Haakon .... (surname yet to be decided) of the space wolves

adamhartnett Mon Mar 21, 2011 2:00 am

The Iceni were feared by all of the local tribes because of their devastating hit and run tactics; the speed at which they struck was terrifying and when the Iceni had been spotted whispers spread about how the Valkyrja were coming, like these men were ghosts. They were ruthless, efficient and vicious, they were the ideal sons of Fenris. They were Gods among men.

As the warm, red glow of the setting bathed the camp in an eerie blood shower Haakon looked on in anticipation, his piercing blue/grey eyes showing his excitement but his face showing a steel calm. It was only going to be a few more hours before the Iceni struck and Haakon knew his place and what needed doing. The youth looked around at his fellow battle brothers knowing all were nearing manhood and he had been charged with making them survive long enough to reach their feasts.

As the suns light waned his eagerness grew; he yearned for the warm spray of blood across his face, for the rewarding sound of a man dying at his hands and for the rewards that they would reap from this attack. The thought of the coming fight was always a nervous one, the thought that one stray attack could bring the young warrior to his knees, or that another warrior could best him and send him to visit his ancestors in Asaheim enticed him. After all he longed for a glorious death, and there was nothing glorious about old age.

As the sun crept behind the long rolling peaks, light scattered across the camp; evening fires were being extinguished… the time had arrived.

Haakon stalked forward with his prey in his sights, his footfalls silent. Behind him a nervous breath escaped Alrik’s lips, at this the young leader span and silenced him with a piercing glare. The pack crept towards the edge of the camp spotting the sparse sentries scattered around. Haakon ordered his pack to neutralise the nearest few with a simple flick of the wrist.

Haakon felt the cold handle of his knife resting comfortably in his hand as he approached an unfortunate brutish man who looked like he could have been a worthy adversary in a fair fight. But nothing was going to be fair about this. Almost in unison both of his hands flashed up, one muffling any cries that would escape the dead mans lips. The other pulling the knife across his throat. Haakon felt the warm life blood spray across his arm as he rested him down to join his ancestors.

As he looked up he saw the rest of his tribe flooding into the camp, like a wave crashing over pebbles they were irresistible. Men were scattering out of tents brandishing weapons but they met a swift end.

A flash of light appeared at the corner of Haakon’s eye, he only had enough time to dodge the incoming attack. Stabbing upwards quickly Haakon buried his knife deep within the mans chest, the man stumbled but regained his footing quickly sending another lightening fast attack aimed at Haakon’s chest. He jumped back but couldn’t go far enough, the blade skimmed across his chest causing a thin red line to ooze blood. Just as quick as the first attack came a second one followed, slashing down at his young foes head he was determined to take his killer with him. Haakon side stepped the precise attack and stepped towards the man, pulling his short blade from the mans chest and burying it into his throat. The blood spurted from his mouth as he fell heavily to the floor.

More to come soonish