The Tyr Chronicles

The Raid of Ersuc

To Götz, there are few things that can go wrong in a raid. Most of those have to do with dying, losing the forthcoming battle, and several others along those lines. He never considered being separated from his companions one of them.

When they charged the Esruc's gates, there were archers already raining hell upon them. Götz was separated from Torunn, Eret and Astrid once the town's fighters came upon them. He now found himself in the village's main courtyard with the sounds of battle raging around him. Swinging his long sword, Götz cleaved through the Celtic defenders with little resistance.

"Come on! Where's the challenge?" he asked outward, almost to the open air. The defenders kept charging at him like waves. Yet, with the additive range of his weapon and reach, Götz slew them before they could even reach him.

His rampage seemed to go on for an eternity, but it was stopped when a leather gloved fist cracked his forehead. Stunned and lying on the ground, Götz looked up at his attacker.

The warrior stood out greatly from the rest of the defenders. Firstly, he was riding a horse, not a common commodity in small villages like the one he found himself in. Unlike the crude, leather armor of the other soldiers, this man wore full military regalia. Götz judged by its red and gold sheen and obvious southern origin that it was salvaged from one of the old Roman forts on Britannia. In his left hand was a monster of a sword. The blade alone was over six feet in length. The steel had an unholy white shine on it as if it was forged in another world.

The warrior pointed the blade at Götz and started to speak. Though unable to understand the words that parted from his lips, Götz had a pretty good idea on what his attacker had said. Something along the lines of, 'You're end is near. Prepare to die.' or something like that. Rolling his eyes, Götz used his free hand to wipe off the blood flowing down his brow from where the warrior had punched him. The blow had split his brow, but Vikings were raised to ignore such wounds. Bringing his sword up, Götz slung it across his shoulder glaring his opponent down one last time.

"Look soldier, it's your funeral," Götz said trying to talk the warrior out of fighting. Yet, the warrior assumed his combat stance, not wavered by Götz. "Valhalla it is then," he signed, leveling his blade at his hip, ready for the fight. The warriors charged at each other, their blades clashed, the steel ringing throughout the courtyard.

For what seemed to be hours, Götz dueled with his opponent, neither giving up any ground. Sweat was pouring down his brow, which was stained crimson from the wound he sustained from the beginning of their match. Eager to quickly finish this fight, Götz parried his opponent's blade away and brought his own to the soldier's neck.

"Put down the sword, and you can walk away," he threatened, unaware of the vulnerabilities that he brought upon himself. The soldier stonily looked Götz in the eyes, almost questioning his decision to end it quickly. The soldier grabbed Götz's right arm, his main sword arm, and brought his blade down upon it. With little resistance, the sword cleaved through flesh and bone, cutting off Götz's hand.

At first, Götz didn't feel his limb getting cut off until the inferno of pain came forth. Grabbing the stump to slow the bleeding, futile attempts as it may be, it took all of his willpower to keep himself from screaming bloody murder. The soldier delivered a kick to Götz's chest, knocking him onto his back. Now with the white blade at his neck, Götz looked at the soldier with the same stone hard stare he was given earlier.

The soldier gave what Götz assumed was a 'see you in hell' goodbye. Winding back the blade, he was ready to end this. As the sword descended, Götz looked towards the sky, praying to the gods to deny his death to reunite with his wife and child. Just when fate seemed to claim his life, the sword was knocked away. The only mark it had left on Götz was a small slash on his jaw line. Whatever just saved his life had smashed through his arm, shattering his elbow. The sword left his hand and was left spinning in the open air. With a clang of steel, it landed next to Götz, where his detached hand now laid.

"Thank the Gods," Götz signed in relief, grabbing the blade's red, leather wrapped handle. As if warmed by the blood now coating his hand, the blade glowed even brighter. Feeling the piercing pain of his right arm disappear, Götz glanced at his stump to find the wound healed. Picking himself off the ground, he examined the healed patch of skin. Where blood, muscle and shattered bone were, now scar-less skin covered the stump. "What sorcery is this?" Götz questioned, looking at the sword in mysticism.

Confirmed with a sonorous war cry, the defending soldier wasn't done fighting. Charging at Götz, he planned on finishing what he had started. Bringing his newfound weapon to catch the soldiers, slashing the white sword horizontally to meet his opponents. Götz didn't expect the blade to cleave through the soldier's own sword. It didn't stop their either, it continued, slicing through the soldier's shoulder, up to his jaw. Without resistance, it went through his head, slicing diagonally upward and cleanly through the brain. When it was done, the top of the soldier's head slid off onto the ground while his body slumped over and collapsed.

When Götz finally comprehended what he had just done, he staggered backward. For the first time in his life, he was sick from seeing gore in battle. The most unnatural aspect of this fatality was the lack of blood. Where the flesh, bone and organs that were cut, charred black marks were present all along the slice.

"Götz! There you are!" a voice said in the distance. Looking towards the voice Götz saw his companions running towards him. The giant, Torunn, had patched up gashes across his torso and legs, as well as lumbering forward with a limp. Astrid had blood splattered over her furs, but those likely were from the defenders. Eret had the least bodily damage out of all of them, only a series of light cuts along his jaw, staining his beard.

"My Friends!" Götz replied, a small, subtle smile on his face. But before they could reach him, a bright light pierced Götz's vision. Dropping his blade, he grabbed his head in pain as the light consumed his sight.

The last thing he heard was Eret calling out his name in a panicked voice, when darkness consumed him.