Post by Char-Vell on Mar 1, 2019 16:15:03 GMT -5
Kugar-Gaha slithered naked in his own blood to the obscene clay altar centered in the clearing he and his followers had hacked for the forest only a few moons agone. Without acknowledging his entrails spilling wetly from the wide gash in his belly, he turned to face his hulking, wolfhide-clad attacker.
“Bastard!” he hissed through bloody teeth. He weakly raised a shaking, becrimsoned hand and gestured to the still writhing carcass of a colossal, copper scaled snake that wound in and out surrounding trees.
“You may have slain The Great Serpent’s avatar with your gleaming devil-blade, but Father Yig will yet crush you in his grinding coils!”
Rothull of the Aesir slowly closed in on the shorn-pated witch doctor, gripping a yard of bloodied steel in his right fist. His long tawny hair and beard were clotted with gore, and he dragged a mangled left leg behind him. Thrice his swarthy blood-brother, Achak, sought to support him, and thrice was he rebuffed.
Now he loomed over Kugar-Gaha and raised his sword high.
“Wait!” croaked Kugar-Gaha. Rothull’s laugh was grim and humorless.
“Wait? You would beg mercy? By Ymir, I’ll give you the same mercy you showed them!”
Rothull pointed with his sword to the pit that lay behind the clay altar, wherein lay the bodies of fifty-three maidens of the Beaver Folk, strangled and stacked like cordwood.
“Nay, heathen! I ask not for mercy, I wish only to warn you. You who have mixed your mongrel blood with the sacred blood of Yig’s avatar are now forever bound to it! A part of the Snake-Father’s spirit will dwell here now, and a part of yours is doomed to dwell here with it!”
“Yig!” Rothull spat bloodily. “Snake-Father! Set! I travel across a whole ocean and still find a land plagued by snake worshippers! To hell with you all!”
Kugar-Gaha would have heaped more curses upon the Aesir, but ere he could make further utterance, Rothull chopped up his skull as one might chop up a potato.
Copper skinned, Raven haired Achak waited patiently for his brother to vent his rage, propped up by his stone-tipped spear. He had shared many adventures with this strange white man in the years since his people, the White Stags, pulled the yellow bearded man half dead from the waves, and knew it was best to let him satiate the raging devil-spirit dwelling in him. At length, he spoke, addressing Rothull by the name Achak had given to him in reference to the sword of steel the Aesir wielded.
“It is done, Longclaw! You have slain the giant snake, and we braves have slain the last of this fiends warriors. All that remains is to bury the dead. Alas! Had we only arrived in time to save the Beaver folk! All of their braves fell in battle with the snake-worshippers, and you see yonder what became of their women! The few that survive will join us and become White Stags.”
“It is well.” said Rothull. He then groaned and leaned against the altar, grasping his savaged leg. Achak came to his side.
“Rest Longclaw, I will have the women come and see to that leg!”
“It does smart, by Ymir! That thing’s scales are sharp as razors!”
The two men turned and gazed upon the serpent in question. The great horned wedge of its head was pointed at the altar. Its dead yellow eyes still gleamed abysmally in the light of the burning huts of the snake-worshipers.
“What of the curse the dog uttered ere he died, Longclaw?”
“Eh? About my soul being bound to that things? Bah! I care not for the blathering of some snake-worshipping fiend! But I will say this: If my soul is doomed to be bound here with that scaly devil, I welcome it! If it ever drags itself out of hell again, I’ll be here to send it right back, By Ymir!”