A crow sat upon the head of a man's corpse. Arrogant and fat, it paused as it tore out an eye with its cruel beak. Pleased, it cawed. War had finally come to the north.
Civilized men raised their swords and banners against the fierce nordling raiders that hailed across icy sea of serpents. The northern borders burned as villages were razed, their strongest men slain with the rest taken captive. The roads and forest drank blood as the armed men and fierce nordling raider bands fought to the death wherever they met.
At sunset, two such parties had met at an intersection. Within minutes, only two people were left breathing as they fought an even duel at the center of the field. One was nordling raider, of the scouts from his Jarl's band of warriors, wearing blood stained leathers. The other was a blond haired woman, bedecked in patchy scale-mail, wincing as the force from their weapons caused her fractured ribs to ache. After exchanging several more blows, their entangled weapons separated as they both gasped for air. They knew that the next blow they would exchange would be the last. Grim-faced, the woman hefted her battle-axe in the air as she charged. The nordling answered in kind.
A crescent moon blade shone as it hung in the air. It fell with a heavy stroke that clove the man's skull in twain. Crunch. With a crash, the man fell to the ground, twitching, voiding his bowels in death. The victor put her hob-nailed boot on the body, pulling out the blade with a sickening slurp. Wiping it on the fallen man's clothes, she put the haft through the loop on her belt. Her legs trembled as she mounted a lone horse at the edge of the field. She needed to warn the caravan before they came any further. This incursion was only a scouting force.
Steel-shod hooves thudded as the brown horse galloped south, its rider's hands draped around its neck. Soon, she was greeted by the shocked faces of the members of the caravan. Their voices mixed into a cacophony of noise and indistinguishable questions. She ignored them. It didn't matter now. Dismounting, she called out to a richly dressed fat man who had crammed many rings on his fingers. “Orain, quickly turn your wagons about. Raiders are coming down south.” The thickset merchant's face paled. After a pause, he answered her. “Alright Kelsira. We'll wheel about. Did anyone else survive?” Kelsira curtly shook her head. Orain wilted like a dying flower. Kelsira, dropped off her horse and picked up her newborn son, Alric, from atop the soft hay where she had left him. Then, she moved on to secure the rest of her belongings, some winter clothes. Tying her strongbox and child to the horse and her body respectively, she agilely mounted onto a fresh horse just as the nordlings approached.
Broooom. Bbrroooooooom. These were the hunting horns of war. The nordlings were upon them now. Around her, the merchants and their guards panicked. Angry shouts came closer as people broke away from the main body of the caravan. Arrows hissed through the air, taking people into death's embrace. Hardly a moment later, Kelsira fled into the forest. Traversing a fallen tree, her horse screamed as it took an arrow to it's left side. Scarcely two minutes later, the mount collapsed to the ground, bloody froth dripping from its mouth. Dismounting, Kelsira tied the strongbox to her back and ended her mount's lathered breathing. She would have to run from here on out.
She ran until night truly began and the pale moon shone its bright light through the tops of the trees. The chest felt like a leaden weight on her shoulders and Alric was crying in unhappiness. Kelsira would run no more. Dull pain lanced her ribs like fire. She searched about the trees, searching for a good hiding spot in the uneven terrain. Soon, she found an empty, leaf lined hollow in the ground, below a rotting tree trunk. Chapped lips bleeding as she cracked a smile at her good fortune, she gave her child a kiss on the brow. “Little one. Momma will be back. Don't cry. I'm going to kill those bad men.” Alric gurgled back at her, his brown eyes reflecting her dirty appearance. She swaddled her child in thick clothes and placed him and the strongbox in the hollow with great care. Dragging a pile of leaves over the opening to further camouflage the hidden baby, she knew that there would be no hiding anywhere for her. She drew her axe and found a tree she could prop herself against by to make her last stand.
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Kelsira taunted her hunters. “COME ON WHORESONS. STRETCH OUT YOUR NECKS!” The nordling scouts responded with whoops. A hound bayed before pouncing at her. She killed it, severing its neck as it let out a high-pitched yelp. Three men approached; a team made up of two young men and a more experienced veteran. An impudent young men barked in laughter as he said “Ulf, I get to do her first. Bitch killed my dog.” The older man snarled, saying “Shut up Botolf. Wait until she's downed. She knows how to use that axe. I'm in charge here and I get to go first.” Botolf suddenly dashed in, the spear stabbing towards her. Kelsira sidestepped the spearpoint and hacked down on the shaft. It broke off the blade. Then the others were upon her.
Kelsira rolled forward as the ends of their weapons descended on her previous position and chopped into the unnamed man's side, sending him down in a stream of curses. Pulling it out, shouting a wordless cry, Kelsira ended him with another blow. Then suddenly, she felt a stinging pain in her eyes as she found herself dealing with a faceful of dirt. As her hand brushed her eyes, she didn't see Botolf coming from behind her. Kelsira's trusty battle-axe fell out of her grip as she was taken down. Ulf stood to the side, toeing the axe away further from her outstretched grip as he began unlacing his trousers. Botolf began fumbling at her leathers, seeking a purchase to open them up. All the while Kelsira was screaming. Red-faced and angry, Botolf punched her in the face. Kelsira was disoriented for a couple of seconds. She tasted blood in her mouth. Ulf then hit the younger man in the back of the head with his hand. “Don't damage the goods. She'll go for a good price. Young, strong woman.” As Botolf angrily stared at Ulf, Kelsira saw her chance. She drew Botolf's knife from his sheath before plunging it in the side of his throat.
Ulf backed away and retrieved his sword. He spat, “Fool. Botolf always was a fucking idiot.” In the distance, a baby wailed. Realization sparking in his frosty eyes, he said “I'm going to kill your baby in front of you.” Then he ran off towards the direction of the sound. Alarmed, Kelsira madly rushed after him.
Ulf's head start had got him within two arm's reach of Alric's hiding spot. Alric was still crying because an unfamiliar man had began searching his surroundings. Kelsira sprang towards Ulf in a leap as he stopped searching and thrust his sword at her. Kelsira could not dodge. A burning cold invaded her body as the sword tore through her armor and stabbed deep into her body. Groaning in pain, Kelsira in turn, stabbed the longknife deep into Ulf's heart. He had underestimated her determination. Kelsira collapsed to the side. She was so tired and her life's blood gushed out where she was wounded with every heartbeat. She reached out an arm towards where her baby laid hidden. Her tears trickled in rivulets on her face as she spoke her last words. “My baby. May the gods protect you.” Then, Kelsira breathed her last.