Ragnar of the Blood Guard Royal
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Ragnar of the Blood Guard Royal
by Ragnar One Eye Sat Mar 10, 2012 1:38 pm
new topic
Preview
City Gate Dusk...90th day of Nov.
A league and half a head, the city gates beckon. The walls and towers,structured from uniform blocks of granite, gives the sense of a permanence that the constantly changing city beyond the walls could never match..Tugging the battle cloak up that has seen better days, he faces the full fighting force of the wind driven rain. Most men would bend to the on sought of a harsh pre winter down pour, not he. He strides in the trained way of a Man that has seen many military campaigns not only as a soldier from the early age of 14, but for many years there after, years that ran into decades, decades now melted into endless time is seemed when raised up as Commander.
The first flash of eerie silver red lighting, momentary silhouettes the man as it cascades across the onset of night. Then suddenly followed by the crackling and booming of the thunder that assaults the havens and land itself. Colors now of harsher silvers and reds, more violent, streak down again all round and seemingly on him. Then that one moment of hellish light that briefly shows the whole man. The square of his massive shoulders, the setting of his jaw and the eyes....now just the one eye...plucked out it is whispered, by his own hand, with the wicket dagger laced to the metal studded belt that rides easily on his hips...The eye, more gray then blue, like the harden steel of the blade he cares on his back. The broad sword,"Tear Maker" both given life on the day of naming by the birthing mother. The sword, like him....both well named.
On that day Sword and child, both infants, are joined. The two forged together forever as one by the living creed, "To do the harder right then the easier wrong or may the Gods bring me death before dishonor"!For that is the way of the warrior race of the people from the mountains of the high north. They mine no gold or metal, sew no fields, harvest no crops. War and bringers of death, is the harvest they trade in. The finest and fiercest warrior to walk a pond the world and so very few can pay..So high the cost they have become almost a mysterious entity, a myth, spoken about in whispers of disbelief when men are in their cups.
For he was once called Great Ragnar! Not a mere common "Sell Sword" that clog the road's of the earth, after the ending of any war; despised, mistrusted and looked down on when their stock in trade is no longer needed or paid for. Now sadly forced to claim membership to that brotherhood..A wander on the road, homeless, with self imposed shame in his heart. But in truth not he...Not he, for inside he is much more... or was?
Great Ragnar, Commander of the Three Hundred to the Queen of the "Mountains that Kiss the Sun".Her hand of rule stretching forth even to the far waters of the ice mountains and to the deepest south to "The Trees that Hug the Sky's". All beneath the four winds ruled by She, "She Who's name shall not be spoken"..But that was long ago and to many leagues pass to remember...No longer it seemed,Great Ragnar of The Blood Guard Royal!
Now whispered by his own hand and naming.... Ragnar One Eye!
The grumbling of his empty stomach, re wakens him back to the present. How long has it been now since he’s eaten? Three days now? No four, four days since he was paid and left the service of the caravan that employed his strong right sword arm. Happily to see him take his leave. All the merchants and travels recalling that day on the march when the leader of the caravan guard tried to take liberates with one of the younger woman of the train. So quick and violent was Ragnar's reaction, driving his ham size fist into the face of the man, knocking him flat on the ground. Blood and teeth cascading down from nose and mouth. As the fool looked up, with a blend of hate and rage; he made his finial mistake; by jumping up and grabbing the hilt of his sword. Before he could draw it out, Ragnar cleaved him almost fully in half. All stood in shock as the man slowly crumpled to the ground, the life light leaving his eyes.. From that day forth, all took a wide path around the warrior from the mountains of the far north..
At the Gate the Sergeant of the guard stared down the slopping road from the guard post. Then stepping out into the rain to get a better look. Peering down the road he see’s the man coming. The Sergeant's many years of duty at the gate, tell him that real danger might be approaching and he’d be damn he’ll face this one alone. Grunting to himself, he barks out a command over his shoulder to within “Corporal! Corporal! You Dam lazy Cur! Call out the guard... the full guard ....NOW!!
Preview
City Gate Dusk...90th day of Nov.
A league and half a head, the city gates beckon. The walls and towers,structured from uniform blocks of granite, gives the sense of a permanence that the constantly changing city beyond the walls could never match..Tugging the battle cloak up that has seen better days, he faces the full fighting force of the wind driven rain. Most men would bend to the on sought of a harsh pre winter down pour, not he. He strides in the trained way of a Man that has seen many military campaigns not only as a soldier from the early age of 14, but for many years there after, years that ran into decades, decades now melted into endless time is seemed when raised up as Commander.
The first flash of eerie silver red lighting, momentary silhouettes the man as it cascades across the onset of night. Then suddenly followed by the crackling and booming of the thunder that assaults the havens and land itself. Colors now of harsher silvers and reds, more violent, streak down again all round and seemingly on him. Then that one moment of hellish light that briefly shows the whole man. The square of his massive shoulders, the setting of his jaw and the eyes....now just the one eye...plucked out it is whispered, by his own hand, with the wicket dagger laced to the metal studded belt that rides easily on his hips...The eye, more gray then blue, like the harden steel of the blade he cares on his back. The broad sword,"Tear Maker" both given life on the day of naming by the birthing mother. The sword, like him....both well named.
On that day Sword and child, both infants, are joined. The two forged together forever as one by the living creed, "To do the harder right then the easier wrong or may the Gods bring me death before dishonor"!For that is the way of the warrior race of the people from the mountains of the high north. They mine no gold or metal, sew no fields, harvest no crops. War and bringers of death, is the harvest they trade in. The finest and fiercest warrior to walk a pond the world and so very few can pay..So high the cost they have become almost a mysterious entity, a myth, spoken about in whispers of disbelief when men are in their cups.
For he was once called Great Ragnar! Not a mere common "Sell Sword" that clog the road's of the earth, after the ending of any war; despised, mistrusted and looked down on when their stock in trade is no longer needed or paid for. Now sadly forced to claim membership to that brotherhood..A wander on the road, homeless, with self imposed shame in his heart. But in truth not he...Not he, for inside he is much more... or was?
Great Ragnar, Commander of the Three Hundred to the Queen of the "Mountains that Kiss the Sun".Her hand of rule stretching forth even to the far waters of the ice mountains and to the deepest south to "The Trees that Hug the Sky's". All beneath the four winds ruled by She, "She Who's name shall not be spoken"..But that was long ago and to many leagues pass to remember...No longer it seemed,Great Ragnar of The Blood Guard Royal!
Now whispered by his own hand and naming.... Ragnar One Eye!
The grumbling of his empty stomach, re wakens him back to the present. How long has it been now since he’s eaten? Three days now? No four, four days since he was paid and left the service of the caravan that employed his strong right sword arm. Happily to see him take his leave. All the merchants and travels recalling that day on the march when the leader of the caravan guard tried to take liberates with one of the younger woman of the train. So quick and violent was Ragnar's reaction, driving his ham size fist into the face of the man, knocking him flat on the ground. Blood and teeth cascading down from nose and mouth. As the fool looked up, with a blend of hate and rage; he made his finial mistake; by jumping up and grabbing the hilt of his sword. Before he could draw it out, Ragnar cleaved him almost fully in half. All stood in shock as the man slowly crumpled to the ground, the life light leaving his eyes.. From that day forth, all took a wide path around the warrior from the mountains of the far north..
At the Gate the Sergeant of the guard stared down the slopping road from the guard post. Then stepping out into the rain to get a better look. Peering down the road he see’s the man coming. The Sergeant's many years of duty at the gate, tell him that real danger might be approaching and he’d be damn he’ll face this one alone. Grunting to himself, he barks out a command over his shoulder to within “Corporal! Corporal! You Dam lazy Cur! Call out the guard... the full guard ....NOW!!
Ragnar One Eye- Mist
- Join date : 2012-03-01
Posts : 5
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