Norgrens Nemesis

The last several days had been a turmoil of un-planned events, but of all his adventures, Norgren had never imagined it would have been such a close brush with Death. What started out as a voyage in search of an old comrade at arms, had turned out to include a surreal charge through a demon infested forest, riding upon the back of a great black and silver wolf. If he ever found him and was to recount this tale, Norgren was not so sure Frederick Gore-Axe would believe a word, especially the leap through the moon bridge!

Frederick had been his companion and mentor on many a Viking mission. They had first met under the leader-ship of the Jarl, Sven Godfredson, at the battle for the isle of Angles. Frederick wielded a mighty battle-axe and his favoured killing blow was a double handed overhead strike to his hapless victims’ skull. This generally spilt in two and splattered gore and bone upon the weapon. A tale that he would exaggerate and re-tell over many a horn of ale in the rejoicing of victory. Norgren had been a young Bondsman, sworn to Sven. It was in that battles’ banquet, that Frederick had earned the title Freeman and, in a rejoiceful toast, Norgren had called out the honour of Frederick Gore-Axe’s exploits. The name had stuck ever since and the new Freeman had taken a shine to the younger Viking.

An accomplished swordsman as well as deadly with an axe, Frederick had spent many an hour training with Norgren, passing on his battle hardened wisdom. It was on the isle of Celts that Frederick had demonstrated with the demise of his latest victim, the art of the shoulder throw. After the battle, he also showed those awed spectators how to prevent from becoming a victim oneself. It was for this reason that Norgren felt particularly embarrassed, since his recent near demise should have been so easily prevented. Frederick Gore-Axe would never let him hear the end of it, should he ever find out.

Now an accomplished swordsman and Freeman himself, Norgren hadn’t seen hide-nor-hair of Frederick Gore-Axe for many a moon. When a fellow sea farer told that a man bearing such a name had been seen boasting of his tales in the isles of Aeavelmoor and Valencia, they had decided to seek him out for old times sake. As the long ship had come to port in Fairgale, they couldn’t resist the temptation of a small digression from their quest, especially since fighting was mentioned along with mercenary rates of pay.

True to expectations, the adventure in Maelbrook had indeed seen much action. Wielding a sword and shorter scramasax, Norgren had once again felt the rush of adrenaline, the nectar of all true Vikings. He had also found some new techniques, taught by his new comrades. Many of them fought not just with sword and axe, but also with incantations. The power of these was such to behold and he felt sure, even Frederick Gore-Axe’s infamous exploits would be hushed by many of them. Combined with a bone crushing blow or well timed parry, his new found skills of knock-back or dis-arm were indeed, Saga making stuff. It may also have been the same confidence inducing tricks that had contributed to his lapse of concentration. Another of Fredericks lessons, never under-estimate your adversary or lower your guard.

The retreat to the defensive caern and exit from Maelbrook had been fought viciously every step of the way. Their attackers had provided an endless onslaught; as one had fallen, another had seem to rise in its place. The band of adventurers all fought with equal vigour and, backed by the magical healers, proved a talented match for the Demons.

Norgren was enjoying himself; parrying with his left scramasax then stepping in, he had split several in two with a lethal upper cutting sword slash across the torso. In close quarters, he favoured a circular block to an incoming blow, throwing the aggressor off balance. He then side-stepped and, moving in, slit their throat from behind. It didn’t always work so slickly, but could quickly be adapted by grasping the foe around the shoulders and drawing the now dis-engaged main weapon, agonisingly across their gizzards.

It was in such a move that Norgren so nearly lost his life. The counter, he new too well, was to invoke Frederick Gore-Axe’s shoulder throw. He should have been braced in anticipation for such an alert adversary, but he had been complacent and under-estimated this particular Demons skill in lieu of its previous fallen brethren. They had both made several offensive strikes, each to be blocked by their defender. The Demon struck again for the shoulder and, reading the moment, Norgren diverted it with a circular block, taking the offending weapon all the way through and carrying it high to the right. In that moment the Demon was unbalance and Norgren seized the opportunity to move. The Demon was quick, grasping the knife hand just in the moment of the slit. Un-perplexed, Norgren diverted to the trusty secondary blow, but then was shocked to find his feet lifting from the ground. Not only was the Demon quick, he was sly also and had read every move. In one flowing motion he expertly bent forward still grasping Norgrens’ hand and threw him to the ground.

Flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him, Norgren instinctively raised a defensive arm as the murderous blade slashed across him. In flight, the broad-sword had been lost from his grasp and, although still holding the scramasax, the Demon stood on his left hand. Protected only by a vambrace, his forearm took the full force of the blow. Shattering bone the blade was barely hindered and continued to rip open Norgrens chest.

That should have been the end of him, but by shear coincidence and luck of timing, the victor was distracted from his final killing blow by the startling flash of the portal opening. His head lolled sideways, Norgren watched in surreal, disbelief as the travellers stepped one by one through the moonbridge and into oblivion. Laying there, he helplessly waited for the inevitable follow through of his Nemesis, wondering why it was taking so long.