Saga of Anrakiir Kin Slayer

[Vash113]

This is a bit of background I've been writing for a character I'm working on for my lost company. Essentially the idea of an oath-breaker is one of the worst crimes imaginable for a Fenrisian, but kin-slayer has got to be up there pretty high too. Deed names for the SW are not always good or proud, some are marks of shame or derision. I thought, what about a character who was a kin-slayer and an oath-breaker yet earned a place with the Sky Warriors? What would that character be like? This is the rough story so far, it turned out a bit darker than I had initially set out to do and only covers up to his being taken from the ice by the Wolf Priests. If anyone has the patience to read it, I'd love to hear what you guys think. So anyway, here it is:

 

From the Ice

 

T

he story of Anrakiir Kin-Slayer begins, as with all Sons of Russ, on the bloodied-ice of Fenris. Born as the fifth son to Jarl Svasir Drake-bane of the Ice Dragon tribe the young Anrakiir was destined from birth for greatness. For nearly three hundred Great Years the Ice Dragon tribe had ruled over a group of islands known as the Dragon’s Maw. Made up of hundreds of predominantly small islands forming a rough circle around a handful of larger central islands the chain had remained a fixture of the southern worldsea for centuries. Each Great Year dozens of the individual islands making up the chain sank into the sea and were replaced by others but the chain had nevertheless remained. This yearly shift in topography made it difficult for enemies to map the island chains and for most of the year jagged chunks of ice formed a virtually impenetrable barrier around the central islands where most of the Ice Dragon tribe dwelled. The only stable route in or out of the chain was a small opening through two of the larger islands on the eastern side of the chain known as the Bloodscale strait. Named after Grom Bloodscale, the king of the Sea Wyrms the strait, like much of the region, was home to hundreds of sea wyrms. Only the largest and swiftest of Dragonships had a hope of avoiding the dread predators and the Ice Dragon tribe had the largest and fastest ships of any of the island tribes and had done so for hundreds of generations. The Ice Dragons had long ago mastered the dangers of the islands and become adept at hunting the sea wyrms or avoiding them when a confrontation was not desired. Only Grom ever truly scared the master sailors of the Ice Dragons and wherever the blood-red monster appeared, death soon followed.  

 

Protected by their island barriers, the dread sea wyrms and the shifting ice the Ice Dragons had grown large and wealthy off the wealth of their central islands. The largest of which had stood from the time the first of the tribe had sailed through the Bloodscale strait. Upon the island heights sat Dragon Bone Citadel, the seat of the tribe’s power. One of the largest and most permanent tribal settlements ever seen on the surface of Fenris the city had grown to house thousands of people in scores of buildings, some of which had grown to three stories in height. Made of sea wyrm bones wrapped in hardened hide the buildings were similar to many that could be found across the islands but on a scale rarely seen. Dozens of Ice Dragons had been recruited by the sky warriors over the centuries, including at least one of the scions of the tribe’s Jarl each generation. As the youngest of the Jarl’s sons Anrakiir seemed fated to become a master sailor, raider and warchief, even if he never drew the eyes of the sky warriors. Yet Anrakiir’s destiny would be a dark and lonely one, his path forever marred by grief, loss and anger.

 

From an early age Anrakiir had proven an adept warrior, able sailor and navigator and the best harpoon hunter of the tribe. By his seventh winter Anrakiir had earned a reputation for honor and heroism almost unmatched amongst his kin and was the commander of the largest of the tribe’s raiding fleets. Yet his accomplishments had drawn the ire of many of his siblings. Ulli, Rogyr, Jorin and the eldest Varinor had grown jealous of their younger brother’s growing fame and Varinor in particular had come to fear that his younger brother would replace him as the Jarl’s favored son and successor. Varinor hatched a plan to dispose of his youngest brother. For months Varinor had been pressing for a massive raid against the Grimfang tribe, the most powerful of the Ice Dragon’s enemies the Grimfang’s had been raiding the Ice Dragon’s holdings at every opportunity for several years, sinking more than a score of ships and damaging dozens more. Thus far Jarl Svasir had ignored these attacks, the Grimfang’s had suffered greater losses in their attacks than they had inflicted on the Ice Dragons and their total strength in ships and warriors was barely a fraction of the Ice Dragons. The Grimfang’s were an annoyance, nothing more. Yet Varinor argued that the Ice Dragons had to respond, lest the Grimfang’s gather allies to supplement their strength and launch a greater attack. The Ice Dragons had not gotten to where they were by ignoring threats and allowing enemies to gather their strength.

 

At last Svasir agreed that a raid should be launched and to the surprise of many Varinor suggested that command of the raid be given to Anrakiir. As the king’s youngest son only just reaching the age of manhood the raid would be an excellent blooding for the young warrior and should he return he could be welcomed among the ranks of the Thanes with all honors. Anrakiir was suspicious of his aloof brother’s sudden support but agreed to lead the attack. Svasir gave Anrakiir command of fully a third of the Ice Dragon’s fleet of ships, seventy of the largest and most powerful dragonships to ever sail the seas of Fenris. To everyone in the tribe this force seemed like ridiculous overkill and the Jarl planned a mighty feast before the fleet was launched, seeing no need to wait for a celebration. During the feast Anrakiir got deeper into his cups than was advisable and found himself drawn to the youngest daughter of Thane Harkinor One-Eye, the Jarl’s former champion and the eldest and most respected of the tribe’s thanes. Urged on by his equally drunk companions Anrakiir promised to marry the young Elisif upon his victorious return, a pronouncement met with the roared approval of everyone assembled in the great hall. To Varinor’s surprise and jealousy Elisif and her father agreed. Anrakiir had not known that Varinor had secretly coveted Elisif’s hand for years and the sudden betrothal only made him more eager to do away with the nuisance of his younger brother. 

 

Unknown to Anrakiir or his warriors his elder brother Varinor had secretly alerted the Grimfang’s to the attack. Varinor had met with Jarl Ranolf Bloodmane many times over the last few years, staging their meetings on the most remote outer islands of the chain, away from the prying eyes of the tribe. Varinor had promised to marry Jarl Ranolf’s daughter and form an alliance between the tribes in exchange for the murder of his youngest brother. Ranolf was given a map of the Bloodscale straits detailing where Anrakiir’s fleet would emerge as well as the fleet’s exact strength and disposition. Ranolf Bloodmane had allies amongst the Iron Blade and Shark Lords tribes and together they could raise a fleet of nearly a hundred and twenty vessels. Anrakiir and his fleet would expect to take their enemy by surprise and with weight of numbers on their side, instead Anrakiir’s warriors would find themselves outmaneuvered and outnumbered, their death was almost certain. The depravity of Varinor did not end with the betrayal of his brother however. Varinor had no intention of going through with his promise to Ranolf, he wanted Elisif. When Anrakiir was dead Varinor would rally the remainder of the tribe fleet and annihilate the Grimfang’s and their allies, take their wealth and holdings, and he would personally enjoy despoiling and murdering Jarl Ranolf’s fool of a daughter.

 

A week after the Season of Fire began and the ice flows began to break apart the fleet set sail. Anticipating an easy victory and a swift return home to the adulation of the tribe the shield brothers of the raiding fleet were in high spirits, singing out as they rowed through the Bloodscale strait, only lowering their voices when they passed through the narrowest stretch of the passage where the dread king of wyrms was said to lay in wait to attack the unwary. When the ships passed through the entrance of the straits they let out long held breaths and began to sing once again. It was several minutes before the entire fleet had emerged and regrouped, ready to unfurl sails and make for the Grimfang’s island home to the south. Before the fleet could set off however the scouts hanging from the tops of the masts began to cry out in alarm, sails had begun to emerge from the surrounding cliffs, sails bearing the sigils of the Grimfangs, the Iron Blades and the Shark Lords and in unbelievable numbers. Anrakiir reacted immediately, ordering the fleet to close ranks and form a spear formation, their only hope was to drive through the encircling ships and make for the open ocean. The Ice Dragon’s ships were faster than their enemies and they could outrun them on the open waves but hemmed in with the straits to their back, cliffs to their flanks and the enemy before them the fleet would be overwhelmed and destroyed. Yet Ranolf had been forewarned of this strategy, Varinor knew his younger brother’s capabilities and knew he would seek to use the greater size and speed of his tribe’s vessels to his advantage and so he had given the Grimfang’s an advantage of their own. For days the vessels of Ranolf and his allies had hugged the cliffs surrounding the entrance to the straits and filled the water with chum, the castoff pieces of fish and animals. Blood and flesh had filled the water, driving the sea wyrms to a feeding frenzy and, with any luck, serving to draw Grom Bloodscale from his nest in the straits. When the Ice Dragons fleet began to form up they unintentionally made themselves an impossible target to resist for the sea wyrms. For days the predators had watched the ships of the Grimfangs and their allies remain too close to shore for them to attack, all the while baiting them with scraps of flesh. Now an entire fleet of fleshy morsels was out in the mouth of the straits, ripe for the picking. Without warning dozens of sea wyrms roared from the waves, wrapping around the dragonships, tearing sailors from the decks, shredding flesh with their razor sharp fangs and scales. Every moment saw another vessel smashed apart, its crew thrown into the water to be torn apart in an orgy of violence and bloodshed. Within moments all cohesion had been lost and the fleet appeared doomed. Jarl Ranolf watched the unfolding drama with a crazed gleam in his eye, holding back a safe distance for the wyrms to feed, waiting to storm in and finish off the survivors when the wyrms had slaked their hunger.

 

Ranolf’s plan would have worked perfectly however had it not been for Anrakiir. Storming to the prow of his flagship Anrakiir took up a harpoon and led the charge. His ship plowed through the scattering fleet, the tribe’s best harpooners leaning over the sides and casting the iron at every target that presented itself. At the bow Anrakiir struck down a sea wyrm with nearly every throw, sending sharpened iron spears into the eyes, throat and maws of any monster foolish enough to present a target. Following Anrakiir’s example every ship still able to sail fell in behind him, the sea wyrms drawn off from attacking the rest of the fleet to try and eliminate this thorn in their midst. As Ranolf watched with disbelief the Ice Dragons fleet reformed, casting aside the sea wyrms. Within minutes what had been a total slaughter was turned into a stubborn resistance. The sea turned red and bodies by the score, including dozens of serpentine wyrms, began to float in drifting masses of blood and bone on the waves. With a wealth of easier flesh to gorge on the remaining wyrms gave up their attack on the fleet and glutted themselves on the flesh of their fallen. Though more than twenty ships had been lost the Ice Dragons fleet had endured and now, with sails unfurled, was powering towards the open ocean.

 

Thrown into a fit of rage at the resilience and tenacity of his foe Ranolf roared at his fleet to engage. The Grimfangs and their allies charged towards the strait, intent on destroying the battered and weakened Ice Dragons fleet. Dozens of vessels threw themselves in the way of the Ice Dragons path; hulls crashed together, masts splintered, oars shattered and scores of warriors leapt from ship to ship, axes and shields at the ready. More blood spilled and the battlecrys of the living mixed with the screams of the wounded and the dying. Yet it was not enough, for every two or three of the Grimfangs ships disabled or sunk only one of the Ice Dragons ships was destroyed or cleared and the Ice Dragons flagship was drawing ever closer to Ranolf’s own command vessel.

 

What happened next would live on in the legends of Fenris for centuries to come. No one knows exactly how it happened but some legends tell that a cut across the throwing arm of Anrakiir drew forth his royal blood, it rand own his arm to his hand and down the shaft of his harpoon to the tip of the blade before a single drop of his vitae fell into the foaming water. Though but a drop amidst a sea of blood it was detected. An ancient monster had once tasted the flesh of the Ice Dragons royal blood along with the sting of their iron and it wanted vengeance. Smelling the single drop of blood from leagues away in its lair within the straits the great ice wyrm Grom Bloodscale, the slaughter bringer, the sudden death, the Ice Dragons bane, it smelled the blood and it came forth intent on death. As the Ice Dragons flagship, the King’s Spear, closed with Ranolf’s flagship a sudden shape overtook it, crimson scales emerging from the water, cutting through the foam like mighty spears. Those who saw it had moments to realize their doom before the great wyrm tore from the waves with an ear-splitting roar and tore into the Ice Dragons spearmen and shield brothers on the deck of the King’s Spear.  The hull of the King’s Spear buckled, the mast was torn from the deck, the rudder ripped away. Within seconds the mightiest of the Ice Dragons ships was crippled and lain low, half its crew shredded by the spines and claws and fangs of the dread ice wyrm. Grom reared its head back and let out a keening roar to the heavens, blood raining from its crimson maw and coating its shining scales, running down its hide like crimson rivers. Bodies were stuck to the spines of the drake’s hide, some, horribly, still alive and writhing in agony as their life bled from them. Anrakiir, thrown to the deck by the first impact, rose to his feet and faced the drake with defiance burning in his eyes. He called out a challenge, his young voice almost lost to the wind and the howls of the dying but the wyrm heard and turned its head. It looked down on the young noble, his thin frame barely holding steady on the rocking deck, blood slicking his side from multiple cuts and punctures where splinters of the hull had torn through his clothing. The wyrm sensed its victory and dived down with a roar, its maw wide and ready to swallow Anrakiir whole. At the last second Anrakiir dived forward and rolled beneath the descending maw. Too slow the wyrm realized its mistake, already committed to the lunge the wyrm could not pull back in time before the tip of the harpoon, itss back end wedged firmly in a crack in the deck, plunged into the roof of the wyrm’s mouth and speared through into its brain.

 

Grom Bloodscale reared back with a roar of agony, a keening wail that cut across the waves and drove every remaining wyrm into retreat. Terror gripped the hearts of all who heard it and they looked in shock and wonder as the dread beast that had terrorized the tribes for countless generations flailed in agonized death throws before at last crashing to the wrecked deck of the King’s Spear and moved no more. Anrakiir stood near the prow of the ship, his body shaking from exertion and fatigue, he could only stare at the cooling corpse in amazement, never in all his years had he dreamed that one day the dread wyrm would be slain, let alone that it would be he who did it. Cheers rang out across the waves and Anrakiir turned to see his fleet regrouping as the enemy retreated. The Iron Blades and Shark Lords ships had fled and the Grimfang vessels were being summarily slaughtered. Yet it was the sight of the Grimfangs flagship that most confused Anrakiir, for he suddenly saw it surrounded by five Ice Dragons vessels that were not part of his fleet, the enemy flagship was crawling with the Jarl’s wolf guard and Varinor stood at the prow holding Ranolf’s severed head in the air to the roaring approval of his warriors. While Anrakiir’s ships had navigated the straits in strength Varinor had led five of his own ships, crewed by hand-picked veterans of his father’s household guard, through lesser-known and more dangerous paths through which a larger fleet could not hope to navigate. His five ships had emerged from the ring of islands and sailed around the outer crags to come upon the site of the battle from behind.

 

Varinor had wished to witness his brother’s defeat first-hand and, if necessary, make sure Ranolf held up his side of the bargain. Though Varinor’s fleet was small it was made up of the best of the Ice Dragons vessels and crewed by his finest veterans he knew his ships could outfight anything the Grimfangs could throw at them and it had been his plan to move in and finish off the Grimfangs after Anrakiir’s fleet was defeated. He knew he could assassinate Ranolf and withdraw before the rest of his enemies could turn about and come to reinforce their commander and by removing Ranolf he would cover up any proof of his treachery. Yet when Varinor saw Anrakiir’s ships fighting clear of the ambush and Anrakiir himself slay the wyrm king he knew he had to change his plans. Ordering his ships forward Varinor had closed on Ranolf’s vessel before the enemy could react, stormed aboard and slaughtered everyone on the ship, giving no quarter and taking no prisoners. With Ranolf’s head in his hand Varinor knew he could return home and claim victory for himself, taking the glory his brother had earned for himself and overshadowing Anrakiir’s achievements with his own. Less than a dozen of Anrakiir’s vessels remained and most had lost many of their warriors, Varinor had most of the Jarl’s wolf guard with him and knew that he could easily change the story of the battle to his own version and between the two of them the people would more readily trust the king’s guard and his eldest son than the word of the royal whelp. He could even make it seem like the defeat of Grom was a pure accident, after all Anrakiir had dove away from the descending drake, running in fear and it was only a pure fluke of fate that had seen the beast killed. Few of the King’s Spear’s crew still lived and even fewer had directly witnessed the death of the beast, it would be easy to silence their version of the events. Varinor knew he could likely order his men to finish off the remaining Ice Dragons vessels with ease and kill his brother personally but he could not risk one of them alter revealing such overt treachery, besides by taking Anrakiir’s glory for himself he could twist the battle’s events to paint Anrakiir as a coward and a fool who had led his fleet to their deaths. Yes, he would see Anrakiir forever shamed and ensure his own eternal glory at the same time.

 

Varinor ordered his vessels to tow the King’s Spear back through the straits and to the docks of Dragon Bone Citadel. The people watched from the streets of the city in shock as the battered and vastly diminished fleet returned and stared in confusion as the Jarl’s wolf guard accompanied the survivors. As the ships docked Varinor climbed the figurehead of his own vessel and addressed the crowds. He spoke of Anrakiir’s ambush and how his own scouts had informed him of the enemy laying in wait. He had personally taken the best of the king’s warriors out through other paths to assist his brother but alas he had come too late to save the lives of so many of his kinsmen. Yet he told the people not to fear for he had personally taken vengeance on Ranolf Bloodmane and to emphasize his point he held the severed head of the Jarl aloft for all to see. The crowds erupted in cheers and Varinor and his men were escorted all the way to the Jarl’s hall by a sea of exultant tribesmen, Anrakiir and his fellows were left on the docks to tend to their wounds and tally their dead. It was hours later when Anrakiir and his surviving shield brothers dragged the severed head of Grom Bloodscale to the Jarl’s hall, throwing open the doors Anrakiir walked in head held high but before he could address his father he was met by a wall of wolf guard with shields brought to bear. At the end of the Jarl’s table Anrakiir saw Varinor sitting by Svasir’s side and with him sat Elisif. He face was tear streaked and a pair of wolf guard stood behind her chair. Anrakiir looked around but neither Harkinor One-Eye nor any of his household could be seen within the hall. Anrakiir called to his father to explain this and Svasir rose to address the survivors. Svasir congratulated the survivors on the victory and lamented the losses, he praised his son for surviving Grom’s attack but pointedly avoided crediting his son with the actual slaying of the beast. He told Anrakiir that as slayer of the enemy Jarl and the honored hero of the battle it was Varinor’s right to claim any unwed maiden of the kingdom as his wife, Svasir lamented the breaking of Anrakiir’s betrothal with Elisif and admitted that Harkinor had been outraged but promised that Varinor had vowed to make amends, gold and weapons would be gifted, positions and titles bestowed and it was Svasir’s hope that everyone would be pleased with these events for a mighty victory had been won and his eldest son and successor would soon be married. Anrakiir was outraged and to his surprise every one of the surviving shield-brothers of his fleet drew arms and roared their support for Anrakiir and their rage at Varinor’s dishonorable actions. Svasir called for quiet and order and after several minutes the shouting died down. Svasir apologized to his youngest son to the insult to his honor but said it was Varinor’s right and the issue would be dealt with at another time. Before Anrakiir could say anything further Svasir ordered him from the hall and the wolf guard pointedly ejected the battered survivors of Anrakiir’s fleet.

 

Outside Anrakiir and his men found Thane Harkinor One-Eye and dozens of his household warriors gathered in the square alongside scores of other tribesmen, they were shouting at the hall and demanding the release of Elisif, her betrothal had not been blessed by Harkinor and her hand had been promised to another they raged. Slowly more and more people from the citadel drifted into the square outside the Jarl’s hall and joined the mob while the wolf guard and personal troops of the Jarl’s four other sons and the thanes who supported them gathered outside the hall in increasing numbers as well. Within a few hours a crowd hundreds strong had gathered outside the long hall, a long line of armed troops stood guard before the doors, preventing Harkinor, Anrakiir or any of their supporters from entering while groups of opposing warriors, increasingly appearing armed and armored for battle, gathered beyond the cordon. As the sun set and the feasting within grew in volume and extravagance the outrage of those beyond the walls grew, Svasir had refused to hear any of his thane’s complaints or allow anyone not closely allied to Varinor or his brothers within the hall. As tensions grew small clashes began to occur between scattered individuals and blood began to flow. Soon several dozen shield-brothers and wolf guard had been injured in minor clashes between the mob outside and the warriors guarding the hall.

 

As the sun rose Svasir finally emerged from the hall, visibly drunk the Jarl had to be supported by two of his huskarls to remain upright and steady. Yet when Svasir spoke it was with the authority of a Jarl. He had heard of the increasing tension outside and had come to address his people. Svasir admitted that Varinor’s actions had not been honorable, that his claim on Elisif had been unjust, but it had been lawful and he called on his people to remember their oaths. Svasir would make concessions to the house of Harkinor and pay a king’s ransom in dowry for the hand of Elisif. He would also reward his youngest son with command of the remaining fleet and charge him with bringing vengeance on the surviving Grimfangs, Anrakiir would have first right of claim on any and all loot taken during the campaign, be they ships, prisoners or goods and Svasir hoped these would salve his son’s wounded pride. Slowly the anger of the mob outside diminished, though the insult remained the Jarl’s concessions were extravagant indeed and, had Varinor not chosen to emerge at that moment, disaster might still have been averted yet the king’s eldest son had also drank far more than was advisable and could not help but revel in the disgrace of his youngest brother. To the shock of those assembled Varinor emerged from the hall stark naked and bearing his axe, his body was covered in blood, his hair matted to his head in crusted filth and his blade was dripping with vitae. The horror of the crowed mounted as Varinor cackled in glee, roaring at Anrakiir that his beloved had squealed like a bitch when he took her and cried out for her father, he laughed as he recounted Elisif’s struggles against him and how she had bit and scratched him. Alas he lamented, she was too stubborn for his liking and would have made a poor wife so he had cut off her ugly head. As he said it Varinor held up the severed head of Elisif and threw it at the ground before the hall, the flaxen haired head rolling to a stop beneath the spear on which was mounted the head of Ranolf Bloodmane. At the sight Varinor howled with glee and declared the two were a pretty sight together. Svasir could only stare at his eldest son in shock and dismay, the display of his successor a truly disgraceful sight and a crime to the honor and traditions of the entire tribe. Before Svasir could speak Harkinor let loose an almighty howl of rage and loss, a cry so profound that it echoed through the streets of the entire citadel and roused every last tribesman and woman from their rest. Without a word Harkinor and his household charged the shield wall before them. The wolf guard had seen the charge coming and were ready, though many of Harkinor’s men were poorly armed or armored while the wolf guard were in their full battle panoply the One-Eye’s household were driven by an anguish and fury so profound that they shrugged off even the most horrific of injuries and fought on. With Harkinor’s men charged scores of other tribesmen, allies of his household or those who had witnessed Varinor’s display and whose outrage nearly matched Harkinor’s own.

 

At the heart of the crowd charged Anrakiir, though still exhausted from the day’s battle, though covered in injuries, though he had not eaten or slept in many hours, Anrakiir still charged. His axe blurred in his hands and wherever it fell, skulls split. Battle-cries mixed with the screams of the dying for the second time that day as brother fought brother and men who had stood side by side against the great beasts of Fenris and the enemies of the tribe crossed blades with bitter hearts and howls of fury. Varinor’s brothers emerged from the hall and tried to drag him inside but he just laughed and shrugged them off, the crazed son of the Jarl could not stop cackling with glee and he declared the battle a fantastic sight, finally the frumpy old Harkinor and his bastard of a brother would be gotten rid of. With disbelief etched on his face Jarl Svasir was hauled inside the hall and the doors were barred. No matter how just the outrage of the tribesmen outside was the wolf guard would defend the Jarl with their lives. Outside blood began to run down from the hilltop in rivers and the bodies began to be stacked two and three deep in places as the battle lines twisted and contracted, expanded and shifted as the warriors grappled and shoved and more and more tribesmen were cut down. Ulli, Rogyr and Jorin attempted to stop the violence, each knowing that with every death the tribe was weakened, already dozens were dead and more were falling every moment, but their shouts fell on deaf ears, the wolf guard were fighting hard just to hold their positions and survive while their attackers were too furious to stop, even if they had wanted too. With a howl Anrakiir stove in the skull of the last wolf guard in his way and smashed through the ring of defenders to face his brothers. Ulli, the jester, had always been the closest to Anrakiir and the quickest to try and use laughter to diffuse tension and salve hurt pride. With a smile on his face Ulli walked towards his brother with arms outstretched, yet Anrakiir did not miss the axe in Ulli’s right hand, or the seax in his left. Though Ulli smiled Anrakiir knew an attack was coming, though Ulli spoke words of friendship and conciliation he knew Anrakiir would not stop and was simply trying to lull him into a sense of complacency before launching a surprise attack. When the blow came Anrakiir was perfectly prepared for it, he twisted aside from the axe blow and deflected the knife with the flat of his axe, Anrakiir thrust the head of his axe forward into Ulli’s gut, doubling his brother over, and then smashed the haft of the axe into his brother’s nose, breaking the bone and sending him sprawling to the ground. Anrakiir leapt forward, landing atop Ulli and burying the head of his axe in his brother’s skull. To the horror of Rogyr and Jorin their brother tugged at his axe several times before giving up and taking Ulli’s. The first brother had fallen, Anrakiir was a kin-slayer, and it was only the beginning. Rogyr and Jorin came at him together, as Anrakiir knew they would. They were twins, born within a few minutes of each other and they had been inseparable since, always doing everything together. But even though they were similar there were also differences. Jorin was always the first to act, the most decisive, the leader; Rogyr simply followed his twin, preferring to let Jorin do the thinking while he did the drinking and the whoring. Anrakiir drew his own Seax from his belt and threw it underhanded; the blade struck Jorin’s leg and sent him tumbling into the dirt. Rogyr stumbled to a halt, shocked at the sudden fall of his twin and uncertain what to do. He barely managed to parry Anrakiir’s first blow but the second took him in the throat and nearly severed his head clean from his shoulders, Rogyr fell to the ground, choking on his own blood and Anrakiir just left him, striding over two where Jorin was crawling back towards Varinor. As Anrakiir drew up to him Jorin made several desperate swipes of his axe before Anrakiir ripped it from his grasp. Leaning down Anrakiir ripped his seax from Jorin’s leg, eliciting a howl of pain from his brother. As Jorin pleaded for mercy Anrakiir knelt over his brother and slit his throat from ear to ear, three brothers were now dead. As the bodies of Ulli, Rogyr and Jorin bled out in the dirt Anrakiir advanced on his final brother. Four of the Jarl’s wolf guard stood with Varinor and moved to defend him; Varinor himself seemed to have finally come to his senses and was staring at the bodies of his brother in abject terror. While the wolf guard faced Anrakiir the Jarl’s eldest son turned and began banging on the doors of the long hall, begging his father to let him in and save him from Anrakiir the monster. Anrakiir watched this display of cowardice without emotion, his face a fixed mask of determination and anger as he advanced on the wolf guard. The first moved too soon, overextending himself and took Anrakiir’s seax through the eye, the blade stuck fast and so Anrakiir drew the huskarl’s axe from his nerveless hand, turning it to deflect the blow of the second warrior. Anrakiir hooked Ulli’s axe blade behind the shield of the second guard and pulled hard, dragging the warrior off his feet. Anrakiir’s second axe came around hard and took the warrior in the throat as he fell. The remaining two warriors backed up and braced their shields. Anrakiir eyed them warily, looking for any opening to exploit. As it happened an opening would be made for him. Just then Harkinor burst through the fighting and charged the wolf guard, the warrior on Anrakiir’s left turned to face the charge and was bowled from his feet, the sheer power and recklessness of Harkinor’s charge taking him by complete surprise. The second wolf guard, reacting to the fall of his companion turned to strike Harkinor as he grappled with his foe, seemingly forgetting all about Anrakiir, a mistake that cost him his life. Ulli’s axe buried in the wolf guard’s skull with a sickening crack, smashing through his hardened leather helmet with ease and lodging fast; Anrakiir pushed the corpse aside and strode over to Harkinor in time to see the old Thane smashing his opponent’s brains out on the hard packed dirt of the square. Blood, skull and brain matter were soaking the ground and Harkinor just kept smashing. Anrakiir rested a hand on Harkinor’s shoulders and the old Thane finally stopped. With a ragged breath Harkinor rose and the two warriors advanced on Varinor. Just as they stepped over the last of the wolf guard the doors finally opened, old Svasir could not listen to his eldest son’s desperate pleas and let him face his death, even knowing what he had done. The doors parted and Varinor burst inside, fleeing from the maddened reavers who hounded him. A dozen wolf guard stood beyond the doors but yet again Anrakiir would not have to face them, the battle lines had disintegrated, the outnumbered wolf guard and their allies falling to the blades, fists and clubs of their foes and now dozens of bloodied killers stormed the hall. The wolf guard held for only a few moments before the sheer weight of numbers smashed them aside. A path was parted and Anrakiir and Harkinor walked past the fighting and into the hall. Varinor had fallen to his hands and knees and was crawling away from the two killers, babbling incoherently. As Anrakiir approached Varinor saw the mad gleam in his brother’s eyes and rose to his feet. Turning Varinor started to run but was struck in the back by the blade of Anrakiir’s thrown axe. Varinor hit the ground with a scream. Anrakiir eyed his fallen brother for a moment before striding past without comment. Harkinor stopped and knelt over Varinor however and drew his own seax with a dark grin spreading across his features. Varinor’s screams began again and for several moments they echoed across the hall, each one sending a shiver of horror and pain through the body of the Jarl as he sat on his throne at the end of the hall, watching his youngest son approaching at a steady, measured pace. Though brutal Harkinor did not draw out his vengeance, within moments Varinor’s screams had died out. Harkinor stood up bearing Varinor’s head in his fist. He had cut out Varinor’s eyes and tongue and removed his ears, nose and lips before at last sawing through his throat and removing the head. These mutilations were an insult that would be carried over to the afterlife, for all eternity Varinor would wander the underworld blind and mute, his very appearance telling every soul he passed the nature of his crimes and the dread horror of his punishment.

 

Slowly Anrakiir walked up to his father’s throne, no wolf guard remained, no retainers stood guard, they were all dead. His sons were dead, his family shattered, his kingdom ruined and his line almost certainly ended. Anrakiir just put his hand on his father’s shoulder, leaned in and whispered into his father’s ear the words “I’m sorry” before he drew his father’s knife from his belt and drove it up under his rib-cage and into his heart. Jarl Svasir of the Ice Dragon tribe was killed instantly and Anrakiir left his body to slump back against the throne. With his last murder done Anrakiir turned and walked from the hall, as he passed Harkinor he said only three words, “burn it all.” The Thane complied, the halls were swept clear, anything of value stripped and the handful of remaining retainers loyal to Varinor or his brothers butchered. The body of Elisif was found, naked and mutilated in the bed of Varinor. Harkinor’s retainers wrapped the body in furs and reverently carried her to the great hall where she was laid out with funeral gifts on the high table. The entire hall and the bodies of her murderers would be her pyre. The sun had risen to its height by the time Harkinor and his remaining household emerged from the hall and set it on fire. Soon smoke blotted out the sun and it was as though night and sorrow had fallen over the citadel. More pyres were built and the bodies of the fallen burned. Sporadic skirmishes with warriors still loyal to the king, his fallen sons, or the thanes who had stood with him were fought. Resistance was soon ended brutally and the bodies and their homes burned. Though Anrakiir and Harkinor had won the tribe was all but broken. Hundreds had been killed, many more crippled or wounded, the royal line was all but ended. Anrakiir stood on the docks, lashing the head of Grom Bloodscale to the figurehead of a small messenger vessel. Harkinor met him at the docks and asked what he was doing. Anrakiir would only say it was time for him to leave, he bid Harkinor to take the survivors and leave this cursed place. Without another word Anrakiir unfurled his sails and set forth, vanishing into the straits never to be seen or heard from again. Harkinor did as he was bidden, taking the surviving tribesmen and ships and leaving the islands for good, taking on a new name, a new identity, and a new leader. Only a few weeks later the island on which Dragon Bone Citadel had stood was torn asunder and sunk beneath the waves, what had stood for three hundred great years vanished in a matter of hours. Many of the other islands of the Dragon Maw chain vanished beneath the waves as well and no new crags rose to replace them. What had once been a mighty fastness of one of the oldest and most powerful tribes of Fenris was reduced to a broken and haunted shell, empty crags future tribes would avoid and those too unwary or ignorant who drew close would tell tales of mournful cries on the wind or else would never be seen again.

 

Yet Anrakiir’s tale was not fated to end just yet. The Wolf Priests of the Sky Warriors had witnessed the battle in the straits, they had seen the treachery of Valinor, they had seen the defeat of Grom, the murder of Elisif and the battle that had followed. They had watched and waited to see what would happen. As Anrakiir’s small ship passed through the straits a Thunderhawk Gunship descended from the clouds and drew up close above the vessel. When the Wolf Priests dropped to the deck they found Anrakiir nearly dead, his countless injuries having finally caught up with him. The priests took his unconscious body from the ship and sank it with a shot from the gunship’s dorsal cannon. Anrakiir would become an aspirant to the chapter, the last to ever come from the Ice Dragon Tribe.

[guinness drinking dwarf]

You have yourself a good back story there Vash, well done dude.

 

The betrayal done to Anarkiir by his brother Varinor, in my mind, justifies his wrath towards him. I like it how you even messed his afterlife up, now thats just mean, haha.

 

But having Anarkiir wipe out his whole family...wow... Suppose' if your going do something, don't do it half arsed. I wouldn't want to cross him.  

 

Look forward to seeing more.