Bloodfield is the training ground for the Sali tribe and a place where Norscan youths prove their manhood in fierce competitions. This plateau overlooking the sea is no stranger to the sounds of battle and the smell of blood. However, this corner of the plateau was different. It was not set up for Norscan warriors or the Sali tribe. It was a place of death and carnage that far exceeded the trials and training of Norscan youth.
This is called the Wolf Wood, and it exists only for one person. That is Ulfric the Wanderer, where he selects warriors suitable to join his crew.
Whenever Ulfric returns to Ormskro, it marks the beginning of another great festival of feasting, dancing, and singing for the Sali tribe. But the climax of the festival is not in the longhouse, but in the wolf woods. Here, every freeholder, slave, and retainer in and around the town would gather to witness Norsca's fiercest warriors battle in order to become part of Ulfric's crew and win the right to follow Ulfric. The glory of sailing.
For months, warriors from various Norse tribes came. The strong, hairy Beltholin and the cunning Skellings, the twisted Vargoths and the stern Gaellings, they all come to Ormscro to demonstrate their might and prove themselves more powerful than other warriors. powerful. They gathered together and waited, waiting for the day to enter the wolf forest.
"How many wild dogs came this time?" Ulfric growled to Sigvart.
"Almost a hundred, but we only need twenty-three."
While Ulfric was talking to Sigvart, the noise of the crowd gradually disappeared.
The two Norscan warriors walked out of the crowd. Under the applause of the crowd with swords and shields, they strode towards the wolf forest, and the disciples who did not place bets also placed bets at this last moment.
The two Norscan warriors became somewhat hesitant as they approached the Wolf Wood, suddenly reminded of the stories they had heard of death and carnage in the place. However, they were brave people and quickly overcame their inner doubts. The ending is simple, one of them will win and the other won't. They pulled out their axes from their belts and reached into the fixed positions behind their shields. They grabbed the ladders erected at both ends of the wolf forest, climbed to the narrow platform 6 meters high, and stared at their opponents.
It is called Wolf Wood because of a maze of log pillars embedded in the plateau. The top of each pillar is just wide enough to accommodate a person's feet, and the intervals between the pillars are wide enough so that a person can step from one pillar to another. However, the process was not easy as the columns were not sunk evenly into the ground and each one was slightly different.
Sharp wooden stakes were scattered beneath the pillars, and a man who fell from the pillars had nowhere to go but on these. Known as the Crow God's Teeth, these stakes are smeared with rotting excrement and fetid entrails to ensure that anyone who touches the stakes will suffer a long and painful death.
The two Norse warriors stared at each other before taking their first steps onto the wooden pillars. As their feet left the platform, a raucous cheer erupted from the audience below. The two Norscan warriors immediately raised their respective shields, trying to protect themselves from the stones, vegetables, fish bones and broken pottery flying towards them.
Each fighter's friends trashed his opponent, while gamblers directed their ire at the fighter they didn't bet on.
Under attack from thrown objects, the two Norse warriors struggled to stay on their feet. Meanwhile, both warriors are trying to advance and engage their opponents.
As the two warriors came closer, the cheers from the audience became more intense, and the throwing was limited to the occasional stone and crab shell as the two warriors were able to make contact with each other. The two stood on their feet as best they could, striking at each other with their axes and using their shields to fend off their opponents' attacks.
Delorme, a stocky Norscan youth with a bald head covered in tattoos and scars, struck Tjörvi in the knee with his axe, but was intercepted by the iron edge of his shield. He almost lost his balance, and when the head of his ax was depressed, he swayed on the stakes for a moment, almost falling into the sharp stakes.
Tejorvi was a strong whaler who was good at spear and ax throwing. His arms were studded with metal rings and he wore a bronze crescent on his nose. He tried to use his advantage, slashing Delorme's back with the blade of his heavy ax in an attempt to drag Delorme off the pillar.
Delorme cried out in agony as the ax tore through his armor and bit into his flesh. He swayed to the left, almost losing his footing.
Tejolvi pursued his foe, slashing at Delorme again before he could regain his footing. But Delorme blocked the blow with his shield, and when his ax struck into Delorme's shield, there was a violent cracking sound, shattering the shield into pieces.
Delorme snarled at Tjolvi and threw his arm wide, Tjolvi's jammed ax moving with his shield.
Tjolvi's eyes were wide and alert as he realized his predicament. He hastily blocked his shield to intercept Delorme's attack.
However, instead of lashing out with his axe, Delorme threw all his weight into his shield.
Tjörvi followed his instincts, keeping his grip on the ax and moving to the right. But Delorme used skillful movements to slide his arm out of the shield's ring. Delorme's operation at this moment caught him off guard, causing his body to lose balance.
"A nasty trick, I think he purposely used a flimsy shield to drag the enemy's axe."
-
The mist cleared, and the Sea Fang returned to the mortal sea.
Delorme stared at the longship's prow. The shimmering mist surrounding the longship was quickly replaced by a layer of gray mist that was almost as dense. He felt a cold sting run down his spine as his eyes struggled to penetrate the veil.
Stories of these shorelines are etched in Delorme's mind because his father often told them to him as a child. Known as the Drift Islands, these islands are giant magical rocks that are not anchored in a fixed position like real islands, but move on their own and confuse those who try to raid the shores.
Many Norscan raiders, believing themselves to be more powerful than the Roster Linksons who discovered Lustria, had attempted to cross the Drift Isles, only to find a barren rock suddenly rising out of the fog, where the navigational charts showed With only open sea left, they lost their ships.
Delorme was afraid of a similar fate. He went to sea with Ulfric for the first time. He took such a big risk and walked so far, but fell into the magic trap of the elf mage. This would be the end of his hope and success. The sad end of his dream, this was not what he wanted to see.
Still rowing, Delorme turned his thoughts to other stories he had heard about the waters surrounding the Drift Islands being teeming with all manner of terrifying sea monsters. Sailors who have been lucky enough to return to Norsca claim that troll spawning waters are located somewhere in the Drift Islands, and some talk of pale-skinned sea serpents, those huge sea snakes that can wrap around longships and tear them apart . Others murmured about the megalodon, a shark so huge it could eat whales. Others whispered of the Black Leviathan, a sea beast so huge it could open its mouth and swallow a longship in a moment.
"Yokul! Pay attention to the sea! If you see anything in the water, shout!"
Ulfric called to Yokul who was observing at the top of the mast, pulling Delorme, who was rowing, out of his thoughts. reality.
"This is unnecessary."
Delorme looked out of the corner of his eye at the shaman who was questioning the captain's order.
The shaman was short in stature and had dark skin, no different from the Kurgan people living in the northern wastelands. At this moment, his face was filled with a calm and unworried expression. His wispy hair was frosty white, his beard was braided into a long coil, and it looked like some stubborn snake had bitten his jaw and refused to let go of its fangs. He wore a simple leather coat and trousers, and a heavy sealskin cloak draped over his shoulders.
Although Delorme noticed all this at a glance, what surprised him was that he just glanced at the shaman at first and was fascinated by the shaman's eyes.
The shaman's pupils were a deep and dazzling purple-blue, glowing like purple-blue flames, with a ray of light inside. Looking into those eyes was like staring into the abyss of the ocean, or into the infinite night sky.
Delorme felt dizzy, and soon he closed his eyes and rowed the oar mechanically.
"Do you think the Kraken would treat Kurgan flesh like the Norscans did?" Ulfric snarled.
"My magic will hide us. You don't need to be afraid of any beasts in the vast ocean, and you don't need to be afraid of the Drift Islands." The shaman said calmly, while raising his left hand and waving his palm.
In response to the shaman's gesture, the mist receded as if cut by a knife. Then the shaman's palm kept stirring, the fog continued to disperse, and the looters on the ship murmured in awe.
Beyond the mist lay towering cliffs on which waves crashed. Soon, as the fog dissipated, the group of raiders from Norsca could clearly see the entire cliff. The nearly 100-meter-high cliff stood like a gray wall on the sea.
"Look at that! The cliffs of Ulthuan!" the shaman said proudly, pointing to the cliffs.
"You will pay for your reward, Shaman. No coward can call himself the master of the Sea Fang. No coward will risk going to such a place." "
But first, we must break the curse." The Shaman reminded Wu. Frick.
"Indeed, let's get this over with," Ulfric admitted after thinking for a moment, then turned away from the bow of the Sea Fang and shouted to the crew, "Paddle, men! When another sun rises Until I feel the land of Alfheim beneath my boots, or I will hear the cry of the Valkyrie in my ears, who will lead my crew to their ancestors!"
Sea The Fang was anchored next to a steep gray cliff, and one of the raiders suggested finding a less threatening place to climb, and the other raiders on the ship echoed his sentiments. However, the shaman warned that it was best not to go too far. The elves had many settlements on the coast, with ships and warships in them. His magic, although it could hide them from the elves' notice, was pointless. It is unwise to take risks.
Delorme stared at the terrifying cliff. He agreed with the opinions of the other crew members, but he also believed that the threat of delay was more of a risk than the risks posed by the elven battleships. If it were him, he would definitely choose to make the dangerous climb. While he was thinking, Captain Ulfric of the Sea Fang gave the order to climb.
"Delorme."
Delorm stood up quickly when Ulfric called, and then Ulfric handed him a thick rope.
Delorme surveyed the cliff, his eyes wandering over the jagged stones. He glanced at Arngail and motioned Arngail to hand him the bottle containing kvass. He gasped and breathed out, and it seemed as if he could spit out hot alcohol. He put the bottle back into Arngail's hand, and his face felt the warmth of the alcohol flowing through his body.
Then, Delorme rolled the rope around his shoulders, climbed onto the side of the Sea Fang, steadied his feet and jumped to the cliff next to the ship. His arm swung violently and got stuck in a crack in the stone. After fixing the support position, he began to climb the cliff, slowly moving towards the high ground above.
The raiders on the decks of the Teeth watched with admiration as Delorme's progress was impressive, even for the Norscans who were adept at climbing mountains.
Delorme seemed to be able to feel the admiration and fiery gazes below, and he climbed even harder. Hours passed and he finally reached the top of the cliff, waving to the marauders on the boat below.
Soon the rope hung down like a giant vine. Arngail leaned over the side of the Sea Fang ship and pulled one end of the rope from the sea. He tugged at the rope, testing its strength.
Delorme found a boulder on top to anchor the rope, keeping it firmly in place.
Satisfied with the test, Arngail handed the rope to Ulfric.
"Leave twenty crew members, and the rest follow me. Caet will be in charge until I come back!" After Ulfric finished speaking, he held the rope tightly and moved towards the side of the Sea Fang ship. Suddenly, a thought made him turn around, and his eyes were fixed on the figure of the shaman. After a moment, he handed the rope to the shaman and said, "Shaman, you go first, I don't want to leave you here."
The shaman's lips began to twist into a sarcastic smile. He did not take the rope from Ulfric's hand. Instead, he stepped over to the side of the Sea Fang's ship.
In Delorme's field of vision, the shaman was surprisingly flexible at first. He jumped up and then lay down on the cliff with his whole body. He watched in amazement as the shaman clung to the steep cliff, like a giant and flexible gecko. The shaman began to snake and climb on the rocks, seemingly only touching the stones lightly with his hands.
"We should let him bring the rope up. If anyone has forgotten the shaman's magic, now they see a clear reminder." Caet exclaimed in a low voice with a hint of respect.
"I don't think I would trust him to tie the rope, and I really don't want him to get up there while I'm climbing." Ulfric's face twisted and he growled ferociously.
"Hurry up, bastards! We have to climb up before that Kurgan decides to cut the rope!" Ulfric jumped off the Sea Fang after saying that, and his armor-clad body splashed in the sea. Splashing, his boots clinging to the rock, he wrapped the heavy rope around his arm and began the arduous climb to the top.
Delorme no longer looked down, but instead looked at the undulating plains in the distance of Alfheim. There was envy and desire in his eyes, maybe because of the latitude, or maybe because of the powerful magic of the elves. Here, everything is green and vibrant at any time, without the ravages of snow and frost, even in the freezing winter.
As the plains spread out into the distance, giving way to a wider expanse of savannah, the sea of green was broken by the occasional dark, isolated island forest, giant pines and oaks larger than any trees Delorme had ever seen. Tall and majestic. Wildflowers of various colors and shapes add to the beauty of the plains. He also saw a creek cutting through the land, with water so clear and pure it could almost pass for glass.
"It would be great if I could have a manor on this land." Delorme looked at it and couldn't help but think about it. Isn't it just for honor and wealth that he went through all the trouble to join Ulfric's Sea Fang? ?, then he looked at the ringed mountains further away, and he even saw the aurora that only existed in his hometown.
At Arngail's call, Delorme suddenly came back to his senses. He looked at the faces of his companions. He could see fear and anxiety flowing in the hearts of his companions. He also felt anxiety in his heart, for in previous legends he knew what terrible deeds the Elves would do to the invaders, and the terrible doom that befell the Norscan fleet, from which there was little escape from the wrath of the Elves. Chance.
However, Delormu still chose to follow Ulfric like his companions, whether it was the Vargorians and Skellings, Beltholin and Gaellings, or Aisling and Sal. Benefit people. No matter what tribe they were from, they all followed Ulfric. They believed that Ulfric would lead them to glory and a victory worth celebrating. Even in this supernatural realm of elves, they are filled with pride and courage. They will face their fate, and they will spit on Death even if it stretches out its bone claws to take away their lives.
Delorme saw Ulfric calling the shaman, but the shaman didn't seem to hear Ulfric's words. The shaman seemed to be like him just now, his eyes roaming over the scenery, fascinated by the peaceful beauty of the plains. submerged. However, when Ulfric stepped towards the shaman, the shaman became alert and backed away, his hands clutching his sealskin cloak.
"Your touch will desecrate me! If you desecrate me, the ritual will not work!" the shaman warned, his voice filled with edge.
"The ritual will work, otherwise your bones may be left here for the elves to bury."
Delorm's brows wrinkled slightly. This was different from what he thought before. Ulfric in his mind was different from him. The Ulfric he came into contact with now was very different. He could feel that Ulfric's temper was becoming more and more fragile, and he seemed to be becoming more suspicious with every breath he took.
"There, I can feel that the strength I need to draw comes from those woods." There, a smile appeared on the shaman's face, and he tried to comfort Ulfric, pointing to the plain with his slender finger. said one of the scattered woods.
As the shaman finished speaking, Ulfric and the looters present looked at the woods. Delorme also glanced at the woods. In his opinion, the woods looked the same as those on the plains. The other trees are no different.
"Are you sure?" Ulfric growled.
Before the shaman could answer, Delorme suddenly pointed with his finger at something to the left.
Ulfric and the marauders turned their heads to look at what Delorme had discovered, and in a moment they recognized the elven knights galloping across the plains. Even from such a long distance, they could see how tall and powerful the horses were, as well as the elf knights riding on them.
The sun struck the tips of the spears, reflecting off the polished silver helmets and armor. As the knights advance, the pillagers can see the building the Elf Knights are advancing upon.
It was a tall, slender building made of a strange kind of marble. Seeming not to rise from the ground but to erupt from it, the delicate architectural silhouettes have been carefully crafted to blend into the beauty of the plain.
"They discovered us, and they went to report to their king. Before they can lead the army to pursue us, we must return to the Sea Fang." Arngail said in a panic.
"Now anyone who attempts to return to the sea will taste the power of my weapons!" Ulfric turned to Arngail and roared.
Afterwards, Arngail lowered his pale head in shame.
"There is no need to be afraid. My magic hides us so that they cannot see us. If not, they would have caught us on the cliff and shot arrows at us before we set foot on Ulthuan." The shaman said calmly. Talking.
"The shaman's spell protects us, and I already feel safe." Delorme muttered softly.
"Whether it's safe or not, no one can leave here until we complete the mission we came here to do." Ulfric roared while drawing the Sword of Tolgard from its scabbard and raising it above his head to emphasize his stance. .
"Lead the way, shaman!"
Delorme always felt that something was wrong, and he couldn't tell what was wrong.
Didn't you say something like that? Why? What is this...
Alfheim is the country of elves in Nordic mythology, where elves live. It's not a special place in Ulthuan, but it mentioned the towering cliffs and plains. I have mentioned this place before.
Delorm is the transliteration of Norwegian Drm. As for what it means... I will tell you tomorrow
_(:з」∠ )_I'm trying a very novel way of writing