What a waste of good pork

For some history on Mal Ak'Hai the Hunter, please read We don' need no steenking dipthongs, or don't - I'm easy either way.

-oOo-

The hot sun beat down from the clear, blue sky. He'd stripped off most of his leather armour and was watching the tower intently from the small grove of scrub and trees that was the only shade on the entire plain.

'Tror du han kan se os?' Asked Algot, the leader of his guard; Alfrun had made sure that he took reinforcements with him this time. Since their marriage two months before, they had become inseparable, she wasn't going to lose him to some stupid quest.

'Yes, I'm sure he can see us, if nothing else, these damn helmets reflect the sun like signal fires!'

The helmets that they were forced to wear had no substance, their thin metal wouldn't stop an arrow, never mind an axe, but they did stop you losing control of your own mind and slaughtering your own men if the Magus turned his attention to you.

'Ewald, Algot, you two circle around to the right, stay as low as you can, Jarne and Razmus, to the left, follow the line of the rocks, Runar...' He shook his head, not agreeing with the tactics that he was being forced to use, 'Prepare the pigs.'

They had 'liberated' the pigs two days earlier from a village baron who had too many and refused to sell his surplus. Though he would have been even less inclined if he had any idea what their fate was to be. Runar tried to calm the pigs, they were not enjoying the heat and there would be no respite for them in the few minutes of life they had left. He tied large bundles of straw to each of them and then delicately attached the vials of græsk-ild, being careful not to break the fragile class vials.

'Ready?' Mal Ak'Hai looked at Runar questioningly, almost hoping that he would say no, and that the pigs would get a reprieve.

'Ja herre, de er klar til at brænde.' The plan had been Runar's idea, and he was sure it would work.

'Very well, light them up...'

Runar nodded and applied a burning torch to the straw bundle nearest the rump of the pigs. As they realised what was happening, they started to squeal and panic, trying desperately to get away from the heat. A leather clad boot kicked them in the direction of the tower and the pigs ran. Palls of black smoke plumed from them as they crossed the scalding sand to the tower.

As they got within a hundred yards, the rain of arrows started from the top of the tower.

'Go... Go...!' Yelled the hunter, 'Stay in the smoke, but keep away from the pigs until they've done their job!'

The six men ran into the thick smoke and made their way towards the castle, eyes streaming as their lungs filled with the smell of burning pork. Despite the reduced visibility, they could still see arrow after arrow hitting the pigs, a gout of flame signalled a lucky hit on a vial of græsk-ild, which only made them run faster and created more covering smoke. They finally reached the cavernous rock that served as the foundations of the tower.

'Get Down!'

The mix of græsk-ild and rendering pig fat detonated with a deafening roar that shook loose stonework from above.

'Into the cave, now!' His five guards followed him into the burning darkness, the smell of roasting pork causing his mouth to water against his better judgement, 'Find the entrance, it must be closeby somewhere, but be carefull, I think they know we're here..'

The Norsemen grinned at each other and split into two teams, searching the twisting caverns for a way into the stronghold. It was only minutes until the sound of fighting alerted the hunter to the fact that the other team had found the entrance. They ran towards the noise and got there in time to see Rasmus swinging his battleaxe around in circles and cleaving defenders in two at the waist. Jarne picked up two more, stoved their skulls together, and threw them to the ground.

Mal drew Lyssvaerd, extended her blade and plunged it into the chest of the nearest enemy - bringing the sword up so that its burning tip exited the top of his head in a fountain of blood. His guard roared as they saw this, finally sure that their new Lord was a fighter.

'Push them back, we need to get to the tower!'

To busy to reply, the small force responded by action, redoubling their efforts and cutting down anyone that stood between them and the door. It took an age to make it to the armoured door, and as they cleared the last few guards, it started to swing closed.

'Runar! Don't let them close the door!'

Runar reached into his pocket and pulled out the last vial of græsk-ild, he hefted it to gauge its weight and then threw it through the rapidly narrowing gap. It sailed through the air, hit the doorframe and smashed. The sticky liquid spraying through the opening and finding its way to one of the wall torches.

The explosion blew the door closed and the screams of pain from behind it echoed through the cavern. As the noise died down, they tried to open it but the hinges had been bent by the force of the blast, and it took the combined strength of all of them to force it open. The scene that confronted them was a glimpse into the mouth of hell, burning, shattered bodies lined the walls and unidentifiable chunks littered the floor.

'ved Grabthar's kølle...' whispered Ewald, as he surveyed the scene.

'Up... We need to go up!' Mal rallied his troops and started to climb the stairs into the tower.

They were halfway to the top when an etherial voice echoed around the stairwell.'INVADERS... LEAVE NOW, STAY AND YOU WILL DIE HORRIBLY.'

'Yes, he definately knows that we're here.'

They encountered light resistance for the rest of their journey, the Magus having commited the majority of his forces to the defence of the cavern. At the top of the stairs there was a small anteroom, decorated with occult symbols that seemed to creep slowly across the walls and change shape as they went. Skulls of various animals languished on shelves and tables and stacks of parchment, decorated with unknowable sigils littered the floor.

'Magus! We have come for you!' Mal Ak'Hai declared, 'You will pay for your crimes...'

A low growl came from the stairs behind them, Rasmus swung his axe without turning and seperated the owners head from it's shoulders. The rest of the half dog-half lizard thing slid to the ground and bubbled into a toxic slime.

'Du bliver nødt til at gøre det bedre end det.' called Rasmus.

'I've a feeling that he can do better than that my friend,' replied the hunter, 'Else there wouldn't be such a price on his head.'

With the violence of a hurricane, the ornate door at the other side of the room flew open and a gust of wind threw them to the floor. They were held there until the gale subsided, as they rose, they saw their target silhouetted in the doorway.

'YOU WERE GIVEN A CHANCE!' The Magus bellowed, 'NOW DIE!'

He closed his eyes and made a complicated gesture with his hands.

'I'm afraid that your tricks won't work on us, we're protected,' The hunter indicated their flimsy metal helmets.

'ALL OF YOU?'

Rasmus yelled, raised his gargoyle blood caked weapon and charged at his clanmates.

'Jeg kan ikke hjælpe mig selv!' He screamed, unable to control his own actions, his helmet had been blown from his head by the wind.

Ewald ducked under the blade and brought his sword up to block it, 'Uanset hvad du vil gøre, gør det nu!' The sinews on his arms tightened as he fought to keep the dripping axe blade away from his face.

The sweat poured for the Magus' brow as the force of trying to control Rasmus started to tell on him. Mal sprung, holding the hilt of Lyssvaerd in his fist, as the Magus sensed his approach he opened his eyes and screamed. in a split second, Ewald rolled to one side, the now dazed Rasmus fell to the ground and the hunter pressed the button that released the blade.

It extended through the Magus' temple, through his skull and out of the other side; and as the light slowly faded from his eyes, he smiled. 'Run...' he whispered.

The heroes looked at each other and smiled. 'See what you can find to suppliment the bounty, we'll need to...'

The room started to shake, dust and skulls, parchment and elixirs started to fall to the ground... One by one, the stones of the tower were winking out of existence...

'Run!' Yelled Mal Ak'Hai, 'Run as if your life depended on it!'

Which, in hindsight, it did.

-oOo-

I wrote this as, at the weekend, my son asked me to make him, without a trace of irony, a tinfoil hat... So I did, and this is the adventure that he could have had, in another place.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

We don' need no steenking dipthongs

This isn't a new blog, I originally published it on the 23rd. January 2013... It was one of my first - I've updated it a little because things have changed over time (as things tend to do) - If you remember it, you should feel free to skip to the bottom and see what I'm banging on about.

-oOo-

Today's Blog was suggested by my good friend @PedroVader1138 - The basic premise that is, not the theme. I mean, he's not mad or anything.

It's the (almost completely) true account of the Micro-Dandy's first, confirmed, lone kill. Only the setting, era, style, state and type of target, age of hunter, language and most of the other salient facts have been changed to maintain its artistic merit.

-oOo-

The hunter lay hidden in the snow, the cold dampness soaking into his furs as he looked down the ridge at the village below. All was quiet, the only movement, apart from the curl of smoke rising from the long-house chimney, was the sullen dawdle of the single huscarle on guard outside as he circled the building, whistling a tune that Mal Ak'hai didn't recognise. The full moon caught the boss of his shield, and brought the raised kraken motif into sharp relief.

He rose slowly from his prone position and brushed the loose snow from his furs. Moving around the ridge until the whistling huscarle was directly between him and the main building, not wanting his approach to look like he was trying to sneak and cause alarm. It took the man on guard a few minutes to notice his approach.

'Stoppe der!', He yelled, slowly raising his sword.

'I am here to see the Krakensdottir,' shouted Mal, the snow deadening the echo so that his voice sounded flat and emotionless, 'I have heard of your problem, I am here to help.'

The sword was lowered, equally slowly, to be replaced with an empty hand,

'Vent her,' ordered the guard, pointing at the spot where the hunter was stood, his Norse was rusty, but he knew enough to stay where he was.

The door opened and closed, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He looked up into the clear night sky, noticing that the constellation of Orion was directly over his head, and laughed, if that wasn't a good omen, he didn't know what was. He could hear the grumble of conversation from inside the long-house, the few words he could pick out made it plain they were talking about Him,

'Jeager... Frysning... Daemon... Ubevaebnet...'

The last one confused him... He was indeed a hunter, and he was definitely freezing, he was here to help with their demon problem, but unarmed? He wasn't unarmed, he looked down at the hilt of his sword, Lyssvaerd, clipped to his belt. Stroking the smooth length of hand forged sky-iron he smiled, he was about as far from unarmed as it was possible to be.

The opening of the door and a beckoning hand drew him back from his thoughts. He entered the long-house and was immediately blinded by the sheer number of torches that lined the walls and the size of the bane-fire in the middle, he was surprised that any snow survived within a mile.

'Hvad er dit navn?' Asked an aged man, clad in wolf fur and strips of studded leather.

'My name? My name is Mal Ak'hai, I am a hunter from the south, I heard that you had a problem with a d...'

'Pschh!' spat the old man, putting his hand in front of the hunter's mouth and stopping him talking. 

He turned to look at a figure that was barely visible beyond the fire and called,

'Hans navn er Mal Ak'hai! Han er en jeager fra sid!'

'I understand the language of the south, bring him to me.' The female voice, though obviously strong, conveyed notes of tiredness and stress.

He was led by the elbow around the fire and towards the voice. The heat seared his face as he passed, close enough to see the pile of crumbling bones at its heart. He looked up, into the face of Alfrun Krakensdottir, new leader of the Kraken clan, ever since her father had died on their last raid to Vinland, she had led the hundred or so remaining norsemen to times of plenty and prosperity. Until, that is, they had come upon their current trouble.

'Failures,' she said, noticing where he had been looking.

'Failures?'

'Yes, we recover the remains of people like you and burn them, it speeds their journey.'

She stared deep into the fire, 'I'm sure it does.'

'Yours will be the 17th body that we burn.' 

Alfrun looked at him with sadness, and a certain amount of longing. She thought that he was handsome, at least in the style of the south, but his hair was blonde and he would have had no problem passing for a Norse prince, if he survived.

'What makes you so sure that you'll be burning my remains? If you don't think anyone can succeed in this quest, why have you had your men travel the country asking for help?'

'We were looking for a hero, one that we could write sagas about, one who's song would be passed down through the ages, that is not you, you come unarmed to the fight.'

'Unarmed?' He looked down at Lyssvaerd, hanging unnoticed at his side, then back up at the warrior queen, 'I will do this thing for you, and I will not be more fuel for your fire.'

'You will go alone to the clearing in the forest to the east of here, that is where the demon makes his home. You must stop him, he raids our farms and kills our children, we find our animals frozen when the sun comes up and the well is solid ice. We cannot last much longer, there will be a bounty... and more'

The hunter bowed, turned, gave the bane-fire one last meaningful glare and walked out into the night, ignoring the shaking heads of the assembled norsemen and their hushed mumblings,

It took two hours for him to reach the clearing. The moon shone down creating short shadows which could serve only as hiding places for rabbits; the demon was not there. The recent snow had covered the tracks of previous heroes, but large patches tinged gently pink showed where they had met their end. He walked slowly, but confidently, out into the moonlight, took Lysswaerd from her thonging and called out to his prey.

'Come and face your end, demon, I have come to save the people of the Kraken clan, leave them in peace or die!' His words echoed around the forest, but apart from a fall of snow triggered by a bird roused from his slumber, there was no reply. 'Filth! come and face me, stop hiding behind your mother's skirts and fight, I am your doom!'

With the sound of a calving glacier, the snow behind the hunter began to rise, climbing into the night sky one hundred feet or more. Its features slowly resolved into those of a demon, with a goat's head and human body.

'Jeg er Hati, der spiser manen!' it howled, it's voice like the tumbling of thunder.

'You are Hati, and you eat the Moon?' Shouted the hunter, 'Why would you eat the Moon?'

The demon paused, looked down in momentary confusion, and replied with a swipe of his giant claws. The hunter jumped aside at the last moment and pressed the stud on the side of Lyssvaerd. A shining blue blade sprung from the hilt and severed the demon's paw at the wrist, as it fell, it turned back into pure, virgin powdered snow. The demon howled even louder, shaking the snow from the trees, and spun around to find his rapidly circling foe.

'Last chance demon!' Screamed the hunter, and held his glowing sword high above his head.

The demon lunged, changing form into a giant dire-wolf with it's maw open, breathing a plume of hoar-frost. The hunter jumped back just out of range of the freezing blast, but tripped on a root hidden under the snow and fell heavily, stunning himself. The impact jarred his sword from his hand and the blazing blade disappeared with a hiss.

Sensing that the game was nearly over, Hati reared once more. He inhaled deeply, intending to freeze the hunter to his very core and stamp him onto shards so small that his bones could never be burned. The giant wolf's head fell towards the hunter, it's icicle teeth bared, the howl of the coming ice-storm reverberated from the far foothills and his eyes closed as the strike came. The hunter rolled, grabbed his sword, loosed the blade, and severed the demon's head with a single stroke. With a sound like the breaking of a thousand glass pianos, the demon exploded into chunks of ice and fell to the ground. As dead as it was possible for a demon to be.

The hunter lay panting in the debris, trying to get his breath back. He looked around the glade, trying to find some proof that the battle had actually taken place, if someone happened across the scene now it would just look like he'd been smashing a block of ice, and none too expertly at that. His eye chanced upon a glinting object, slightly brighter than the surrounding snow. He levered himself to his feet and picked it up, it was a spherical diamond, the size of a watermelon, when he held it up to the sky, he could see the feint impression of a wolf's eye. This would be his proof, and his dowry, Alfrun Krakensdottir would be his queen, and his saga would be told until the Earth froze.

(OK, what actually happened was my son knocked the head off the snowman we'd all built with a stick... But who'd want to read about that?)

If you're interested in what happens next, you could always read the next installment 'What a waste of good pork'

-oOo-

Why have I reissued this story you might ask? - Well, It's World Book Day today (2nd March 2017) and Facebook reminded me of a day, one year ago, where my son went to his school's World Book Day celebration as Mal Ak'Hai Jeageren - He even took a copy of my book 'Mumblings of an Irate Pangolin' with him, to show that he was really a book character... Not that anyone really cared, but he's a stickler for the rules.

My son as Mal Ak'Hai Jeageren, with his bladeless sword, Lyssvaerd