Macrendil-Ysmir

Hello again! As mentioned on Monday I'll be releasing one chapter a week from now onwards on Fridays.

Now, time to see what the Mad-Commodore has in store!

‘Luthor Harkon? Luthor… HARKON?!’ –As Erik repeated the name to himself, small titbits of information resurfaced.

Undoubtedly there was much more to the dread character known as Luthor Harkon than Erik could recall, but what he did remember did not make Erik feel at ease.

Luthor Harkon should currently be one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in existence, finding his origin in the Nehekaran realm of Lahmia where the very first vampire, Neferata, originated from.

He was an obscure figure back then, but when his sarcophagus was taken by Norscans many thousands of years later, the vampire turned them into zombies to crew their own ship as he found himself on the shores of the Lustria, the jungle continent across the sea.

There he grew his crew from the shipwrecked sailors until he had amassed a vast fleet of undead pirates with which he terrorised the area now dreadfully known as the Vampire Coast.

Years later, he discovered an ancient artefact in an abandoned temple which fractured his mind into dozens of different personalities, making him quite the insane character.

It then became his purpose in un-life to find more of such artefacts to mend his broken mind, waging war against the race that made and protected them. But in the many centuries that followed, Harkon never succeeded.

Now, Erik stood face to face with this King of the Undead in a rare moment of sanity after the ancient being had slaked its thirst after awakening.

Erik had no idea how this could have happened, but from the small outburst of insanity, he gathered an Elf was to blame.

‘Just that that doesn’t really narrow things down, considering there are High Elves, Dark Elves and Wood Elves. Nor is it in my interest to learn about it since it could very well make the madman explode and start killing us.

And even though I am confident in taking down a pack of Trolls on my own now, this man has fought endlessly for centuries, millennia even! There’s no way to tell how strong he is and thus I have no reason to take a risk…’

Realising he had stood silent for a few moments now and seeing a frown begin to form on the undead’s face, Erik hastily replied.

“Ehum, right. Nice to meet you, Arch-Grand Commodore Luthor Harkon. I am Erik of the Frost Wolves and the Tha- Captain of the vessel behind me. And I agree to your offer of Parley.”

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did you honestly tell him your identity? No, no… lying might have been riskier. Besides, if we, I, make it out alive here there’s no chance we’ll ever meet again, right?’ – Erik’s thoughts flew into a panic as he scrambled for a good approach to the situation. Harkon seemed sane right now, but there was no telling when that could suddenly change.

“Ssssplendiid! It is soo difficult to find someone to talk to sometimes. While the dead are useful, they generally don’t talk much and the living are often too busy either running away or trying to, hehe, KILL me!

So, Erik the Frost Wolf, I much appreciate your civilised approach and can overlook the… unease I smell on you.”

As if he had just granted a massive favour, Harkon turned around cackling as he went to sit on a barrel, gesturing for Erik to take a seat as well.

Turning to Sven, Erik quickly gave his orders before taking his own seat.

“Move the men to the bridge, keep the Southerners in front as a shield and don’t let anyone talk or act stupid. This man can kill us all if he wants to so we do not want to aggravate him. Go!”

When Erik sat down and heard his men move around behind him, he saw Harkon sport a wide grin on his weathered face as if amused.

“Alright, Arch-Grand Commodore Harkon, let us begin Parley.” –E.

“Yes, yes, let us talk! We’ve dealt with the pleasantries so now it’s down to business. Since I called the Parley I will of course speak first.

I want to know where I am and I desire the means to return to my fleet and kingdom. So, please tell me Erik the Frost Wolf! What do you want and what can you give me?” –LH.

Swallowing, Erik took a moment to order his thoughts.

“We are a bit over a full day’s sailing south-west of Marienburg, near Couronne in Brettonia. Me and my men are partaking in privateering to enrich ourselves and gather glory & experience. The ship we are standing on is our latest and also to be our last target before heading back home as it’s nearing the end of the Second Season, which is high summer by Empire standards.

I wish to return home to hearth and wife with my ship full of treasure. And all I can offer you to… let us go is this ship and its crew, as well as whatever is on board.” –E.

“Hmm, hmm. I see, I see. Alright, alright.” – Harkon said, either in response to Erik’s words or to one of his alternate personalities. Or both, who knew with a mind-fractured madman?

“Yes, I see your predicament Erik and I, as a fellow wolf of the seas, am truly sympathetic to you but… I require more than just the remnants of this ship’s crew to sustain myself on the journey home. I require more food and I do believe your vessel, large as it is, would prove far more accommodating to my needs as well.” – A maniacal light grew bright in Harkon’s uncovered eye as an aura of thirst emanated from him, sending Erik into a panic.

“Sartosa!” – A thought blitzed through Erik’s mind as he blurted out the word. “The free-booter port of Sartosa is bound to have what you need! Not a large longboat, but proper Galleons with vast arrays of cannon and plenty of sailors to operate them for you… something us Norscans could never do. And Sartosa is only around two or three weeks sailing away along densely populated coastlines. Even if this ship’s crew is insufficient there are plenty of Brettonians, Esthalians or Tileans to be taken along the way.”

Erik continued talking about how good of an idea it was, hoping to bring some sanity back to the ancient being before him. And it seemed to work as the light subsided and Harkon attentively scratched his parched chin.

Turning around, Erik called for one of the sailors to be brought forward. Before making a small cut in the man’s throat, Erik then materialised two cups and filled one to the brim and the other halfway with wine. Adding the sailor’s blood to the second cup, Erik then offered the drink to Harkon.

“Oh my, how attentive! I admit, I was feeling a little… starving. So this might just do the trick.”

The two men, one leisurely enjoying his drink while the other became increasingly nervous from the tension, silently drank from their cups for a while.

Finally, Harkon completed his deliberations and threw back the remaining beverage, audibly smacking his lips as he enjoyed the invigorating drink.

“Alright Erik Frost Wolf, Captain of the North, I agree with your idea. Now, get off of my ship unless you want to become part of its crew!”

As he changed his tone from agreeable to threatening, Harkon waved his arm and the still bodies of slain crewmen began to rise one after the other.

“A pleasure doing business, Arch-Grand Commodore.” – Erik awkwardly finished the conversation as he hastily walked back to the Corvus, gesturing for his men to move back to their own ship as well.

The Marienburg ship crew noticed the changes too and became restless, fearing for the fate that awaited them. But soon the corpses of their former colleagues grabbed them and securely tied them up.

And finally, before Erik could give the order for the Corvus to be lifted and the ships to separate, a line of zombies approached as Harkon cackled from behind the ship’s wheel.

“I have no need for the cargo of this ship, not even those useless junk they found with me. When I robbed them I had hoped they would heal me, but alas. Still, I need room for fresh bodies so I might as well give them to you, hehe, hahahahaha! Oh, and consider it payment, a debt, for future information should we ever cross paths again! A hint: The whereabouts of Morathi, whore-queen and hag sorceress is quite important to me! No one double crosses Luthor Harkon and gets away with it!”

Most likely it was a mad impulse, but Erik could do naught but agree and accept the ‘freely’ offered wealth. The iron-bound chests were numerous and heavy, putting a smile on Erik’s face as he realised they didn’t leave the dreadful encounter emptyhanded.

Finally, the two ships separated as a fell wind filled the undead ship’s sails and the Vampiric Pirate King was unleashed on the world once more.

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The Sarl capital was in uproar as Wulfrik returned to the tribe with his trophies in tow. Wolves and other beasts by the hundreds, Trolls, giants and manticores by the dozens and at the forefront, the carcass of a huge Frost Wyrm led the procession.

Each and every warrior that returned with Wulfrik exuded an aura of danger and power as they followed behind their Champion.

The group halted in front of the Sarl King’s Great Hall where the king himself awaited them, suitably awed at the small group’s accomplishments.

‘200 men accomplished all this… I am not sure even my Huskarls can beat them as they are now. The Chosen of the Gods truly are favoured and cause Change wherever they go.’- The aged King’s thoughts betrayed his concerns. On the one hand, it was a boon to the tribe to have such excellent warriors. On the other, if not handled carefully, the emergence of a powerful and capable individual such as Wulfrik could pose a threat to the King’s rule and carefully planned plans.

Wulfrik approached and loudly addressed the King:

“I have returned as requested, King Viglundr. I have returned to spill the blood of Aeslings and to take Hjordis as my wife.”

A ripple went through the crowd of assembled Sarls, excitement spreading at the news. The war was truly about to start now? And the King’s daughter would marry such a fetching Champion?

Viglundr felt a headache come up as the Champion brazenly made the verbally agreed engagement public. He had hoped to use the Champion to the fullest in the war and hopefully rid himself of a future contender, keeping his only useful daughter for a better candidate.

Thinking of this, the King hatefully recalled how his eldest daughter, Yara, had slain her intended after that Aesling prince got too forceful to her liking. Undoing years of hard work pacifying the tense relations between Sarl and Aesling.

Then his thoughts turned to his sister and remembered she too had a budding Champion to worry about.

‘I wonder how she uses him? We both serve the Lord of Change, but our interpretations were always at odds. Champions are tools to be used and then disposed of, while she always held onto that ridiculous idea of pushing a suitable one upwards.

What use is unifying the tribes if you are not the one ruling? Why waste effort on helping a potential danger to yourself grow? My foolish sister should have learned when Ingolf only ever grew to become the Jarl of a moderately powerful subordinate tribe.

No matter, with the help of Wulfrik, I am sure I can draw her pawn to me as well. Let the both, nay, all three of them work hard to further my plans! Muahahaha-haha!’

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Far to the west of the Sarl capital, in the savage heartlands of Norsca, a woman raised her spear to signal her companions to stop.

They marched along a perilous mountain path in search of prey and now the woman saw a red glow shining around the next bend, hiding from view whatever created the hue.

She slowly approached the corner on her own, spear ready to strike, but as she rounded the corner she instead fell to her knees and bowed down. The figure that awaited her was clad in red crimson armour, sported large, curved black horns and wings made of muscle and tissue spread out behind her.

Valkia the Bloody, consort of Khorne himself, appeared before her devoted follower and left a clear message:

“Seek out your sister’s brother-to-be when the snow melts once more and your homeland is embroiled in worship of My Master, a suitable candidate to your wishes.”

The invisible pressure released as Valkia’s figure disappeared, leaving no sign of her presence bar a pool of blood where she stood and the stunned Valkyrie Shieldmaiden on her knees.