After the success of the troll Hunt, Erik’s Hunters started to snowball in their exploits. They hunted more and more efficiently while also gradually taking on bigger and bigger prey.
At first they had hunted regular animals for food and supplies, then upgraded to hunting Ice Wolves and the odd pack of wild Goblins (a rarity this far north).
But after they experienced the efficacy of javelins and accepting that the Honour gained from hunting successfully was greater than dying recklessly in a Hunt, single units were now capable of taking down trolls on their own.
Not entire packs, but one or two was very doable for the re-kitted Marauders. The javelin throwers now carried even more javelins on their backs while even the vanguards carried two.
Meanwhile Erik had stopped personally flaying the Trollhide off the trollhag’s back after obtaining five full stretches of it. There appeared to be a limit to the amount of Favour he could earn by continuously torturing a single being or creature. So he simply stated that everyone was allowed a turn to skin the Trollhide and that they could then keep it for themselves.
This lead to fierce competition about who would be allowed first, but it was resolved quite peacefully in the end. Only a couple of bones were broken in the process. It was decided that skilled skinners would continuously work on it to obtain the best quality hides (skinning trolls required strength, finesse and skill to prevent it from accidentally ripping or taking forever to finish) and the pile of Trollhide would be divided up based on the Hunting results of the different units.
This added a bit of competition to the Hunt but also improved relations between everyone. Different units would combine their men into groups to increase the efficiency of the Hunt, which also resulted in more success and less casualties and injuries.
Sadly, the trollhag expired halfway through the fourth day of farming, leaving the Hunters with ‘only’ around a 100 large pieces of Trollhide.
Just earlier today, almost two weeks after the Troll Hunt, Erik dragged back a colossal Giant back to the camp.
These gigantic monsters were native to Norsca but were still hard to find and even harder to kill. One of Erik’s scouts had found this one resting on a boulder the size of a house, casually lying on top of it as a comfortable bed.
Taking ropes, javelins and heavy weapons with them, Erik and his Elites managed to catch it while it was still deep in dreamland. They threw the ropes across and immobilised the Giant, even if it woke up its awkward position wouldn’t allow it to free itself easily.
Then they started their attack, intent on bleeding it dry rather than to outright kill it. It did not have regeneration like trolls but its skull was so incredibly thick that it was impossible to kill it by destroying the brain. And going for the heart was dangerous too, because the Giant could use its freezing breath to get rid of the ones digging for the heart. An added danger was that this could freeze the ropes and snap them, something that the Giant in its dullness probably wouldn’t do on its own.
It took ages, but eventually the Giant died. Wading through the knee-deep slurry of snow and blood (mostly blood by this point) Erik climbed on top of the monster and proclaimed their victory, eliciting loud cheering and a notification that Khorne was pleased with the sea of blood Erik had spilled.
‘Seems like bleeding Giants dry is quite profitable for me, hehe!’
Of course the Hunters didn’t just Hunt for trophies. They also continued to hunt for food and worked on improving their settlement. The roof over the square was now built very strong and sturdy while the loot was kept safe in a separate hall built to be used as storage.
Personal effects like the Trollhide they would keep near their personal sleeping area’s but the many skulls, precious furs and others were all kept together in storage. The Winter Hunt was a team effort, so there was little need to keep track of who specifically killed what.
When Erik returned with his prize in tow, the Marauders went crazy in admiration of their Chief’s exploits. Erik being their undisputed leader had now been firmly entrenched in their minds, becoming unshakeable. Even when they returned to the tribe in one or two months, they would still be fanatically loyal to him and follow Erik into battle and on raids as his personal Warband.
With their boldness ignited, the Hunters had started going further and further away from the stronghold. They sometimes even stayed outside for two nights consecutively, but only when they were in sufficient numbers to no be ambushed at night by roaming beasts.
One day the entire camp held its breath as an enormous beast flew overhead. A Frost Wyrm, one of the true apex monsters of Norsca that are the result of Chaos horribly mutating the once noble race of Ice Dragons. If a Norscan tribe did not enjoy the protection of powerful shamans or incredible Champions, a single Frost Wyrm is able to lay an entire settlement to waste.
Finally, when the second blizzard could unleash at any moment, Erik decreed that everyone must be home before nightfall to prevent anyone from being caught out in the open.
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The sky had been incredibly clear for the last three days, a clear indication of the impending blizzard. Today Erik once more led a large group of Hunters to stalk a dangerous prey. They were hunting a Manticore.
A hideously deformed Lionhead sat on a dark, hairy body barely classifiable as feline with bony spikes jutting out from all over. Huge leathery wings were folded on its body and its long tail was made up of chitinous segments and ended in a vicious scorpion’s tail.
No regeneration and no breath attacks, but its poisonous tail and ability to fly combined with the deadliness of an enormous lion still made it an incredibly dangerous monster.
As they approached its lair, Erik once more went over their plan.
“First we must disable its wings. We can’t let it get away from us.
Second, we need to capture and cut off the tail. Cuts we can survive, the poison is immediate death.
We spread out and charge it, throwing our javelins to destroy the wings and distract it from the front to allow some guys to deal with the tail. If we fail to get the tail, let it be and just pepper it with more javelins.
Leave a hole in the encirclement like we agreed. When it runs, we drive it off the cliff as planned.
Everyone got that? Good! Then move out and get that pussy!”
The initial phase went as planned. The hundreds of javelins completely shredded the leathery wings to bits and firmly forced the Manticore to stay grounded.
But as the beast roared in anger and pain the tail-catchers could not complete their task and one of them got stung by the stinger.
Erik had taken a long bladed spear from one of the dead Marauders as a replacement for his destroyed Halberd and used it with great effect as he accurately pierced one of the Manticore’s eyes.
Thoroughly enraged but feeling pressured from all sides by the threatening Hunters, the now one-eyed Manticore chose to run away through the gap.
Whooping and shouting as they gave chase, Erik’s troops drove it ever onwards and out of the dark woods surrounding the lair. The large monster must have always flown to its lair because now that it was forced to go through the woods, it left a swathe of destruction behind it as it ran.
Taking a special javelin from another Hunter, Erik took careful aim. A small pouch made of a troll’s stomach was attached to the shaft and filled with acidic bile. Its purpose was to inflict so much pain to the Manticore as it ran that it didn’t see the cliff before it and tumbled down.
Taking a few more rapid steps forward, Erik flung the dangerous weapon with a grunt.
“Hnnraah!”
It connected with the base of the Manticore’s tail and a while later it did indeed tumble down the cliff.
Of course this didn’t mean the beast was dead. At most it would have been severely injured so while everyone was elated at the prospect of success, Erik kept his cool and led the way down.
It took them almost an hour to find a place to descend safely and where they could drag the Manticore corpse back up with them.
But as they walked closer to where the beast fell down, Erik felt something stir within him. He sensed something over by their destination, something familiar and powerful, but he could not quite understand what it was.
Finally they arrived but they did not find what they expected.
They expected a heavily wounded Manticore trying to drag itself away but instead they found the Manticore’s rapidly cooling body as a sword was buried hilt-deep into its skull.
A band of unfamiliar men stood close by, dressed similarly like Erik’s men but with distinctive differences in decorations.
“Halt, men!”
Calling for a halt, Erik carefully eyed the strangers before him but was interrupted when one of them came forward with his hands raised high.
Immediately, Erik could feel that strange sensation pulsing louder and he realised what it meant. This was the feeling when two Champions of Chaos bearing their Dark Marks came close to one another. Talk or fight was irrelevant to this. It simply informed the Bearers that other Bearers were nearby.
The man that approached was a giant of a man, well over 2m tall with rust-coloured hair. His clothes were practical and sturdy, but a series of thick leather strips tied a series of human skulls to him as trophies. His face was young, similar to his compatriots as well as Erik’s band and his eyes held a look of grief while anger burned deep within his eyes.
Stopping at a safe distance from Erik, the man put down his hands and spoke with a deep baritone voice.
“Greetings Marauders! I apologise for taking away you kill, but as it came falling through the sky right on top of us, we could do naught but slay it.
I have important news to share, but first I wish to know who I am addressing?”
‘Quite eloquent for a Norscan.’ – Erik’s thoughts blazed past as he came to a decision.
“I am Erik and I lead these men on our Winter Hunt. We belong to the Frost Wolf tribe of the Skaeling Confederacy.
What news do you bring and what do I address you as, fellow Champion?”
Nodding, perhaps in relief at finding tribesmen of non-hostile confederacies, the man answered.
“I bring news of an approaching danger. And as for our identity, we are also on our Winter Hunt and we are from the Sarl tribe of the Sarl Confederacy.
As for me, I am Wulfrik of the Sarl.”
Don't worry too much about the lore. I just hope you don't do something like Eric killing Archaon in a duel ...
No worries there. Well, who knows? That could be something for the end of the story, when Erik should by rights be incredibly powerful. I haven't planned that far yet, so everything's possible! But if (BIG if) they do fight, they have to be on equal footing.
I mean... he could always just take a page from grimgor and kick archaon in the nuts so hard that he belows out a scream reaching the warp prouncing the birth of the new everchosen and the death of his future offsprings.