Chapter One: The Road to Dimmuborgir

[BigJonno]

Dimmuborgir, the mightiest fortress of the realm. It spans the only pass through the Border Mountains, guarding against the barbarians of the Northern Wastes. It has been attacked many times since its construction and has never fallen, not even the first wall has been breached.

However, this could soon change. The mighty warlord Johannes Gaute has brought together the largest barbarian horde ever known. It is said he has almost one million men under his command and powers rivalling the Gods themselves. It is said that when he walks, the earth shakes and when he speaks mountains tremble. And it is said that he marches on Dimmuborgir.

To make matters worse, the defenders at Dimmuborgir are weak. The fortress hasn't been assaulted for many years and many of the best men have been drawn off to fight in the Trollwars far to the south. Only eight thousand man the walls. The once-proud Jarl, Hornbori inn Raudi, is old and his health is failing. He has no sons to succeed him and there is no-one strong enough to take his place. His daughter has resisted all attempts to marry her.

The situation is grim.

Only the Einherjar can save Dimmuborgir and the call has gone out. You are one of Odin's chosen and you are on the long road to the mountains. Will you stand on the walls of the fortress before the mightiest army the mortal realm has ever known? Or will you throw in with Johannes Gaute and his barbarians, knowing victory could cost you your soul?

The fate of Dimmuborgir is in your hands.

[BigJonno]

((OOC: This thread is for everyone to introduce their characters to the epic roleplay that I will be running. There will be seperate threads for Johannes' camp and Dimmuborgir itself, as well as any other locations I deem neccessary. This thread will consist mainly of longer, more descriptive posts, unless characters meet up on the way. Feel free to have your characters know each other (or at least know of each other.)

Once everyone is present and accounted for, I'll throw up the other threads and begin in earnest.))

[Leoghan]

((OOC wait, I am confused, you want us to jump into this thread with an intro, or are you making a thread for that?))

[BigJonno]

This thread is for everyone to introduce their characters to the epic roleplay that I will be running.

((OOC: That answer your question? :D Give us a bit that will let us know what your character is all about, his journey to the fortress (or the camp,) if he meets up with any other characters on the way, that kind of thing. I don't mean a kind of "Hi, my name is Bob and I'm a demonologist" kinda thing, but proper roleplay posts.))

[Leoghan]

The call for heroes to save Dimmuborgir was sent out; Eidr heard it first while lurking in Odin’s hall hoping for a chance to see the Allfather. As soon as he heard he returned to the Hall of the Soldiers, there Tyr was calling for the brave and heroic to make a stand in defense of Dimmuborgir. Retrieving his armor and his axes, Abjorn and Gylfi, Eidr made known his intentions to Tyr and asked for guidance to the fortress.

Tyr said, “You are new to the Einherjar and so I will not grant you the use of the paths that lead off Bifrost bridge. Instead you must cross into Midgard and journey through the great frozen passes that surround Dimmuborgir and the border mountains. Go now for the hour draws near. May your bravery serve the mortals well.”

Eidr gave a single nod in acknowledgement and turn to leave the Hall of the Soldiers. As he strode off towards Bifrost, the sight of many brave warriors rushing to the aide of Dimmuborgir gladdened his heart, this was the comradeship of battle that he worshiped. Though brave he was Eidr was also relieved to know he would not be alone in standing against Johannes Gaute and his barbarian horde.

Once he had crossed the Rainbow Bridge into Midgard Eidr knelt in the snow and said a short prayer to the Left handed One(1) and a longer prayer to Fenrir’s last meal(2). When he rose he lifted his head and saw further along the path two companions who looked to be of Einherjar stature. Stiffening himself to the cold he broke into a swift run in an attempt to join this war-band.

When he reached them he said, “Hail, fellow fallen heroes. I too was woken by the cock of Dimmuborgir(3), and would rejoice in your companionship on the long road ahead. I am Eidr Gylfisson and my blades are at your command.”


***************

1 – A Kenning (compound expression used in place of a name or noun) for Tyr.
2 – A Kenning for Odin
3 – A reference to the cock that wakes the Einherjar to daily battle.
***************

((OOC: I am a bit rusty, but I hope that starts us off on a good note))

[Elvis]

You know the old saying "the wrong place at the wrong time?" Elvis was in the middle of it. Dimmuborgir was normally one of his regular haunts, for its high population tended to lead to ample opportunities at infamy and fortune. Unfortunately, someone had decided that the great city, which had defied so many would-be conquerors before, needed to be taught a lesson.

It had been at least two nights since he'd had enough sleep and over a week since he'd had a decent meal. The city was a-buzz with anxiety and Elvis had spent the last few days trying to gather as much information as possible surrounding what everyone was so worried about.

Yesterday and without warning, the gates were ordered sealed during the day and the walls patrolled during the night in an attempt to keep panic from ensuing and emptying the city. Once word reached the city garrison that a barbarian horde was massing to the north, word quickly spread through the streets and alleyways. Resources unusually slim due to conflicts in the south meant that most folks were scared and very unlikely to bet some coin over a game of knucklebones when it was a decision between that or finding enough food to last the supposed siege just waiting over the mountaintips.

This isn't to say Elvis couldn't slip out unnoticed any time he wished. While times were tough, bloodshed and war usually brought just as much profit and fame as peacetime... often more.

Kneeling down on the beaten wood floor of the room he was renting in a small inn within the city's limits, he cast a set of runestones upon a small sheet of boar's skin and studied the signs for what to do next...

[Ohgop]

A green Einherjar, Ohgop still smarted at the blunt indictment of his former life by the Allfather. A rage boiled within him as he repeatedly tried to deny the Allfather's accusations, and each time the excuses lead back to it being his own fault.

Ohgop was determined to prove himself other than what he had been in his life, a cutthroat, thief, and godless self-worshipper. To prove himself not a cutthroat Ohgop vowed never to slay another man who was undeserving of death. He would also never accept anything he had not earned. Finally, to prove himself to Thor he would seek out combat against overwhelming odds.

Ohgop's determination to take nothing he hadn't earned was exercised in his refusal to accept armor and other items intended for Einherjar use.
Next he presented himself to Thor and asked how he could prove himself. Thor told him to seek out and stand against overwhelming odds, and nowhere could more overwhelming odds be found than at Dimmuborgir.

Refusing even so much as a map, Ohgop set out for Dimmuborgir with no more than a vague location and a mental list of directions.

Even before he leaves the settled areas, Ohgop realizes he will never be able to find his way. To his pleasant surprise he comes upon a warrior with braided golden hair and a runic tattoo on his palm who seems to be headed in the same direction. Not wanting to seem incapable Ohgop follows at a distance, using all the stealth he learned in his days of banditry to avoid notice. However, to Ohgop's dismay cover becomes increasingly scarce as the trail begins to ascend the mountain pass.

[Lorwyn]

(OOC: I know this a break from the traditional third-person, but it was the best way to intro Lorwyn. The subsequent posts will be in third. =])


I ran when the cold air replaced the warmth that was him. The night’s touch helped to quell the fires of passion that blazed within me…but passion refused to go complacently. The mere sight of him, disheveled pale-blonde hair falling across his face, his ivory skin flushed pink with desire, had nearly drawn me back into the ecstasy of his arms. Eyes like rich, loamed earth lit afire with something older and more powerful than either of us, called to me like a song I could not bear to hear.

But it was his voice – that beautiful, soft, compelling voice – that was passion’s undoing. His voice saying my name, “Lorwyn.” I could hear the urgency, the need, the same passion that roared in my body thicken his wondrous voice. But underlying it all was the one thing, the one sentiment, I could not let myself come to terms with… love.

So I ran, ignoring his distressed, pain filled shouts. Away from him, away from the inferno his touch ignited, away from the unmasked plea in his eyes. The love promised there. I, of all people, do not deserve such affinity. Not when the past bound my wrists with the twin shackles of shame and guilt, weighing so heavily I found no reprieve from them.

I ran from his embrace into that of the night. Stumbling, as the tears I so hated poured forth from my eyes blurring all before me as if I looked at the world through an aqueous kaleidoscope, I made my way down the street. I cloaked my flushed chest with my torn shirt, fastening it with abrupt and precise movements. Covered, I calmed somewhat, as if the resulting knot of linen was all that was needed to gird my heart against feeling, emotion, passion… love.

Turning, I found the air rush from my lungs as I felt my body collided with another object. The ensuing grunt of surprised pain told me it was alive and male. “Idiot!” I heard my voice cry out sharply as my hands – seemingly of their own accord – came up to shove him away. He fell onto his arse with another grunt; indignation replacing surprise. Realizing what I had done, I was quick to make amends. “I… I’m sorry… please forgive me.” I looked at my open hand extended out to him. I felt my brows furrow deep, I was struck at how easy it was for me to show my failing to a complete stranger and ask his forgiveness for it. Yet when faced with the same among friends, the very people I should trust with such divulgences, I find myself rendered mute and morose.

Ignoring my hand, the man rose, dusted himself off, and shot me a glance that clearly stated that he thought me mad before stalking off into the darkness. “Idiot,” the word hung softly in the air. I still do not know if I directed the admonition towards the affronted man or myself. Then I too, surly and chaotic, walked into the bitter embrace of obscurity that nightfall held.

Darkness enveloped me completely as her arms enclosed me in solitude. I always found solace in night’s touch. Her midnight shroud softened hard, coarse edges; caused harsh noise to soften to a low hum; aided in the release of inhibitions; and hid the filth found in glaring light of day under a veil of black. Embraced in her arms, even that which is ugly can become beautiful. I know not how long I walked through the night-abandoned streets listening to the faint cadence of my boots echoing off the darkened buildings. Their empty windows peered like bottomless, blackened eyes evaluating me, seeing deep within to my hidden core. I could feel the burden of their condemnation as I tread through the gray fog adorning the base of the buildings, skirting them in mist.

As I said, I know not how long I walked, only that as I walked, I struggled to release, even as I also fought to clutch to me, a cold heart in equal measures. Why, I know not. But this battle of wanting to bridle my passion against the need to unleash it soon had my demeanor escalated from frustration to full-blown belligerence.

A disembodied – distinctly male – voice chuckled behind me and when joined by two others brought about an apathetic smile to shape my lips. Oh, this was just what my constitution called for. I have forever found the exertions of a fight a more than ample way to relieve tension. And my muscles and mood at that moment were so strained I would have gladly picked a confrontation with the Allfather himself or any of the gods for what it mattered. So what consequence were three mortal men? I stopped but did not turn.

“Lookie here boys. Looks at what we've found ourselves, eh?” The pig’s statement was greeted with more chuckles. He walked around so that we stood face to face. “And looks at that hair would you? Like fire it is.” A fat, greasy hand reached out with the audacity to actually grab a mass of my hair in his fist. He pulled hard to one side exposing the side of my neck and one slenderly, shaped ear. More snickering. I bared my teeth in a macbre smile.

“Eh, she likes it she does Arhn,” a thin reedy voice matched its owner’s physical nature, “see how she’s smilin’?”

“Aye… she does…” the fat one – I assumed Arhn – said as he ran a finger down the side of my neck, tracing the heart-line that showed blue beneath my skin. I nearly gagged at the stench of his breath, “You do, don’t you?”

I showed more teeth and all three began to laugh. I had yet to see the third one in the party, but it mattered not to me. “Release me,” I said mellifluously. When they laughed all the harder I continued, “Have it your way then…”

With a shrug, I grabbed onto Pig’s hand in my hair and wretched it back until I heard bones snap. Then spinning so my back was to his screaming form, I planted an elbow in his throat, just enough to bruise him pleasantly and to stop his screeching. His two companions stood in shock as they watched their leader fall to the ground; grasping at his windpipe with his good hand as he struggled for air. I took a defensive crouch and ignoring Pig’s wheezing behind me, I winked at Skinny and blew a kiss towards the now visible Runt.

As the two circled me, each grabbed for their weapons – a dagger and dual sticks. Skinny was the first to bravery, swishing the sticks about as if demented. The fact that he had no idea what he was doing or how much the fool he looked had me so surprised I left my defensive position. That was when he charged, still flailing his sticks wildly and roaring incoherently. Rolling my eyes, I shook my head as he neared. It was easy really - he was asking for it with his actions - for me to plant a boot heavily on his leg and shatter his kneecap. Not a sound escaped his gapping mouth as his eyes rolled up into his head, the whites seeming to glow momentarily, before he keeled over in a faint.

It was then that I felt the sting of metal kiss my right thigh. Runt had finally made his move, but tripping over his gargantuan feet, (mayhap I should have named the bastard Duck?) he lurched and what had been aimed at my chest sliced my leg. I looked down and saw red but not from the blood. Oh, there was blood gradually leaving the shallow wound. However, it was rage that tainted my vision crimson.

“My new pants! You goat loving, stench filled ball of...! You just ruined my new pants! I don’t believe this!” My palm met my forehead with a smack, “first Illarn rips my favorite shirt and now you…” a finger jabbed accusingly in his direction, but it was the unconscious sparks coming off my hair that put the fear I saw in his eyes. Little did my mortal mind know that this eve fell into plans much vaster than the rending of my clothes. I in my fury, was not aware of the bright embers dancing about my form nor the heat that welled up within my veins, “…have to go and destroy my new pants!”

He scampered away from me on his backside, using his legs to propel himself as I stalked forward. That small, little divide in my breeches was the catalyst to an already bad day. Runt was up on his hands and knees now. I, blinded by wrath, didn’t see his hands close upon a broken piece of wood. Just as my hand landed on his grimy collar, he brought it up to greet my face. I stumbled back only to fall to my knees as his fist connected with my left eye. I fell forward gasping for the same air as Pig when one of his huge feet somehow planted itself in my ribcage. I felt, more than heard, the crack, crack, crack of my ribs breaking.

TBC

[Lorwyn]

(Continuation)

Livid at my own stupidity that I, a great hero, was being bested by gutter scum, in pain, barely able to breath, the day’s events rushing through my mind, rage and blood blurring my vision, and him cackling his victory in my ear had me reaching for something I knew was not of this plane. Fire of a different kind erupted forth as I pushed myself off my knees. With a snarl I flung my left arm out towards the little rat, while my other arm cradled my tortured chest. A stream of fire blazed forth from my fingertips to engulf Runt’s form and the most satisfying noise issued from his mouth. Pig could be heard clambering away from me, awed curses mingling with Runt’s cries of pain. As for Skinny, as far as I knew, he still remained unconscious behind me at my feet. I first became aware of the snarl on my mouth, and a moment later my anger fled as I watched Runt writhe about. I stood there aghast at what I had just done. It was that that had me unaware of Skinny inching slowly towards me, dagger drawn.

The irony that I sought this fight did not escape me in my jumbled state. Had I known where this night would lead, I would have sought it out sooner. Grasping my abused ribs in one arm, pressing my free hand to the cut on my leg, and trying to ignore the pain that seemed to course through my body, only to explode in my head with each step, I tried to back away from the acrid smell of flesh melting from bone. I know not if I felt the blade slide across my throat. I know not if it was pain or anger I felt when my life's blood soaked my chest. I did know that I had succeeded in one thing this night. I was no longer plagued with emotions. Now I simply felt… nothing.

"Awaken...your destiny calls to you..."

TBC

(ooc: great posts you guys...hope mine is up to par)

[Leoghan]

As the suspected Einherjar spun around, it quickly became clear that these were not Einherjar at all, but rather demonic spirits from Helheim. Their blued skin was not caused by the winter frost all around; it was their natural hue. One of the demons was a large hulk of a being, built as stout as a wall. The other was slight and nimble, but clearly he had been well adept at fighting in his mortal life.

Taken aback by this realization Eidr tumbled backwards and rolled to his feet. By instinct Eidr reached behind him and released his axes from their hanging baldrics. His misfortune at falling backwards had in fact been a stroke of luck; the large demon had swung at his head and falling not only helped Eidr avoid the blow, but left the large demon off balance.

Eidr leapt forward and swung the axe in his right hand around striking the collar bone of the hulking demon. The reaction was not what Eidr had expected. No blood, no anger, no carnage; the demons just disappeared. What had been there and been tangible had suddenly turned into vapor. This certainly had not been a true test. Whatever this was, it had only left Eidr confused and more concerned about the fight ahead of him. Gathering himself, he made for the path a head that led into the mountains.

A day later, Eidr found himself leaving a dense forest. The previous night he had considered stopping and camping, but he had gotten the feeling that he was being followed. After the morning’s confrontation, he didn’t want to risk dealing with that kind of threat alone. Eidr instead chose to quicken his pace and rest when he arrived in Dimmuborgir.

In front of him was a long winding path that led into a hugged walled citadel, it was the only road into Dimmuborgir, so his pursuer would have to show themselves or find a more difficult way into the city and show himself he did. Far in the distance a small figured emerged from the shadow of the forest. If this was another demonic trick, it was taking a chance entering a walled city.

Once Eidr made it to Dimmuborgir, he found himself an inn to get a meal and rest. When he entered the public house attached to the inn. It was strange being an immortal in the mortal world. The mortals seemed to notice the slightly higher stature, but took little notice. Perhaps they felt the dealing of immortals were none of their business, or perhaps an immortal of such a lowly status was not worthy of their attention.

In the pub he ordered a slice of whatever was roasting on the spit over the hearth and had his drinking horn filled with mead. Eidr looked around the pub trying to get the pulse of the city. It was clear that few here knew of the peril that awaited them. In a dark corner he spied a small figure sitting all alone. Eidr walked over and spoke softly, “I see you have given up the sport of tracking me”.

[Ohgop]

Ohgop hopped of his bench (a comical sight, since his feet didn't even come close to touching the ground) and his hands immediately went to his weapons. Before drawing Mournbringer and Pancakemaker Ohgop stopped, apparently in self-reflection, then let go of his weapons and addressed the braided stranger. "Nay sir, ne'er been to no 'Port o' Slakin Tree.' O, ye say tat was not wat ye said? I see, well 'ave yerself a seat 'ere and I'll buy us a couple rounds. I'll tell ya why I followed yew all te way to Dimmuborgir, too."

"Me name is Ohgop, by te way, a beserker o' Tor. I been many tings in me life, bandit, murd'rer, tief, blaksmit, an' warrior. But one ting I ne'er was, was upstanding, nor reverent, and I guess tats why I be here. Tere be a 'orrible place for folks like me, I kno 't for a fak.

I lived a 'orrible life, it be true, but I died protek'n folks, so te AllFat'er be giv'n me anot'er chance, me needs to mend me ways... shh I be talk'n 'ere, yes, ale for bot' o' us... so tat's why me come to Dimmuborgir.

Now I not be too good at dis 'turn ov'r a new leaf' ting, so I no take maps from da folks bak wit da AllFat'er. I find out kwik dat I be in truble, don't no where I be, or where Dimmuborgir be. So I see you on te way, now I knows you be ded like me, so I follows you here." finishing his story Ohgop down's his mug and waves to the barmaid for more.

[Lorwyn]

A story continues

MANY, MANY YEARS LATER:

Droplets of moisture fell from crimson hair as Lorwyn's dreams caused her to push herself up violently from her bed, dagger in hand. Emerald eyes disappeared behind thick lashes several times before the woman was able to fully focus on the wall across from her and come to terms with where she was. The coarseness of the sheets, the stale smell of old ale, and the rank of unwashed bodies drifting up from below also helped to center her being. Sighing heavily, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rested her forehead on the backs of her hands, elbows upon knees. There will be no more sleep tonight, she mused. Naught else to do but head down and see what awaits me next.


It was always like this, that well-known torment that followed her even in dreams; constantly bringing her back to that day when her mortal death began a new life. What she had become that day was the very reason she now always chose the lowest inn or hovel to seek shelter in. Trying to hide deep within her cloak as money exchanged hands for a bed or a meal, hoping that none would recognize her in truth and beg assistance through empty prayers and platitudes. Inns, followers, mortals all had turned to ash in her hand in one form or another as the centuries came and went, yet the dream remained the same... fresh, clear, and haunting.


"[I]'Your destiny awaits'[I] my arse!" she grumbled as she pranced around the room, fingers wiggling in harmony to her body movement to emphasis her distaste in those three words. She grabbed at her various packages and bags, shoving what little she carried with her on these forays into them, as she prepared to leave. When her death night was revisited, and Lorwyn heard those hated words again echo within her skull, then she had yet another task laid before her feet. All that could be done was follow where that path would lead her and pray absolution would be granted this time.

At first, yes, she savored what was offered her. Some could say even hungered for it, but now with so many generations having passed and hundreds of faces passing oh so briefly before her eyes, she wanted nothing more than the peace she believed she had found that long-past night. Oblivion in death was what she craved now instead of the rebirth under a god she had no wish to serve.

Having cloaked herself carefully, the fiery redhead left the desolate inn she had chosen. Leaning her back against the rotting wood of the tavern's outer wall, she waited. As expected, a dark form skimmed the air above her. Its movements stirred a tendral of hair that had snuck its way from beneath her hood before letting fall a small cylinder and then black on black form retreated once more into the moon shadows. Lorwyn unrolled the parchment found within the hollowed out bone and held it at an angle in order to read it in the moonlight. A furrow appeared between her brows and then they shot to nigh her hairline in surprise as she read one single word, "Dimmuborgir."

"Very well, then. Another war it is."

With that she disappeared into the inky blackness of night.

(OOC: This would be an open tag to anyone who wants to join in. So... come and have fun with my tempermental and short fused Lorwyn. <insert evil grin here>)