I, Rituro, challenge scribe marcus to a Fluff Battle!

CONDITIONS:
Universe: Warhammer Fantasy
Word Limit: unlimited
Post Limit: 20 posts
Inspiration: "Boredom"

~

Do you accept?

And so it begins...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Post Count: 1)

A solitary tree branch wound its way down the River Demst, gently bouncing off the odd rock and ice clump that jutted out of the water. Jaime Stilgaart, guardsman in the Nordland militia, followed it with his eyes until the branch drifted out of sight. From his slouched position on a simple wooden stool, Jaime sighed. That branch had been the single most interesting thing on this entire shift -- possibly even this entire dreary week.

Jaime stood and stretched, his back cracking and popping underneath a suit of leather armour. Grabbing a halberd that laid discarded on the floorboards, the guardsman took another impromptu mini-patrol outside his small guardhouse.

The young, blond-haired guardsman could swear he'd worn a tread into the frosty grass from the many times he'd walked the same route: up the river to the wall; across the wall to the road; and back down the road to the guardhouse. After a quick and half-hearted visual survey of the nearby trees, Jamie returned to his waiting stool. He sat and resumed his slouching, letting the halberd fall back to the floor with a loud thump.

(( Not directly. For example, you couldn't go "Suddenly, a mutated hobgoblin jumps out of the river, gills flaring, and throws a javelin through Jamie's heart, killing him instantly." That's a direct take-over of my character and his reaction to the event. You can, however, present logistical situations that are likely to result in death or at least serious injury barring some clever writing on my part. As another example, a dark elf sorceress could open a Pit of Shades under Jamie's guardhouse; yes, it's likely he'll die, but not guaranteed -- he could dive out the door at the last second, leaving himself alive but unarmed and probably bruised from the fall.

The question of "WTF is a delf sorceress doing walking around Nordland unchecked?!", however, would be on your shoulders to answer adequately. ;) ))

Maxwell le bastole gazed upon the field below, its once grassy surface now fouled with thousands of the Norsemen. The Norse raiders had landed on the border of Bretonnia and marienburg’s fringe, where nordland enforced its rule. There were scant watch houses scattered about by the imperials, but they were inadequate at the test set for them. A part of him wanted to sound the retreat, and let the imperials sort out their own problems, but the king had sent him to enact the defense of Bretonnia, and damned if Maxwell and his six thousand knights were going to tarnish their honor. Outnumbered by two to one, Maxwell was nevertheless ready to charge. Thus, he guided his horse to the front of the line, and raised his sword to give the blessing of the king to his warriors. Lances were lowered in salute to the vassal of the king, and riding across the length of the battle line, his sword ringing against every lance tip, and a wordless cry of war rising from his lungs.

“For the king, the lady, and the flower of our land, brave knights of Bretonnia, arise and do battle with the foe!” cried Maxwell, pride swelling in his heart and giving him courage as it always had, “ride now! Ride now! To battle and the foes ending! Death!”

Maxwell’s cry echoed from six thousand honors bound throats. “Forth knights of Bretonnia, for glory!!!!” and with his last words to his men, Maxwell threw all the strength in his legs into his mounts flanks, and charged down the hill. A wordless war cry flew from his lips as the rush of the charge took hold, and he heard the pounding of hooves as his men followed their lord, the blood in their veins singing with the joy of battle”

Within moments, the Norse line was broken by a charge that shattered steel and crushed flesh and bone to paste like a rockslide. Hooves caved in skulls, lances struck home into bare chests, and fine Bretonnian steel rasped from scabbards. As the Norsemen flew from the charging knights, Maxwell urged his warriors to pursue. And so did the Norse war host become shattered into fragments of its former self, isolated bands fleeing with all speed into the countryside like rats.

(Post Count: 2)

One week later...

Jaime's breath curled out in little wisps as the chilled air caught it. The winter season was settling in for good, which meant a good six months of bitter walks to and from the guardhouse were on the way.

The young guardsman, halberd in hand, dutifully put one foot in front of the other, his boots crunching on the frosty road as the distance to the guardhouse closed. He looked up to the sky, checking for any hint of snow, but saw nothing but a lumpy wall of grey blocking off the sun. Only in Nordland, he mused, could you get your mood up with a promise of grey skies.

A second guardsman, also clad in the blue-and-yellow state uniform of Nordland, appeared from the guardhouse as Jamie approached the outlying low rock wall. In unison, they sent half-hearted salutes. Jamie smirked and raised his voice to cover the distance. "Busy shift?"

The second guardsman rolled his eyes. "And how," he called back. "I think I've discovered a nefarious plot by the cobwebs to seize control of the guardhouse by midwinter."

Jamie chuckled. When he was finally inside the small guardhouse, he set down his halberd, unslung his rucksack and pulled out a small hip flask. "Ale?"

The guard shook his head and tapped his belt, where his own hip flask was securely tucked away. "I'll pass. No sense overdoing it right before the walk home. " Pulling on a fur overcoat, he gathered up his belongings and gave one more salute to Jamie. "Good shift to you."

Jamie returned the salute. "And a safe walk to you." Once the second guardsman had left, Jamie pulled out a small blanket from his rucksack. It would hardly make a difference in a month once the snow started to fall, but for now, it provided enough warmth to make a shift bearable.

Hefting his halberd once more, Jamie began his routine patrol: out the back door; over to the river; up the river to the wall; across the wall to the road; and back down the road to the guardhouse's front door. As he gave the looming forest the usual cursory glance and was about to head back inside, something nagged at the corner of Jamie's mind.

Staying in the roadway, Jamie tried to figure out what was bothering him. Had he missed a step in his routine? Was something different? Jamie looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The low wall, the forest, the river, the guardhouse, the empty road --

Wait. The empty road? The guardsman previously on shift hadn't been gone more than a few minutes. Even at a full run, he should still be visible on the straight stretch of road that led back down to the village.

Jamie gripped his halberd tightly. This would require investigation.

Bloodwulf face lit up with a feral grin. The second guardsman had caught on to his brother-in-arms disappearance. Now he was walking towards the middle of the road looking for his comrade, and falling into Bloodwulf’s trap as he did so. One of Bloodwulf’s band was wrestling with the captive guardsman, trying to keep him from yelling out to his comrade for help.

“Slit his throat and shut him up, just give me the halberd.” whispered Bloodwulf. His kinsman silently obliged, proffering the halberd with his right hand.

The small band of Norse had been running for a week. After the death of gore-eye ironhand, the host’s warlord, the war host had scattered into disparate bands of separate tribes. Bloodwulf’s tribe, or what was left of it, had fled northeast, into nordland, pillaging guardhouses for supplies as they went. Trying to find a boat to steal so they could get home. Now, only twelve of an original thirty sagberon tribe warriors, including Bloodwulf, remained. With a glance, Bloodwulf was assured that his warriors were in place about the heavily forested area opposite the road, ready to spring the trap.

Bloodwulf took the proffered halberd, feeling its solid oaken haft in his hands. The grain was rough, but the silver-steel was sharp, reassuring him of the weapons capability. A small tassel of blue and yellow was looped through a hole at the place where haft met blade. Stowing his pilfered knife in its scabbard, Bloodwulf grasped the haft with his off hand, and griped the tassel with his left. The tassel broke away with little force, and Bloodwulf released his grip, letting it flutter to the forest floor.

Motioning for his warriors to advance, Bloodwulf steeped into the weak sunlight of the first week of winter. Light glinted from his heavily armored and imposing form, and also revealed his toned, muscular arms.

Enjoying the look of terror upon the young guardsman’s face, Bloodwulf whispered “blood for the blood god.” Then he charged.

(Post Count: 3)

The glint of the norscan's armour caught Jamie's eye a second before the hulking raider charged. Wheeling, he brought his own weapon to bear in defense and just barely managed to parry the brute's vicious attack.

Adrenaline began to pound through Jamie's veins as he began to backpedal towards the guardhouse. Raiders! The alarm would need to be raised immediately, but who would hear him out here? He'd need to get to town, but a rather angry norscan stood between Jamie and that goal. At least there was only one --

-- no. Where there was one, there were many; norscans never travelled alone, always in bands.

"The guardhouse," Jamie's mind chimed in, "the guardhouse! Keep moving for it!" The young guardsman's feet obeyed and continue to move backwards while Jamie kept his attention focused on the raider.

If he could get to the guardhouse alive, he'd be able to make a stand in the front doorway.

That is, until they figured out there's a back door by the river.

Jamie prayed they wouldn't.

but they did...

bloodwulf yelled to his kin in his guttural tounge, and three norscans sprinted off to the west, readily encircling jamie.

the rest of the norse were following in the wake of thier chieftain, directly behind them. they were clad in a assortment of furs and black chainmail, and held a haphazard mix of weaponry, from swords to sickles. one even brandished a double bladed axe.

suddenly the lead norscan lunged at jamie. he came up short as jamie half backpeddled half scrambled to back away.

no way out now... jamie thought, then out of the corner of his eye salvation appeared the river, there's a ford just down the way! i can cut across mr. jenkins fields and get into town to warn captain jack! i'm such an idiot! how come i never thought of that before?

with a burst of desperate speed, jamie cut left and headed for freedom, praising sigmar and praying to every god of speed he knew of.... with the norse in hot pursuit.

(Post Count: 4)

How fast could a raider run, wondered Jamie as he tried to put distance between himself and the warband pursuing him. Surely, will all that misshapen armour and eclectic weaponry, they wouldn't be able to pursue a guardsman in full flight?

Jamie chanced a look over his shoulder and felt a pit open in his stomach as his theory was swiftly proven false. The raiders were still close behind him, even through a few of their number had stayed behind to loot the guardhouse. "May you choke on that ale, savages," he cursed as he refocused his vision on the river.

Tiny caplets of ice bobbed along the river's surface, betraying the water's temperature. Jamie swore. This favoured the norscans and their upbringing in winters that made a Nordland yuletime look like a Lustrian beach party. Still, it was either take a temporary chill or suffer a temporary blast of searing pain followed by blank oblivion.

Jamie held his breath and, using his halberd like a walking staff, leapt his way along the rocks that dotted the ford, picking his path as quickly as he could.

~

Heinrich Jenkins tugged again at the stubborn pumpkin, but the orange gourd was going nowhere. "Ulric have you," he bellowed, red-faced from the effort. A fine harvest this was; the carrots were late, the pumpkins weren't budging and that lazy sack of turnips, Gelmar, had yet to report for duty. As he grabbed a hoe and prepared to assault the frosty earth yet again, he wondered what could possibly make this day worse.

(post count 4, total count 8)

bloodwulf ran full pelt through the icy water of the river. his warriors were rightbehind him, he could feel thier boots splashing into the water behind him. the guardsman had crossed the river, and was now running through what looked like an endless field of orange pumpkins. bloodwulf had sent Argos, loki, bijorn and firgi to gather what meager supplies they could from the guardhouse. he had yelled for them to not touch a lick of food so as to conserve it for the road ahead.

With the way things were heading, bloodwulf was considering falling back and cutting off to the west, then zig-zaging thier way through the countryside so as to avoid persuit. if the guard got to his town and raised the alarm, that was what had to be done.

stifling a curse, bloodwulf readied his last throwing axe. he could not allow to let the guard to get much farther towards the village. jumping from the river to the field in a single bound gifted to him by many years of norscan winter, bloodwulf pulled his arm back, ready to loose his axe. the dark gods blast that guard! theres another one! thought bloodwulf. the guardsman had gotten to possibly the middle of the field and had stopped, and was presumably talking to another guardsman. at least that was what bloodwulfs mind could discern, as all he could see were sillouettes in the snow that had been kicked up by the fleeing guard.

taking aim at the man to the right, bloodwulf let fly with all his strength....

(Post count: 5 / 9)

"Flee?!" roared Heinrich, brandishing his hoe. "A true son of Ulric does not flee in the face of glorious combat!"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Jamie, hurriedly, "but you must understand, they outnumber us by a dozen! We must make haste and raise the alarm -- "

Heinrich spat on the young guardsman's boots. "I'd sooner die in this pumpkin patch than run from -- "

As if guided by irony itself, a throwing axe embedded itself in Heinrich's face with the sickening sound of honed metal splitting flesh, muscle and bone. The farmer twitched and gurgled something unintelligible before collapsing in a heap, blood pouring from his face. The hoe bounced from the farmer's lifeless grasp, nestling itself amongst the pumpkins.

Jamie whirled around and gulped at the sight of the norscan, no doubt the source of the fatal axe. The guardsman felt a sudden urge to put more distance between himself and the norscan. His feet happily obliged, but not before both hands had tugged free the throwing axe from Heinrich's face. The last thing Jamie wanted was for that axe to be thrown a second time.

The barn across the field looked as inviting a target as any for a flight from danger; Jamie made for it. A horse, he prayed, my kingdom for a horse! After a moment of mid-run reflection, he added, or, barring that, a regiment or two of swordsmen. Or a very powerful and/or benevolent wizard. I'm not picky, really.

unknowingly, jamie was about to get his wish...........

------------------------------------------------------


kaichan zhou, living shadow assasin of cathay, rubbed his travel worn eyes as he awoke. he had used the cloaking arts of his order to steal refuge of a farmers barn from the night. now he had been roughly awoken by a crack. as his eyes cleared, so did his senses, and now he heard the crisp warcries of northmen from outside his shelter. the hung people had always been a thorn in his peoples side, and the threat of attack coming from beyond the great bastion troubled the dragon emperor endlessly. but these cries sounded different, and sifting through his memories, kaichan found an answer. the northmen were on the hunt.with a bang from below, the barn doors burst inward, and a panicked guardsman rushed in. though his mission did not involve helping this man, it sounded as if a score of norsemen were on the prowl, and judging by his looks, he was worn out.

dropping from the rafter that had been his bed for the night, kaichan drew his gleaming, poison coated katana and prepared for the berserker charge to come...

Post Count: 6 (11)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie's lungs burned as he sucked down gulps of air. Slamming the barn doors closed for what precious time and shelter it would buy him, the guardsman surveyed his temporary shelter.

The barn was divided mainly into livestocks stalls -- empty, Jamie noted with growing anxiety -- with a small open space near the now-closed doors. This open space allowed for a ladder, which led up to the loft. Here, hay was piled in disorganized mounds under the criss-crossing rafters of the roof. Windows, three per side on the barn's ground floor, gave the winter's light an entryway to spill into the barn. They would also, Jamie realized, allow the Norscans entry with little resistance.

Jamie tried to shut out the ever-closing howls and think tactically. Close quarters gave Jamie a slight advantage, but once the barbarians broke through the windows, numbers would wear him down. Rolling his head back to offer a prayer, the loft filled Jamie's view.

Yes! The loft! One way up, one way down and high ground to boot. Better than nothing, wouldn't you say?

Ignoring the protests from his limbs which had now began to feel the effects of fear-induced sprinting, Jamie hustled to the ladder and began his climb to (temporary) salvation.

kaichan watched the guardsman climb the ladder to the loft he now stood on. quietly saying a word of power that would not let the man see him until he got to the loft & that would start to channel his reserves of chi through his body, kaichan leveled his katana at the space directly infront of the ladder. then he waited.............

---------------

post count 6 (12)

I find it very odd that neither of you has entered the Fluff-a-thon, yet you manage to find time for a Fluff Battle?

*hint hint* :P

I'm not sure 1 month, 23 days between posts is exactly "finding time", but touché, sir. ;)

i didn't have time to enter the fluff-a-thon because of school exams and RL. if we have another contest soon i'll definatly enter. and the PoTW has not been updated i don't think...

write burito, write!

Non-canonical post in response to "burrito":

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie easily saw teh ninja in the darkness and leapt of teh lader whippng out his halbred "AAAHHHHHH" he scremed carvig him in two liek a cheap peice of wood. Just tehn the raders burst thru teh barn dors but Jamie was alredy flyin thru the air wit his wepon out. Befr tehy culd blink he did a super-spin-attack-move-finishr and carved tehm into tiny bludy peics. Panting he collpased to teh flor and sobed for his ded freind.

TEH AND>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...and now, the actual post.

Post Count: 7 (13)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hand over hand, Jamie pulled his aching body up the last few rungs. It shouldn't be this difficult to climb a sodding ladder, he internally groaned, but with the adrenaline fading from his system, his labours were catching up to him.

Had it been minutes? Hours? Jamie couldn't even begin to gauge how long this ordeal had lasted. It would be something to think about later, to be sure, but for now he needed to regroup and think of an escape strategy.

The young guardsman's hand finally closed on the solid floor of the loft. Grunting, he gave one final heave and came face-to-blade with an ornate, hovering sword. The colour drained from Jamie's face as his eyes wildly tried to find what was keeping the sword aloft.

Outside, crunching footsteps in the snow signalled the imminent Norscan arrival.

hehe, lob a grenade back down the lader, that should sort out the Norse for you ;)

Nice work guys.

burrito, your a good friend and all, but seriously, unless you want this challenge to end in two liner posts, i suggest you edit that last extension of the story with jamie shatting himself (or some-such) when he finds a damned katana in his face.

Would this katana be floating in mid-air or would the "word of power that would not let the man see him until he got to the loft & that would start to channel his reserves of chi through his body" cloak both the sword and the wielder?

just the wielder (and all items strapped to his person, such as his scabbard.

Post modified. Thanks for the heads-up!

thank you burrito. i will be getting the next installment in this ninja-on-norse-arse-kicking-saga tommorow.