Macrendil-Ysmir

Party time!

Also, I want to take a moment to comment that Erik has now been fully integrated into Norscan culture and society, including the less savoury aspects. Disdain for 'Southerners', complete disregard for human life that isn't Norscan or otherwise favoured as well as enjoyment from things we would call morally or ethically wrong and apprehensible (including slavery, raiding & pillaging and the many horrors that come with these acts).

The great feast was about to start. The Great Hall’s large doors were swung wide open and a continuous stream of thralls carrying food and drink poured out.

Enormous bonfires provided light and warmth for the feasters and endlessly long tables and benches were strewn all over the square to provide seating.

Erik and the other young Marauders sat together with the tribe’s leaders, greatest warriors and honoured guests as a sign of honour for the glory they had achieved and their pile of loot and Trophies sat piled high in mountains of treasure on the raised podium.

The feast had yet to start and prior to it, Erik had learned some new things.

First of all, he was informed by his Captains about the altercation between his men and the blindly arrogant Aesling prince Ralf.

Second, Skadi had informed him of some of the more political side of events in the tribe. Helles had repeatedly come to see her and shared some secrets, which greatly intrigued Erik when he learned of them.

‘So it turns out that Jarl Ingolf stole Helles away from the Sarl tribe and Helles’s brother is the current Sarl High King? That means that, according to Wulfrik’s story in lore, she is very likely to be a devotee of Tzeentch like her brother…’

When Erik combined this knowledge with the presence of the Aesling prince and the highly respected Sarl Thane, he quickly concluded both sides were gearing up for the coming war by trying to draw in as many allies as possible.

“But why would the Aesling High King send such an unlikeable, arrogant brat for the negotiations?” – He had asked Skadi.

Smiling seductively, Skadi gave him an answer that pretty much sealed the princeling’s fate:

“He bears a Mark of Khorne and is actually quite the respectable young warrior in his Khornite tribe. So all the High King must have seen was his prowess and expected it to be enough to create a… connection between prince Ralf and our Sigrun as a form of alliance.”

For a moment, Erik’s vision turned crimson red as anger clouded his mind and thoughts of immediately slaughtering the brat threatened to overtake his mind. Luckily, with an immense effort of will, he controlled himself.

And now, some hours later, he had to share a table with the presumptuous supposed-Champion. Even worse, Ralf directly sat to Jarl Ingolf’s left while Erik sat opposite the Jarl, meaning the two were almost within arm’s reach.

Still, the prince didn’t seem to know that the person that had ruined his marriage plans AND denied him his demand for the Beastgirls sat so close to him.

Not seeing any reason to begin the feast bickering with the little shit, Erik decided to ignore him for now. If Ralf wanted to make a scene, it would all be pinned on Ralf’s own head. Depending on the prince’s attitude when Erik was inevitably announced at the start of the feast, Erik wouldn’t mind acting decisively against Ralf.

Finally, when everyone was seated, Jarl Ingolf once more welcomed back the Hunters. He also announced the total amount of spoils and Trophies, eliciting much cheering from the gathered tribesmen.

The list was incredibly long, detailing the number of tamed Ice Wolves, captured Beastmen, furs, skins, teeth, claws, hides and skulls from the multitude of Hunted prey. Even the seasoned veterans of the tribe made their honest admiration known when the spoils from the Trolls, Giants and Manticore’s were announced.

Although those veterans had no problem taking on such foes with groups far smaller than Erik’s, they had had decades of experience. For the unblooded youths to have performed this outstandingly lit a fire in their bellies as they foresaw a great and glorious future for the tribe.

In between the other mandatory speeches, Jarl Ingolf also announced the day Erik would officially wed Sigrun. It wouldn’t be a grand affair like the feast tonight, but it was an important announcement to make nonetheless.

Jarl Ingolf also rewarded the newly blooded Marauders with a large amount of Black Iron Ore, a metal far superior to regular steel and only allowed to be used by true warriors of the tribe.

A wide smile on his face, Erik nonetheless noticed prince Ralf’s face churn into a look of great anger and disdain.

Finally the feast commenced after every returning Hunter was forced to down three large mugs of mead, on an empty stomach no less. And stories of glory from past and present, both truthful and boisterously exaggerated, could be heard from every table as the juicy, succulent meat was served by the platter.

After making some small talk with the Jarl, his soon-to-be brothers-in-law and other personages at the main table and after having stuffed himself with meat and ale, Erik left the table to revel in the feast. Most of the talks had been about the wedding, dowry and expectations of a respectful household but Erik also managed to pitch his idea of incorporating javelins and the shorter plumbata into the Frost Wolves’ standard Marauder equipment.

He danced around the fires, ale-horn in hand. Loudly shouted his agreement when one of his men spoke of how they Hunted and jovially ridiculed the story of how one very drunk man claimed to have wrestled an Ice Drake and won.

Having become quite inebriated at this point, mere hours into the weeklong feast, Erik took a seat at one of the fires outside of the dense masses. Still nice and warm, but tranquil and quiet enough to let the drink wear off a little.

When he felt his head clear a little, Erik noticed a hulking figure sitting next to him nursing his drink. The blacksmith that had made his Halberd.

Upon remembering the end of his weapon, Erik spoke to the man:

“Smith, I need a new weapon again!”

Nothing like a direct approach when still half-drunk.

Bemused, the smith turned to Erik and asked in wonder:

“Why do you need a new weapon? You already have everything you could need! A polearm, back-up and emergency weapon!”

“Yeah about that… I may have kinda sorta stabbed the Halberd into a Chaos Trolls guts and melted it. So I need a replacement polearm…”

For a moment the smith couldn’t hide his surprise, but anger soon covered his entire face.

“What in DAMNATION did you do to one my craftworks?! How idiotic are you to throw away your weapon by melting it in Troll innards?! I swear by Khorne…”

The smith continued to loudly complain and curse at Erik, but in the end agreed to forge Erik’s new weapon according to the new design.

As the Chief of the Hunt, Erik obviously received the largest amount of Black Iron Ore and he planned to use most of it on just three items.

A simple breastplate, mounted on the best piece of harvested Trollhide.

A finely crafted helmet sculpted to look like a snarling wolf’s head, inlaid with warm-in-winter, cooling-in-summer Ice Wolf fur complete with a chainmail coif & neck protector decorated with Ice Wolf fangs.

Finally, the new polearm Erik commissioned was to be made entirely of the refined Black Steel, both blade and haft. The thing would weigh a ton, but with Erik’s incredible STR stat it would still pose no problem whatsoever. It would not be another Halberd, but instead take the form of a Glaive or broad bladed Naginata. The combined weight of the full-metal construction would have to make up for the decreased armour penetrating power of the previous Halberd design.

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Finished with his demands, Erik left the blacksmith to his sudden state of passion for crafting and re-joined into the feast.

Spotting Wulfrik in the midst of retelling the events of the Beastmen-war, Erik slung an arm over the other’s shoulder and loudly added some more details to the story.

After an hour or so, the two Champions had a quiet moment where they could talk somewhat alone.

Eyes glistening, the roaring fires clearly mirrored in his eyes, Wulfrik told Erik of his plans and confessed his envy of the latter.

“When I get home, I’ll call upon the young warriors of the tribe to go and strengthen ourselves over in the wild Troll-country, the area between the Sarl domain and the first settlements of the Kislevites.

I envy you, Erik. You managed to obtain the complete and utter loyalty of your men and they are now bound to you. I want that too for a Warband of my own. And above all else, I want to prove to myself that I am not less than you.”

Smiling at his slight pettiness, Wulfrik continued.

“Sorry, I should be and I AM grateful to you for saving our lives and allowing us the chance to regain our lost honour, but my own pride won’t allow me to stay back and watch you charge ahead in life…”

Interrupting the melancholy Champion, Erik pulled out a clean knife from his waist. Without a moment’s hesitation, he then sliced open his palm and willed the Regeneration to stop working for a moment.

Erik then offered the bloodied blade, hilt first, to Wulfrik in an impossible to misinterpret gesture.

Wulfrik hesitated for only a brief moment before resolutely taking the blade and cutting his own palm.

The two Champions then smashed their bloodied palms together and Erik began their Blood Oath:

“From this moment on, we are brothers by blood. Wulfrik and Erik, eternal equals and allies, swearing to fight together until beyond the End of Times and to aid & support each other in our endeavours.”

Erik of course had a clear idea of Wulfrik’s future prowess, but Wulfrik did not and in this uncertainty added a line of his own:

“Wulfrik and Erik, bound by blood and honour to bring vengeance upon those that slight either of us and to reign down death and destruction upon those who might bring one of us into the Gods’ final embrace.”

Thus the Oath was struck and bound in the powerful blood of two great Champions.