that grew down to his shoulders, he was a a bear of a man, the biggest in the army.
'What did the messenger say?' Grimm asked, lifting his chin in the direction the messenger had just fled
'Ouzegate has fallen my friend' Aiken replied
'And our plan?' Both men ducked as an archer crashed into the courtyard with two arrows in his chest.
'Stand and fight when the Vikings break through?' said Aiken, an amused look on his face
'When they breakthrough?' replied Grimm
'Fear not my friend, they are coming through'
Grimm climbed back up the stairs to the battlements, patting men on the shoulder, giving them words of encouragement.
'Are you ready Chosen Men?' shouted Aiken, drawing his sword and banging it to the armour on his chest. The men of his companies roared and banged their axes and swords against armour and shield.
He heard a shout from the wall, the archers were waving in alarm, Grimm running over to them. A huge Viking suddenly pulled himself up onto the wall, a sword in each hand, his face covered in blood, he thrust a sword straight through the throat of the archer next to him, and turned and sliced down through Grimm's armour with the other, he tossed the chosen man backwards over the wall. Grimm disappeared, falling to the Vikings below. A second Viking scrambled up onto the wall, and then a third. Archers stumbled away in shock, dropping their bows, some shoving others off the battlements in their haste to escape. More and more Vikings were pulling themselves onto the top of the wall and they swept the defenders out of their way with ease. Men fell to the courtyard around Aiken and the pounding on the gates redoubled. The structure of the gate began to crack, splinters sprayed into the courtyard. Aiken and his soldiers backed away, readying for the onslaught. Finally with a snap the bar broke and one of the gates burst open, a howling, bleeding wild mass of Vikings poured into the courtyard.
:o
UCG, you need a damn publisher, not a thread in a forum.
+1+0+0+0+0+0+0+0+0+0
Quote from: Staggerwing on March 24, 2014, 08:20:13 PM
:o
UCG, you need a damn publisher, not a thread in a forum.
This.
Thanks guys, I'm hoping to actually be able to press start and get playing after the next update.... poor old Alfred is dying to get in on the story
Nice fort breaching scene! 8)
Aiken and his men steadied their weapons and stood firm. Other soldiers not of the brotherhood of the Chosen dropped their weapons and fled, others remained, frozen with terror. Aiken stood in the middle of his men shouting, trying to rally the fleeing, horrified soldiers. It had been difficult enough to stay calm behind the walls, but watching the Vikings roar, their swords and axes cleaving through flesh, their faces twisted in anger Aiken understood why a normal man might fail. But he and the Chosen were not like normal men, trained since infants to fight and defend their King, the elite of Aella's elite, Aiken pointed his sword at the Viking front line and roared - no speech, no inspirational monologue just a long gutteral howl of rage, his men took up the shout, enough to match that of the Vikings, and they charged into battle.
The lead Viking turned to find himself facing Aiken, despite his rage, despite his inhuman ferocity he froze, surprise showing in his eyes. Aiken smiled and thrust his sword through the Viking's eye, Aiken withdrew his sword and kicked the slumping Viking backwards into his group of warriors. He looked over his shoulder at the startled, frozen soldiers of the castle
'Fight!' he bellowed, and with one great cheer they rose from their fear and joined the Chosen at the gate.
'Back!' Aella yelled. 'Fall into the city!'
The remnants of his companies, even the honour guard broke apart, pulling back from Ouzegate. Aella watched with horror as more and more Vikings spilled into the square, overrunning the few men too weak or too wounded to retreat. They swept forward, a red and blue, fur trimmed tide, a tide of swords and axes and eyes of hate.
'My King', Aelfheah snapped, pulling him back. 'Time to go'. Aella stumbled after his guard captain trying not to listen to the slaughter behind him.
'Fall back to the harrying positions!' Aella called to those who could hear him. 'First company, whoever is left, shore up in the Stonegate Keep! The master at arms should be there by now, preparing the defenses! Second company and my guard, with me!'
Aella continued on, his mind as numb as his sword arm. He felt he'd had no impression on the battle at all, the Vikings seemed unstoppable and uncountable, his efforts had seemed so inadequate. Aelfheah held up a hand, his head cocked to one side, the remains of the company and the honour guard came to an abrupt halt. Aella looked around, the street seemed quiet even peaceful. It seemed so strange to have fled the horrific scene of blood and dismembered bodies to find the city so lazy.
'Damn!' shouted Aelfheah pushing Aella out of the way as a raging group of vikings burst from a side street. The honour guard and the remains of the second company fell into a line, but another group of Vikings ran up behind them. Aelfheah frowned, this other group had come from the North near the Main gate, the Vikings must have taken the Main gate already, if so, the city was lost.
'My King!' Aelfheah gasped, turning. 'We.....'
Aella looked just in time to see a huge Viking axe sheer through Aelfheah's upraised arm, then continue on to hit the Captain in the ribs. Aelfheah grunted, thrown to the side, his sword arm, weapon and all, flying free. He stumbled, and the Viking brought his axe around and down in a two handed blow. Aella stared, dumbfounded at the remains of the corpse. Then the Viking turned toward Aella, growling..........
Aiken's Chosen men were sorely pressed. Bodies lay scattered in the courtyard, the archers from the wall had regrouped and were pulling the wounded to safety. Viking corpses littered the square also, Aiken couldn't help but feel pride at how much it was costing the Norsemen to come through his gate, Mickelgate would not fall easy, not at all. Outside the gate more of them were grouping to assault the courtyard. The gates, Aiken thought to himself glancing to the wall. The Vikings had only smashed aside one of the massive gates, there were hundreds of corpses strewn across the courtyard but the Vikings had cleared many out of the way of the gate to get through to the defenders. There was the briefest of chances the Chosen could close the gate again.
'To me!' shouted Aiken running for the gate, hoping there were men who could hear, and who could respond. The Vikings on the other side of the gate realised what was happening too late. Aiken slammed into the gate and heaved all his weight against it. Men joined him and began pushing the gate slowly closed, Vikings howled and began squeezing through the closing gap only to be stabbed by onrushing defenders as they saw Aiken's plan. Men cried out, some died, others slammed their own weight against the gate and Aiken spared a glance over his shoulder. The Chosen and men of the castle had formed a perimeter, protecting the gate from the Norsemen already in the courtyard. They fought bravely, their backs to the gate, as Aiken and the men around him slammed it shut.
Aiken turned and leant back on the gate, the courtyard was red with blood, sickening lumps of bodies lay alone or in heaps, twisted and torn parts of his men intermingled with the Vikings. Behind him thumping began against the gate like low drums, more men rushed to keep it closed, the gates began shaking as the enemy outside vented their frustration.
'This isn't going to hold for long' a soldier said quietly to himself next to Aiken. 'The hinges are splintering, they're going to get through'
'And we will fight again' said Aiken slapping the man on the back
'My Lord!' a voice called. Aiken turned to see one of Aella's messengers come running into the courtyard. 'The Main gate has fallen, as has Ouzegate'
'When, how can this be?' shouted Aiken over the pounding on the gate behind him
'About an hour ago' An hour? Aiken thought in shock, how long have we been fighting?
'What of the King?'
The messenger looked to his feet, 'Aelfheah and his guard are destroyed my Lord, the King is missing, you must hold this gate'
The men around him began to shout, he heard wood begin to snap and the squeal of metal, there would be no shoring up of the gate this this time, it fell apart in its frame and fell inward, spilling Aiken and the Chosen across the courtyard. Vikings poured once again into Mickelgate square. Aiken readied his sword and sighed, 'Chosen men........... on me' he bellowed and ran forward. In front of Aiken was a huge Viking, covered in furs, his face a mass of scars, his axe covered in script Aiken couldn't begin to understand. Aiken gritted his teeth, shouted once more for his men and charged, swinging his sword. The Viking caught his weapon in an indifferent, armoured hand, ignoring any damage the blow may have caused, and then brought his own axe down on Aiken..... it was over.
Aella's eyes fluttered as he came round, his instinct was to rub a hand across his aching face and stinging eyes. Before his mind and his memory caught up with recent events he reached up to do just that but his hands came up short, he heard the metallic clank of chains tightening. He frowned in confusion, felt the dried blood cracking on his skin, and then felt the rough wood against his face. He realised he was upright, chained tightly to the wooden stake, so tightly it had kept him upright whilst unconscious, his hands chained together out in front of him. He was in the courtyard of the main gate, surrounded by Vikings who stood silently, watching him. He scanned the crowd, there was no friendly face to offer him any solace. He breathed deeply and attempted to recall anything beyond Aelfheah's death. The Viking who had destroyed Aelfheah had turned toward him, Aella thought his life was over until he hit him across the head with the flat side of his axe...........
A scarred, black bearded, shaggy face came into his vision. The Norseman stood in front of Aella and looked into his eyes, he slowly looked Aella from head to foot and back up again, and returned his gaze to Aella's face again. The Viking sniffed dismissively and stepped away, he nodded at someone stood behind Aella. Aella heard a weapon being unsheathed and felt the sharp bite of a blade entering his back next to his spine. He tensed and grimaced at the pain, but would not cry out. The Norse warrior behind him made a cut parallel to his spine all the way down from the top rib to the bottom rib, Aella involuntarily gasped, and clenched his teeth. The warrior made two perpendicular cuts away from the spine along the top and bottom rib, Aella could feel the blood streaming down his back. Then there was nothing else for Aella to do but scream as the flesh was peeled from his back like he was been skinned like a rabbit.
The warrior stood back, glancing at his leader, the big Viking nodded his head again. He wiped the blood and meat from his blade, surveying this King of Northumbria's back, seeing how much it looked like a carved kill at the hunt, and proceeded to copy the procedure on the other side of Aella's back. The King began to shake, his legs banging against the stake, the chords in his neck stood out as he clenched his teeth and tried to stifle another roar of agony. At last the cutting stopped, Aella planted his feet and tried to regain his composure. He was aware of a brief conversation in a language he couldn't understand behind him, he tried to look over his shoulder, and saw the warrior there handing a bloodied knife to a younger, beardless boy. Then he glimpsed the boy hand the warrior a saw,
'Please..........', pleaded Aella, all resolve draining from him. The leader stepped forward and grabbed Aella by the throat, squeezing his neck in a mailed fist.
The warrior began to saw at one of Aella's ribs, the King whimpered at the horrific vibration of the implement cutting backward and forward, biting through his bone and flesh. There was a brief pause and then the warrior gripped the severed rib, and pulled. One moment the rib was a part of Aella's rib cage, the next it was pointing to the sky over his shoulder. A loud wordless scream escaped from the King, he slumped against the stake, all his energy put into the scream. The warrior stood silent, unmoving behind him, only stirred to action when Aella's scream had subsided. Tears of agony ran down the King's face when he started sawing on the second rib, and another primal scream escaped him as it was pulled to its new position jutting from his back, the warrior continued on to the the third rib.
He cut through the bone and snapped it back to join the others, Aella screamed again. Not wordless this time, this time he called to his God. The warrior frowned, he couldn't understand what the broken man was shouting but from his skyward pleas and ranting he gathered it was of a religious nature. Affronted that the prisoner would disrespect his own King's presence with garbled words of his untrue faith, he simply reached into Aella's back and snapped the fourth rib without sawing, and pulled it.
Aella wailed, his strength draining, his hands and feet shaking against their bonds. The warrior started on the other side of his back, grabbing hold of the first rib, sawing and snapping the bone back, then the next and the next. Aella had nothing left, simply hanging from the stake, he didn't make a sound as the seventh bone was broken. The warrior looked at the broken, bloody mess that had been his King's nemesis for so long, wordlessly and without remorse he snapped the last bone and peeled it out across Aella's back. The black bearded leader surveyed the symmetrical lines of bones poking out of Aella's back and slowly nodded. He lifted Aella's head up by the hair and looked into his eyes once more.
'I give you your wings, behold your blood eagle' he said to him.
Aella didnt understand a word of the gutteral language, he was beyond any comprehension, his breathing shallow, his life leaking away behind him. Aella felt movement behind him, the warrior reached into the wreckage of his back and dragged out two lumps of glistening viscera, his lungs. He felt a brief moment of panic as he couldn't breathe, and then started to slip away, as the darkness came the bearded leader held his face
'I am Ivar the Boneless and I avenge my father'.
well............ now thats out of the way i can start the game! update soon
All things considered, I think Aella at the end could have mustered a raspy "Swina bqllr"... ;)
Quote from: JasonPratt on March 28, 2014, 05:16:45 PM
All things considered, I think Aella at the end could have mustered a raspy "Swina bqllr"... ;)
Lol, you reckon?
Quote from: JasonPratt on March 28, 2014, 05:16:45 PM
All things considered, I think Aella at the end could have mustered a raspy "Swina bqllr"... ;)
That would be assuming
his piglets had not high-tailed it west as soon as the first Heathen Army sails were spotted along the coast.
So this will be a tale of Earl Alfred of Dorset, half brother to King Aethelred of Wessex. He is the Count of Dorset and Somerset and holds those 2 provinces. Passed down from the great Chiefs of the Southern clans he has the talents for greatness - he is quick, ambitious, dilligent, just, and a brilliant strategist. Heir to the Duchy of Wessex, the seat of Southern Kings, and Marshal to his King.
I present to you, Earl Alfred
(https://www.grogheads.com/forums/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fimagizer.imageshack.us%2Fv2%2F1280x1024q90%2F833%2Fkxbl.jpg&hash=f5a7e4b476d0fc439e5bfb4c33cbc9fac2c4b10f) (https://imageshack.com/i/n5kxblj)
I think thats it for major cast and crew for now - major events in the game will be presented in story format as above, with accompanying screenshots - there will be no mention of demesne events or minor events unless really pertinent to the tale - this saves me having to write a paragraph or two about the results of the great feast, or Great Uncle someone marrying Great Aunt someone. Hope it goes well..................
Alfred looked to his left, Cynehelm his Marshal had picked a long splinter from the table and was cleaning his nails, nodding in all the right places, or so he hoped. Looking to his right he saw Oscytel his Chancellor, counting the stones in the wall opposite. Across from Alfred were his half brother's council, Aethelred was sat at the head of the table looking as bored as the rest of them.
'My God this man can talk' muttered Cynehelm under his breath, Alfred chuckled to himself.
The high council of King Aethelred of Wessex and his vassals had been summoned to the castle to listen to reports of the North. Here in the dining hall, sat around the huge oak table were all the King's advisors and bannermen. In front of the roaring fire stood with his dog was Mannix, Aethelred's spymaster, a tall shadow of a man, born and built to skulk in the dark places of other men.
'Had to see it with my own eyes, me and Durwin here' he said rubbing the huge, grey wolfhound behind the ears. 'York is lost my Lords, battered, burned and still smoking, filled with Vikings', he turned and spat into the fire.
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Aethelred sighed and ran a hand over his face, 'The North may well be lost. Mannix estimates twenty thousand Vikings in York, Aella is gone, the wardens of Northumbria say there is no army to stand in his way'
'The North is a long way away' said Eastmund, the King's Marshal
'I made a promise' shouted Aethelred, 'my brother Burghred made a promise, what manner of King abandons his people to those....... savages?'
'Those are not your people' Eastmund glared at Aethelred, 'your promise is going to get us all killed'
Sweet! Can't wait to see where this goes.
DAMN that's a lot of Vikings!!
That is a straight-up Uruk-hai army right there. Maybe two of them. :o
Edited to add: Uruk-hai... Jorvik... York.... (https://www.grogheads.com/forums/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.wargamer.com%2Fforums%2Fsmiley%2Ficon_explosion.gif&hash=0fe8ed842a67445fe861acf01002d5a9b5b6c9f0)
The plot, she thickens.
The meeting had not gone well, Aethelred had demanded of all his bannermen to raise their levies and gather in Wessex, they had all risen as one and shouted their disdain. Almost twenty thousand Vikings, five times the number that the South could raise would sweep them aside and plunder their homes and farmland, they had cried. In the end it had taken the flat of Eastmund's sword crashing against the great feasting table for them all to realise this wasnt something open to debate. The bearded giant meeting all their gazes with a glaring challenge had stared them all down - this was their King's wish and it would be carried out, the Counts had left in silence.
Stepping out into the crisp January morning, Cynehelm put his arm around Alfred,
'Do not fear little Prince, your Uncle Cynehelm will look after you' he laughed and squeezed Alfred's shoulder, 'and if Aethelred the Fat should fall from his horse, well, it will be you in charge of the Kingdom and you can decide what to do with the Vikings'
'West Mercia and the Midlands lie between us and the Vikings, Cynehelm. I worry for my sister, and King Burghred, surely they will be next after the rest of Northumbria. Aella was a fool to push that animal into the pit'
They both crunched across the frozen grass of the castle grounds, and out toward the stables
'All those games you would play with Aethelred, and all those times you would beat him. All the books your father made you read whilst fat boy back there ate his way through the estate, it must break your Father's heart to see him on the throne and not you. A 'tactical genius' the military teachers told your father about you'
'Ive told you before Cynehelm, those are dangerous words, if my brother were to hear them you would be the first to see the Vikings from your new vantage point, your head on a spike up there' he nodded toward the battlements
'Mark my words little Prince, this will be your castle soon enough' the Marshal sighed, 'anyway' he shouted more upbeat 'a little bird tells me you have a special package on its way from Italy no less!'
'Another master stroke of my brother' sighed Alfred
'She is the Princess of all Italy my friend! What's the matter with you? By all accounts she is a dusky beauty with child bearing hips! The eldest daughter of the King of Italy, and him with no sons, now if he were to fall from his horse.........'
'It's always swords and falling from horses with you!'
They both laughed and entered the stables to ready for their journey back to Dorset. Within four days Alfred and his military advisors rode back out ahead of seven hundred and forty of Dorset's finest men. There was to be a grand Royal wedding for Alfred and Princess Gisele at the castle and then they would march to death and glory
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Next up: Alfred and the dusky Princess Gazelle's royal wedding -- a march to death and glory!
8) ;D
I have a real hard time with the lack of high ranking Norse females eligible for marriage at the start of the game. Though if you start as a character lower down it isn't an issue..I couldn't find a decent wife for my son without taking a huge prestige hit.
Quote from: TacticalWargames on April 12, 2014, 07:24:52 PM
I have a real hard time with the lack of high ranking Norse females eligible for marriage
A real-life problem of mine, come to think of it... :-\
In the grounds of the castle at Wessex is a meadow, and in that meadow in the north east corner is a small hill. On top of the hill is a tall oak tree, full and round of branch that has stood the test of time and nature. Through two hundred years, beneath its boughs and about its trunk it has witnessed the marriage of Kings and Princes of the Wessex clan, and on this clear and crisp January evening it bears witness to another, but not one like this before. Standing in the meadow with the wedding guests and dignitaries were four thousand men at arms, waiting impatiently, the gold cross of Dorset fluttering amongst their number, the blue of Wessex and the blue and gold of West Mercia.
Siweard the priest raised his hands in the air, his cloaked frame outlined by the fading sun
'Alfred, Earl of Dorset, son of Wessex, Gisele, Daughter of Itlay' he cried, 'Your day is done. Hand bound you are, of heart and soul and you have lived the day as one. Your time of choosing has come. Will you bind yourselves for eternity, or shall the ties be cut?'
Alfred and Gisele looked at each other and raised their bound hands into the air as one. 'We shall be bound, one to the other, and live our lives as one'. A cheer erupted from the multitude and Siweard stepped forward, taking their bound hands in his.
'Speak your oath' cried the priest
'Gisele of Apulia, Daughter of Italy' Alfred began, 'I promise to you the food upon my table, the fire in my hearth.....'
Cynehelm walked among the men of Dorset, talking to the warriors, sharing a drink or a pipe by a fire, laughing at the tales of one group. He tried to allay their fears, calm their nerves, as soon as the celebrations were over they would march for the North. They were eager to march and truth be told he wanted to be under way himself. He sighed. Why must these damn ceremonies be so long? He glanced to the top of the hill where Siweard was beginning to sing the closing benediction. He held aloft a chalice, the couple taking it with their bound hands. They both drank, and Siweard cast the chalice to the ground and crushed it.
'It is done' he cried, and there was more cheering, the musicians began and the celebrations commenced in earnest.
Aethelred found Alfred on the other side of the oak tree, on one knee kissing Gisele's hand
'I will return my love, keep safe', he rose and nodded to his brother
'To war'
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Ah, a wife is found at last. Huzzah!
Cynehelm squinted at the battlefield, it was hard to make sense of the chaos. In a field amongst the misty valleys of Lancaster the Vikings were dealing out death with breathtaking ferocity. Everywhere he looked he saw the bearded, fair haired Danes laying about Aethelred's army with their axes and hammers, the warriors of Wessex and Mercia struggling desperately to reorganise themselves. To his right Alfred was on his knees, his breathing laboured.
'What shall we do' Cynehelm asked his Lord
'Take the men down there' Alfred pointed to the fringe of the forest where the Viking line was thinnest, 'before the day is lost'
'Aye' grunted Cynehelm, 'will you be safe?'
'I will' said Alfred, 'I will take the Somerset company and strike the centre'
'Make for the Boneless' called Cynehelm, 'and we will meet you in the middle'
Cynehelm and his company jogged down the field, splashed through the stream skirting the forest, and led his men over a moss covered wall, collapsed to rubble and slowed as they approached the flank of the Viking line. He lifted his shield and felt the man to his right's shield thud into his, the shield wall going up around him. He drew his sword and as one the four hundred and twenty warriors of Dorset began to make their way towards the Vikings.
The first Norsemen fell almost silently as the shield wall smashed into them, dozens of short stabbing swords darting out and finding targets, but a bellowed death cry from a falling Viking captain alerted others to the danger. Suddenly heavy blows were slamming into Cynehelm's shield and he almost went down. Further down the line the Vikings were turning to face them, seeing the threat to their flank, they were withdrawing from the main conflict in the middle and regrouping to meet Cynehelm's shield wall head on. Even as he watched, they let out their war cries and began charging towards the company, hundreds of them, axes and hammers held high.
The Norsemen crashed into the shield wall, hammering and beating against the wood and iron of the shields. The man to Cynehelm's right went down, a hammer blow snapping his arm and then his skull. The man to his left staggered back but held, others in the front row were pulled forwards by the strength of the Danes' axes buried in their shields, then hacked to pieces by beserking Vikings. The line was trembling, on the verge of turning.
'Hold!' shouted Cynehelm, not knowing if anyone heard, the din of battle around him deafening. He stabbed forward, grunting as his shield arm numbed from the blows raining upon it. He lost all track of time, only aware of his burning shield arm and the ragged breaths he drew. Suddenly the pressure against the shield was gone, he looked over the rim to see none of their attackers still standing and hearing the cheering of the Somerset Company to his right, though by the sound of it, the battle still raged hard further away where Aethelred and Burghred fought.
Alfred was there, blood covering one side of his face from a cut to his temple. He grinned at Cynehelm, and the big man felt himself smile in return, a measure of strength returning to him. The shield wall was reformed and Alfred's men moved deeper towards the Viking rear where the banners of Ivar the Boneless could be seen. Slowly and inexorably the Vikings here were either cut down or pushed back and the ground grew thick with the fallen. They came to dense ring of warriors, bristling with swords and spears being assaulted by Norsemen, but they were soon cut down as the shield wall closed on them from behind. Eastmund, Aethelred's Marshal was at the centre of the ring, standing over the King who lay pale faced and semi-conscious, wounded by a hammer blow that had crushed his shoulder.
'It is time we withdrew brother' suggested Alfred, 'there will be another day to win this fight, we are outnumbered, you are hard hit and there are Danes to the rear'
'Aye Little Prince, you are right' said Aethelred 'order our withdrawal, get our men home safe, you have done well this day and earned your scars, you have made me proud'
Slowly and steadily the army of Wessex withdrew from the field, defending their flanks and holding off any harrying attacks from the Vikings. Two thousand of Aethelred's army littered the field, three thousand Viking, in the end the army of Wessex had simply run out of men to defeat the Danes
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November 867
'Well, at least its a pretty badge!' quipped Cynehelm
'Master of the Hunt? Master of the Hunt! What is he thinking?' said Alfred, flicking the small, jewelled deer's antlers badge on his tunic, 'The North is falling, our armies beaten, its bound to be Mercia next, then East Anglia and then us, and he's throwing parties.
'Come, follow me' Cynehelm beckoned Alfred, 'The castle walls have ears, walk with me'
Alfred sighed and followed Cynehelm deep into the castle grounds, 'What is it friend?'
'You're a clever boy, yes?', Alfred glanced at Cynehelm with a disapproving look
'Let me finish.... I can only assume you're aware that the wailing babe in his wife's arms is his son................... and heir?'
'I will not engage in your silly games Cynehelm, speak your mind and have done with it'
'Up until a small number of days ago you were heir to all Wessex, now he has a son, and he will be heir. Do you renounce your claim that easy? Do you give away your father's hopes and wishes that easy?' said Cynehelm
'I hadnt really thought about it, he is my brother, and his son is my nephew, i had paid no heed to the succession'
'Then understand this' Cynehelm said, his eyes narrowing, 'your brother has, and so too his advisors, every autumn Saints day, every feast day and every celebration you will be sent to the forest to bring back the biggest stag or meanest, nastiest boar. What better to way to prevent a succession crisis than to have the senior claimant gutted by The Blue Boar? He's done for many a hero before now, better hunters than you'll ever be'
'You're a cynical old fool' snorted Alfred
'You mark my words Little Prince, he will see to his line and feed you to the forest'
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April 868
'Oh God, I can't believe we're here again' muttered Cynehelm
Alfred tried to hide a smile behind a false scratch of his nose
'Couldn't you have sent me to the East to spy on technology like you did Leofweald?' Cynehelm continued
Alfred cleared his throat loudly and glanced at his Marshal, his face was like thunder but his eyes sparkled with humour. Cynehelm winked at him and they both turned to listen to the rest of Mannix's report from the North. They were indeed at Wessex again, summoned like all his southern banner men by Aethelred to hear reports from the North. It had been a year since the armies of Wessex and Mercia had been kicked out of Northumbria. In that time the whole of the North had fallen, in the east of the region a false King had been seated on the throne at Yorvik, King Egbert. King by name but a mere puppet to serve Viking masters. His armies were at the Dane's disposal and he had no power at all, through the centre and to the west of the region there had been no opposition, and the North had fallen much easier than Aethelred and Burghred had hoped. Mannix's eyes and ears in Jorvik's last report bore witness to a fleet of dragon ships been massed on the river Ouse, but he couldnt tell whether the coast of Mercia or the coast of Edmond's East Anglia was next.
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May 868
'Brother, I beg of you, do not commit our armies to East Anglia' pleaded Alfred
On a warm, spring night on top of the moors between Dorset and Wessex where wild ponies still ran in herds, four men met on horseback. Cynehem held a flaming torch, as did Eastmund next to Aethelred and their two Lords were in disagreement.
'Edmond can field fourteen hundred men, brother. The Boneless marches south with eight thousand, Mannix has told you this. Out to sea and approaching The Wash is another one thousand under the command of Ubba. What you propose is madness, to ally our Kingdom to East Anglia invites the Danes to simply roll through East Anglia and into Wessex, my Lord'
'Our Kingdom is it little brother? Do you see this gold on my head? And when I have thrown every last Viking back into the sea or died trying, my last action will be to pass it to my son'
'I....' attempted Alfred
Aethelred raised a gloved finger, just as he had when Alfred was a small boy, to stop his argument and mock him. Now as then it made Alfred fume, his knuckles tightened and the leather straps he was holding creaked in protest
'I will see your men at arms at Wessex in five days, little brother' Aethelred looked into Alfred's eyes for a second, then he turned his horse and set off back towards home with Eastmond just behind.
Cynehelm sighed and looked at Alfred, 'he will kill us all'
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'geek, I would just like to congratulate you on making me want to strangle Aethelred with my bare hands! Well done. ::)
thanks Martok, i really, really dislike him
August 868
Aethelred sat on a low stone wall along the the side of the church, his head in his hands. He was trying to ignore the buzzing of hundreds of flies as they circled the heap of corpses piled up at the church door. St. Judes church was famous in all Wessex for being built right on the border between Essex and Suffolk. It was said that when she was martyred, St. Judes body was torn in half by two great shire horses, one from north of the border, one from the south and it was divided between the two counties, to honour this the church was built here.
'Well I'd take that as fair warning as to what comes next', grumbled Estmond 'they've gone for now but theyre definitely coming back for Wessex' he spat into the ground
Aethelred sniffed, 'Its rumoured' he said, 'that the Vikings always leave one survivor to tell of the horror theyve witnessed and of the terror to come'
'That'll be the screaming boy from Suffolk' said Estmond dismissively 'took them two days to calm him down, all full of tales about Edmond's army being attacked from the sea and how they filled him full of arrows to see if God would come and save him'
'He should never have burnt their boats' added Cynehelm, 'Nothing makes a Viking more angry than burning his boats'
King Edmond had attacked the Vikings as they were disembarking in the shallows of The Wash, he massacred four hundred Danes and put thirty dragon ships to the torch. It was then a messenger rode up to him and told him two thousand Vikings had landed behind him and were marching to meet him. He met them on the plains of East Anglia near a village called Diss and met shield wall to shield wall, but outnumbered and with a further five hundred vengeful Vikings heading to him from The Wash he had cut his losses and headed to the monastery, and awaited the Boneless. There the Boneless slew Edmond, bartering that if his God saved him, he and his army would be converted to Christianity, no God came and Edmond was dead. Aethelred and the army of Wessex were still marching when news of the defeat came to them, they were too late.
'We never raised a sword in anger' said Estmond, 'maybe hes gone home to plan for Mercia'
Alfred stepped slowly and deliberately toward Aethelred, menacingly enough for Estmond to put a hand on the hilt of his sword. 'This pile of stinking death here' Alfred said pointing to the corpses, 'Monks, nuns, children and women, piled right on the border of East Anglia and Wessex says exactly where he's coming next!' shouted Alfred, 'and its all your fault, you stubborn, idiotic, proud fool'
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November 870
The army of Wessex marched home that day, its soldiers returned to their farms and smithies and for a shortwhile life returned to normal. There were tales of Dragon ship raids all along the coast, men in the cozy orange glow of country taverns would tell of the Danes appearing in the morning mist, kicking the doors of the monasteries in and making off with the church gold. Always the clergy were killed, always the church burnt and the women would be taken, and always the one horrified witness to pass on the story to the next village.
Scouts and spies were ever present on the Essex border, Ivar the Boneless himself had declared himself King of East Anglia but no Vikings came. Even through the winter the spies stayed, Alfred convincing Aethelred that the Danes could be cunning enough to come in the snow as no army had ever done before, but they never came. Mercia was untroubled, as was Cornwall, an uneasy peace had settled in the South.
Alfred concerned himself with affairs of a country Earl. Great feasts were put on in Corfe Castle and nobles from all over the South would attend, the celebrations legendary and the hangovers just as renowned. He organised hunts for Aethelred in the grounds of Wessex and organised his own hunts in Dorset and Somerset, his popularity high amongst both the nobles and the commoners. Occasionally he would receive troubling rumours that the people were beginning to call for him to be King openly in the streets, as much as he took to the people he would send out Cynehelm to quell the rebels with the least amount of violence necessary - nothing good could come of their protests. Princess Gisele, as popular with the people as her husband was, was yet to bear him a child but Alfred was not worried - there would be plenty of time for that.
The Great Autumn Feast of 870 had been planned months in advance. Corfe Castle had been dressed inside and out for the occasion, part of the grounds had been converted for horsemanship displays and hand to hand combat contests. Cynehelm and his two sons had cornered and slain the infamous Blue Boar in a hunting contest prepared by Alfred and this would be the centre piece in the dining hall. All the nobility of Wessex would be in attendance, even the Bishop of St. Swithins - the one man who would not bend to Alfred's charm and good natured hospitality. Alfred needed to sway the Bishops opinion in his favour, as it was the Bishop Cynewulf sent all his money to the Pope and Alfred could do with directing some of the gold towards his own coffers.
Aethelred tipped his cup of wine toward Alfred and nodded his head in recognition of a fine feast. At the head of the table Alfred chewed thoughtfully on boar meat, sipping from his cup. He acknowledged his brothers nod, and looked about the Great Hall of Corfe Castle. Cynehelm and his two sons were raucously recreating the hunt for a group of nobles by the fire who listened in awe at the retelling of the death of the Blue Boar. The Bishop was in discussions with a number of clergy at a table in the corner of the hall, groups of men were laughing and joking all around the hall. The band were playing fine music, and a few men and women were dancing. Estmond was sat proudly at a table with his own men, pointing to the prize he had received as winner of the combat competition, his arm around his sons shoulders as he nursed a lump on his forehead - his own prize for losing to his father in the final round.
'You should be proud' said Gisele, squeezing his hand 'you have put on an excellent feast my Lord'. Alfred always loved to hear her speak, her accent never failed to make him smile. 'I have a prize for you too' she said and placed his hand on her stomach. A wide beam spread about his face, 'More wine!' he shouted and shot up from his chair, the seat toppling over 'I am to be a father!' A great cheer went up around the hall, and the men in the hall roared with delight and raised their cups.
There was a huge boom from the South entrance to the hall as the doors flew open and a rain soaked Mannix practically fell into the hall, a gust of wind and rain coming in behind him. Men flew to his aid and sat him upright
'Speak man' commanded Aethelred
'Vikings!!!! Thousands of them'.........................
Aethelred knelt by Mannix and leaned in close to him, 'For God's sake man, where are they?'
Mannix gasped for air, his face wet with rain, and as Alfred now saw, tears, 'Oxford my Lord, two thousand with the banner of the Boneless'
'And?' harried Aethelred
'Five thousand at Wessex under the banner of the Halfdan' sobbed Mannix, 'They came straight up the beaches my Lord, the garrison is already lost'
'Where is my family?' hissed Aethelred
'Safe my King, safe, I had them sent to London and the protection of the castle there'
'We must ride, ride for Wessex', Aethelred rose shouting, 'to Wessex, call the bannermen, summon all the levies, we ride for Wessex!'
There was chaos in the hall as everyone made for their horses and shouted instructions to men at arms and squires. Alfred nodded to Cynehelm, and he left via doors at the back of the hall to the stables. He took Gisele's hand, 'He's wrong on many things, but he is right on this one, look after our child' he placed a hand on her stomach again, 'I will be back'
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'Shield wall!' shouted Alfred, and the men of Dorset and Somerset lofted their shields and interlinked them, a wall of wood and iron. Silence descended on the battlefield as both sides readied themselves. Across the down were thousands of Danes, an enormous shield wall, Danes, Spear Danes, Sword Danes and beserkers who had come to make this land their own. The Vikings broke the silence and began clashing their spears and swords against their shields and shouting towards the Dorset lines, their thunder rolling across the fields.
Alfred surveyed the lines of the enemy, he could make out the banners of the Halfdan, Ivar, his brother Ubba. There were a few scattered captured Saxon flags, the three lions of Edmond, the Blue Dragon of Wessex lost at Lancaster. Looking left he could see the line of the Wessex army being lengthened as forces entered the down. Men of Kent and Middlesex were joining the lines but they were still so much shorter than the Danish lines. The clattering of thousands of weapons on shields continued.
'Shield wall!' the shout was taken up all down the Wessex lines as they prepared for the attack.
'Forward!' Aethelred shouted
'Forward!' repeated the Earl of Middlesex, he had been chosen with his six hundred men to lead the attack. The men of Middlesex shuffled forwards a few paces and the Danes called their for their own shield wall, they clattered and locked together and the sight of so many shields and spears stopped the advance. The Vikings lowered the shield wall and roared their mockery and taunts at the stalled line.
'Forward! Come on you men!' shouted the Earl, he was mounted and with his sword drawn rode up and down the line shouting at his men to advance. Slowly the line began to advance and the Danish shield wall rose again. Seeing this Alfred urged his men forward to bolster the lines of Middlesex and strengthen their resolve
'Forward men of Dorset, steady, be strong' and the disciplined ranks stepped forward until they were in line with the others. The Earl nodded to Alfred and dismounted, slapping his horse on the rear and it sped away to the rear of the Wessex line.
'Now, forward!' shouted the two commanders in unison and the lines shuffled forward. The two forces were close enough now to see each other, each man could see the man he must kill, or be killed by. Both sides were now spitting anger and insults and the spear throwers hefted their first volley of missiles.
'Shields close' shouted Alfred, his shield touching Cynehelms and a warrior to his left, 'Now!' he screamed, and the men of Middlesex and Dorset charged. They let out a great war shout and the shield wall shot forward the final paces at great speed. Spears came over from the Danish lines and Wessex ones were returned and then came the thundering clash of shields. Alfred stabbed at the groin of the man immediately in front of him, twisting his sword and wrenching it free. The fallen Viking was immediately replaced, and the hacking and slashing continued. Cynehelm was screaming incoherently and he slashed his sword left and right and the Danes avoided him.
'Back one!' shouted the Earl of Middlesex and the front ranks raised their shields again and took one step back. The crush of the Vikings meant they would step forward into the gap, trip over the bodies of their fallen comrades and then be off balance, the line would then step forward again and recommence the attack on the unbalanced enemy. The Vikings, so sure of victory and confident in the raw power of simple fury had not redrawn the shield wall and came on at Alfred's men, and they crashed like the sea into a cliff. They broke against the shields of the army of Wessex and were cut down.
The Vikings checked and then reformed behind their shield wall. Their leader screamed something and they made a charge of their own
'Shields!' shouted Alfred and the men of Dorset thrust forward to check the charge. All along the front lines men held out their shields with left arms, leaving a space between their body and the shield and stabbed into the gap under the shield, into the enemy. The comrade behind them fought over their shoulder with sword or spear and chopped at the enemy over the top of the shield, and it was like this for Alfred and Cynehelm as they fought the Danes. All along the line men were dying and screaming, swords and axes clanging like bells, but the line held steady and the Vikings were gradually retreating.
Behind Alfred, the line of Middlesex was unravelling. Gaps widened in the shield wall as sword Danes burst through, as the front turned to fight the intruders they were cut down from behind and the Danes prised open the ranks and spread out into the men. These were battle hardened warriors against armed farmers and they stood no chance, they were broken and felled before they could be reinforced. The men were chased from the field by pursuing Vikings, and then Danes on horseback appeared from behind a ridge and rode them all down or splintered them into ineffective, small groups of men. The right flank was beginning to break entirely as the men of Kent, Sussex and Surrey came to shore up the gaps.
'Back!' shouted Aethelred, he was trying to reform the lines now that the right flank had been destroyed. Vikings could be seen marching behind the ridge to put more numbers on the Wessex right in an attempt to wrap around the army and break the flank and centre.
'Move Kent and Sussex there my Lord' said Alfred, pointing with his sword, 'fill the gaps'. Aethelred turned to survey the line when a Danish arrow zipped over the heads of the men and hit him in the shoulder. For a few seconds it seemed like it had caused no harm at all, Aethelred still in the process of turning merely glanced at the shaft in his shoulder, close to his neck but then silently slipped sideways and fell of his horse. The Danes cheered, confident once again, they lowered their shields and came at the Wessex lines renewed, they broke through gaps in the wall where men had turned and tried to run to the King's aid.
'Hold!' Alfred shouted but the centre was pushed further back, beyond Aethelred. The men of Kent went to their King's defence but the Danes were already there. The dragon banner was lost, Aethelred was lost. The Danes came from behind the ridge to extend their lines beyond the Wessex flanks, there was nothing to do but withdraw. In good order the army of Wessex retreated from the field, leaving their King behind.
Safeguarded by the blackness of the night Alfred stood with Cynehelm and his Chancellor, Oscytel amongst the trees of a copse, on a hill looking down on Bath, the main town of Somerset. Alfred closed his eyes and screwed up his face in anger, most of the fires had been put out but a pall of smoke hung over the town and some flames could still be seen near the Roman bath houses in the centre. The town was lost to the Danes, approximately three thousand, that was the best Oscytel could count before he had to leave, the garrison had held them off for a week before the Vikings finally broke through and took the town. Half of Alfred's army had been lost on the downs of Wessex and were stationed now in Dorset, they would be no match here.
'We need to prepare for an attack on Dorset' he said mounting his horse 'If Dorset falls the West is gone, if the West falls all that remains of England will perish, save Mercia'
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There is a place on the Dorset coast that smugglers call Moonfleet, it has a hidden cove known as Chesil Beach and is protected by a long sweeping headland. Most nights it harbours Frankish smugglers and Cornish criminals, but this cold, wintery night it harbours Alfred, his closest men and bodyguards and the recently disembarked two thousand two hundred Spanish mercenaries of the Navaresse company, their ships creaking in the still waters of the cove.
'Youre sure this is a good idea?' frowned Cynehelm, 'They are five times our number and could turn at any minute when a larger purse catches their eye'
'It is my brothers only hope, we must defeat the Halfdan and free Aethelred from Wessex's dungeon before it is too late'
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Good luck with that... :-\ It almost comes down to whether the Danes get bored and go home early.