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Star
- Joined
- May 23, 2010
For the best part of a decade, the kingdoms of Helluland and Markland waged bloody war on each other. Scores of young men died for their country, proudly ignorant of the true reason for their deaths. The vast kingdoms were reduced to shadows of decency, so fully had their societies been ravaged by the constant death.
Men brought back droves of women and beaten men, ready to shape into slaves, the spoils of war. Entire families made their lives on training and selling the slaves that their son's brought home.
Huge slave auctions were held in the town squares, any type of man,woman or child was there for the buying.
The prince of Markland, Fenrisúlfr, had long grown sick of the practice of selling people and sought to distance himself from his corrupt family who encouraged it. Despite being a truly vicious fighter, the prince valued life above all else.
In the tenth year of the war, messengers criss-crossed the war torn landscape, slowly brokering a treaty. The final terms of peace were simple. A single fight to the death would decide the war. Since the king's of both realms were elderly and in no shape to fight, the son's would fight in their stead.
Helluland's prince,Jormungand, was a sharp and frightening contrast to Fenrisúlfr and a direct product of his savage upbringing. He was renowned for the rape of over one hundred women and his large harem of women and boys. His depravity knew no equal except that of his skill at murder.
If there was any life that Fenrisúlfr truly wanted to extinguish it was that beasts. Thus he welcomed the chance to fight him with no interruption or intervention.
The day of the fight met the pair, and the crowd who gathered to watch through carnage, with a brilliantly clear sky and a sweet wind. It was as if the Gods were preparing to celebrate the demise of a demon.
Without a word the two clashed, the force of their violence shook the trees around them like a gale wind. The pair fought for many hours, their blood soaked the ground and covered their bodies like sweat.
Eventually even their blades were unable to withstand the conflict and turned to shards in their hands, leaving only their hands as weapons. This was where Fenrisúlfr gained his advantage. As Jormangand attempted to choke the life out of the prince, like he had so many women before, the prince forced his mighty hand into his assailants stomach, through the cracked leather armour, and tore out his insides.
The rapist prince was no more.
With victory came the spoils.
(Note:this is not the style with which I will carry on my future posts, this is just for the establishing post.)
Men brought back droves of women and beaten men, ready to shape into slaves, the spoils of war. Entire families made their lives on training and selling the slaves that their son's brought home.
Huge slave auctions were held in the town squares, any type of man,woman or child was there for the buying.
The prince of Markland, Fenrisúlfr, had long grown sick of the practice of selling people and sought to distance himself from his corrupt family who encouraged it. Despite being a truly vicious fighter, the prince valued life above all else.
In the tenth year of the war, messengers criss-crossed the war torn landscape, slowly brokering a treaty. The final terms of peace were simple. A single fight to the death would decide the war. Since the king's of both realms were elderly and in no shape to fight, the son's would fight in their stead.
Helluland's prince,Jormungand, was a sharp and frightening contrast to Fenrisúlfr and a direct product of his savage upbringing. He was renowned for the rape of over one hundred women and his large harem of women and boys. His depravity knew no equal except that of his skill at murder.
If there was any life that Fenrisúlfr truly wanted to extinguish it was that beasts. Thus he welcomed the chance to fight him with no interruption or intervention.
The day of the fight met the pair, and the crowd who gathered to watch through carnage, with a brilliantly clear sky and a sweet wind. It was as if the Gods were preparing to celebrate the demise of a demon.
Without a word the two clashed, the force of their violence shook the trees around them like a gale wind. The pair fought for many hours, their blood soaked the ground and covered their bodies like sweat.
Eventually even their blades were unable to withstand the conflict and turned to shards in their hands, leaving only their hands as weapons. This was where Fenrisúlfr gained his advantage. As Jormangand attempted to choke the life out of the prince, like he had so many women before, the prince forced his mighty hand into his assailants stomach, through the cracked leather armour, and tore out his insides.
The rapist prince was no more.
With victory came the spoils.
(Note:this is not the style with which I will carry on my future posts, this is just for the establishing post.)
