American Viking: a timeline
- Thread starter Odinson
- Start date
take care man. As others have said, we'll be here waiting for you when you get back. Family drama is never easy, and school on top of that is a lot for anyone to take - not to mention everything going on in the world. Get some rest, relax as best you can, and if there's anything we can do don't hesitate to ask! And don't feel too bad about taking a break - my own timeline has been on haitus for about a year and a half for some of the same reason. It's all good
Chapter 32
1300, the last days of summer: Somewhere north
The rain continued to fall for days, refusing to let up. The sky remained grey, thunder rumbling and lighting occasionally flashing. The storm had come and refused to leave. The bad weather was a hindrance to the cultists looking for the intruder. One patrol of cultists had set out that morning to find him, only to be faced with no such luck.
One such patrol consisted of four members, a spear man in the back, two spearmen in the front, and a "sorcerer" in the middle. Their bodies adorn with frightening paint and bones, designed to inspire fear in the hearts of their enemies. Marching through the forest, the sorcerer kept his eyes peeled for the run away. Wandering through the forest, he heard a quick thump thump of foot falls behind him, followed by a wet piercing sound, before being violently shoved aside to the ground. Hitting the ground hard, he saw the runaway plunge his clawed shield into the back of one of the spearmen, bringing him to the ground with the blow. The other cultist, slightly slow to react, went to swing down and bring the shaft of his spear upon the runaway's head, only for him to parry it with a quick swing. The Runaway rose from the ground, the body of the first cultist clinging to the blades of the shield for a moment before sliding off, and used the flat end of his other, non lethal shield to bash and pin the offending Odinist to the tree, his weight being placed behind the blow as the flat edge rested on the man's neck before a an audible snap. Letting the body go, he slumped to the floor. The Lead cultist scrambled on the ground, looking to bring forth his tool from inside his robe, only for the runaway to quickly close the gap between them, and with a sudden kick to the jaw, sent the cultist sprawling once more on his back. The Runaway placed his heel on the cultist's wrist and twisted, causing the cultist to drop his little clay pot. The Figure bent down to grab it and made as if he was going to throw it at him. The cultist screamed.
"NO! STOP!" The Runaway paused.
"What is this thing?" Whimpering in fear, the cultist went silent. The runaway raised his hand again and prepared to huck it again.
"Its fire! Its our fire!" The runaway slowly lowered his arm.
"There's a candle inside it, surrounded by volatile liquid in a separate chamber. Its its how we do our "magic."" The Runaway tilted his head.
"So this is how you do this...." The cultist looked up, aware that he was not in the position of strength. The Runaway examined the little clay jar. He looked back at the cultist.
"I want answers. Why are you freaks out here? More importantly, who are you people?" The runaway bent down and ripped away the bone mask to reveal an ordinary man. Faint burn marks that appeared to be rather old scarred the left cheek. The cultist stared back at the runway, offended at the insolence of the Christ Worshiper. But this young pup could easily kill him with that damned shield. So He decided to talk.
"Some of our people have been captured by the People of the Flint. We want them back. That's it."
"What would the Kanien'kehá:ka want with your people?" The Cultist was quiet. The Runaway twisted his heel again.
"Ghaa! They want our fire oil! They want our fire oil! Ghaaa let me go, Odin deny you Valhalla!" The Runaway back off the wrist surprisingly.
"I'm not here to torture you. You can go." The cultist looked at him blankly, surprised. The Runaway backed away slowly and went to turn around. Sensing an opportunity, the Cultist pulled a dagger from his robe and went to lunge at the runaway, only for him to spin on his heel and ram his claw shield into his chest.
"I gave you the chance to run, and yet you didn't take it. Please, stop forcing me to do this... I just want to go home...." The Cultist spat out blood before slumping over onto the Runaway. The Runaway shoved him off the shield.
Gunnar bent down and grabbed the pouch and bag inside the man's robes and decided to take it with him and looked around the trail before darting back into the bush, determined to save his friends.
The rain continued to fall for days, refusing to let up. The sky remained grey, thunder rumbling and lighting occasionally flashing. The storm had come and refused to leave. The bad weather was a hindrance to the cultists looking for the intruder. One patrol of cultists had set out that morning to find him, only to be faced with no such luck.
One such patrol consisted of four members, a spear man in the back, two spearmen in the front, and a "sorcerer" in the middle. Their bodies adorn with frightening paint and bones, designed to inspire fear in the hearts of their enemies. Marching through the forest, the sorcerer kept his eyes peeled for the run away. Wandering through the forest, he heard a quick thump thump of foot falls behind him, followed by a wet piercing sound, before being violently shoved aside to the ground. Hitting the ground hard, he saw the runaway plunge his clawed shield into the back of one of the spearmen, bringing him to the ground with the blow. The other cultist, slightly slow to react, went to swing down and bring the shaft of his spear upon the runaway's head, only for him to parry it with a quick swing. The Runaway rose from the ground, the body of the first cultist clinging to the blades of the shield for a moment before sliding off, and used the flat end of his other, non lethal shield to bash and pin the offending Odinist to the tree, his weight being placed behind the blow as the flat edge rested on the man's neck before a an audible snap. Letting the body go, he slumped to the floor. The Lead cultist scrambled on the ground, looking to bring forth his tool from inside his robe, only for the runaway to quickly close the gap between them, and with a sudden kick to the jaw, sent the cultist sprawling once more on his back. The Runaway placed his heel on the cultist's wrist and twisted, causing the cultist to drop his little clay pot. The Figure bent down to grab it and made as if he was going to throw it at him. The cultist screamed.
"NO! STOP!" The Runaway paused.
"What is this thing?" Whimpering in fear, the cultist went silent. The runaway raised his hand again and prepared to huck it again.
"Its fire! Its our fire!" The runaway slowly lowered his arm.
"There's a candle inside it, surrounded by volatile liquid in a separate chamber. Its its how we do our "magic."" The Runaway tilted his head.
"So this is how you do this...." The cultist looked up, aware that he was not in the position of strength. The Runaway examined the little clay jar. He looked back at the cultist.
"I want answers. Why are you freaks out here? More importantly, who are you people?" The runaway bent down and ripped away the bone mask to reveal an ordinary man. Faint burn marks that appeared to be rather old scarred the left cheek. The cultist stared back at the runway, offended at the insolence of the Christ Worshiper. But this young pup could easily kill him with that damned shield. So He decided to talk.
"Some of our people have been captured by the People of the Flint. We want them back. That's it."
"What would the Kanien'kehá:ka want with your people?" The Cultist was quiet. The Runaway twisted his heel again.
"Ghaa! They want our fire oil! They want our fire oil! Ghaaa let me go, Odin deny you Valhalla!" The Runaway back off the wrist surprisingly.
"I'm not here to torture you. You can go." The cultist looked at him blankly, surprised. The Runaway backed away slowly and went to turn around. Sensing an opportunity, the Cultist pulled a dagger from his robe and went to lunge at the runaway, only for him to spin on his heel and ram his claw shield into his chest.
"I gave you the chance to run, and yet you didn't take it. Please, stop forcing me to do this... I just want to go home...." The Cultist spat out blood before slumping over onto the Runaway. The Runaway shoved him off the shield.
Gunnar bent down and grabbed the pouch and bag inside the man's robes and decided to take it with him and looked around the trail before darting back into the bush, determined to save his friends.
Huh, so the pagan cultists have oil which is contested among other nations? Are they taking it from animals or natural oil deposits?
I was sorta leaving it vague, but the idea was a mix of animal fats, although further research has revealed some better ideas then my original one.
Yes... the close-to-the-surface liquid petroleum deposits of Pennsylvania... I totally knew that was a thing.......
What are the furthest southern and western lands the Wampanoag are aware of?
Great TL, by the way.
Great TL, by the way.
Wampanoag traders typically go as far south as the Caribbean to trade with peoples of the Bahamas and Hispaniola, although the occasional explorer has sailed as far south as the Yucatan peninsula. I hesitate to say they really go to South America. As for west, probably Cahokia is the most westward settlement they have a lot of information on
Driftless
Donor
Thinking on those far-ranging Wampanoag traders... If they do get to what we know as the Gulf of Mexico, they're probably meeting other traders from Central America, who in turn may acquaint the Eastern Seaboard folks with the idea that there's a very huge ocean to the West, as well as to the East. That's something that's more likely to enter into local mythology rather than near-term exploration, but someday???
Chapter 33
1300, the last days of summer: Somewhere north
Gunnar watched the cultist camp from a distance, carefully staying out of view. His armor and clothes were smeared with dark mud to make him harder to see in the dark. Under the grand oak, a small group of bone clad cultists sat around a fire in the drizzling rain. Above them, the swaying figure of the sacrificial captive still hung from the branches, arrow stuck in his side. How much of this was truly devout worship of the old gods, or simply just a scare tactic, was unclear to Gunnar. Scanning the camp, he saw what he assumed was the head priest going into one of the huts. Eyes quickly glancing back to the figures sitting at the fire, Gunnar stealthily moved towards the hut, avoiding branches and twigs. Inching inside the doorway of the hut, Gunnar saw the hooded figure standing by a boiling pot of something sweet. The man took off his hood and began to stir the pot with a large ladle. Gunnar stood up and quietly closed the gap between him and the man. He saw an "L" key hanging from the man's waist, most likely being the key for the cage. Gunnar hesitently reached out for the key with a shaky hand. He touched the ring. The cultist turned and looked down, and his eyes went wide and his mouth opened. Before the man could scream, Gunnar leapt up and grabbed him by the throat and bent him over backwards and plunged his head into the boiling ooze in the pot, the sweet smelling ooze seeping up his arms and coating both the "hammer" shield and the claw shield and he held the old man under the ooze. The old man kicked at Gunnar's midsection and used the oportunity to raise his head and gasped for air, his breath desperate and ragged. Gunnar reached to grab him with his left hand and raised his right to bring down the claw shield on the man's neck. Despite the old man's age, his eyes shined as if he was still young, a bright, brilliant, unnatural blue.
"Go ahead, finish me little raven. Your struggle is for naught. Your friend's fate was foretold by the Norns before they left their walls." His eerie calmness gave Gunnar pause.
"What are you talking about, old man? What 'fate?'" There was a twinkle in the eye of the old man. He reached a bony hand and grabbed Gunnar by the wrist with an unnatural strength.
"You think you've saved your friends, but they will die by Surtur's hands, and you will be powerless to save them, little raven."
"You're wrong. Your little false gods are nothing to fear. I won't be killed by some false idol." The man smiled and showed his gap filled grin.
"Oh I never said you would be killed by Surtur, young raven. The norns have a special death for you. I can see it. Like brave Tyr, you too shall lose your arm to Fenrir." The old man began to cackle.
"The little raven is going to get his wing clipped! Ahahahaha!" Gunnar gritted his teeth and threw the old man at the wall before swinging his right arm and cutting his throat with the iron claws. The old man's body slumped to the dirt, the twinkle starting to fade. Huffing and puffing, Gunnar reached down and took the key from the corpse before walking outside.
Gunnar stepped outside of the hut and looked at the small host of warriors at the fire. There were at least ten of them. Gunnar reached into his bag that he liberated from one of the cultists and produced one of the clay orbs with the candle still burning inside it. Gunnar tossed it up and down before whistling at the group. The cultists looked at him and scrambled to their feet before he tossed the orb, the clay pottery shattering upon one of their chests and fiery ooze splashing upon the others, sending them into a fearful frenzy, screaming as the oil stuck to their skin. As others started to emerge from the surrounding huts, Gunnar took the chance to run forward at the cage, key in hand, and quickly started to fiddle with the locking mechanism. "Come on come on come on," Gunnar breathed rapidly as he tried to get the key into the hole in the dark.
"Hurry, boy. I see the freaks leaving their huts," hissed Ivar. With a satisfactory click, the lock was undone. "Quickly, mov- AAAH-." Gunnar shrieked as a dull ax blade came swinging down and bit into the side of the cage. Ivar kicked the door open and sent it slamming into the cultist before rushing out, the rest of the party joining him.
"Grab a weapon, lads! We're not dying in this God forsaken pit!" Ivar cried out as he delivered a rib cracking kick to a cultist and toppling him over. Ivar kicked an ax into the air before catching it with his left hand and proceeded to effortlessly slam it into a cultist skull and wrenched it free before following up with an upward swing across another fellow's jaw. Gunnar's squadmates similarly went to work, fighting for their very survival. Taking up arms from dead Odinists, the group fought back, a righteous fury powering them as they took on their shocked captors. One by one, the cultists went down. Many of them were barely clothed, and most were missing their masks and make up. They looked mortal. Gunnar produced another clay orb and tossed it at a group of cultists, setting them ablaze. Out the corner of his eye, Gunnar saw a flash of a blade in the dark and whipped to the side as the blade buried itself in a neighboring tree truck on the edge of the village. Gunnar spun on his heel and rammed his shield like a hammer into the figure's gut and drove him to his knees and held the claws above his head and prepared for the final blow. Gunnar thrust down his claw shield before he felt a strong arm grab the back of the wooden shield. Gunnar turned his head and saw Ivar standing behind him.
"Ivar? Wh-what are you doing? Let me go!"
"Stop, Gunnar. The battle's over. Look." Ivar pointed at the camp's center. Most of the warriors were dead and laying in the mud motionless, the rest crying out in pain and rolling back and forth.
"It doesn't matter, Ivar. We're ending this. We can't let them live. They're monsters!" Gunnar struggled to pull the shield out of Ivar's grip.
"And if you kill him, that makes you a monster too. Look at him, he's barley grown his first chin hair. He's younger than you are." Gunnar turned back to the figure and looked down, and was surprised to see that Ivar was right. Past the mud, the face was young and fresh, roughly about thirteen winters by the looks of him. Gunnar felt Ivar's grip leave the back of the shield.
"If you really want to kill him, do it. But that makes you just as big a monster as the man who killed him." Ivar pointed to the man hanging from the tree. Gunnar's arm trembled. He looked into the child's eyes and past the tears, he saw a scared little boy in the pale, blue reflection who was caught up in something bigger than himself. Gunnar saw himself.
Gunnar lowered his arm and stifled back a sniffle. "I'm not a monster," he said quietly. He felt a powerful hand on his shoulder.
"I knew you weren't." Gunnar looked down at the boy. "What about him?" Ivar looked at him and studied him a moment. "We take him with us." Hauling the boy up by his shoulders, Ivar pushed him ahead as he led Gunnar, Olaf, Agnar, Becan, and the twins Tatoson and Wamsutta and Kjotve's war party back to civilization, and out of the dark forest, hoping to leave the horrors endured over the past few days behind them.
Gunnar watched the cultist camp from a distance, carefully staying out of view. His armor and clothes were smeared with dark mud to make him harder to see in the dark. Under the grand oak, a small group of bone clad cultists sat around a fire in the drizzling rain. Above them, the swaying figure of the sacrificial captive still hung from the branches, arrow stuck in his side. How much of this was truly devout worship of the old gods, or simply just a scare tactic, was unclear to Gunnar. Scanning the camp, he saw what he assumed was the head priest going into one of the huts. Eyes quickly glancing back to the figures sitting at the fire, Gunnar stealthily moved towards the hut, avoiding branches and twigs. Inching inside the doorway of the hut, Gunnar saw the hooded figure standing by a boiling pot of something sweet. The man took off his hood and began to stir the pot with a large ladle. Gunnar stood up and quietly closed the gap between him and the man. He saw an "L" key hanging from the man's waist, most likely being the key for the cage. Gunnar hesitently reached out for the key with a shaky hand. He touched the ring. The cultist turned and looked down, and his eyes went wide and his mouth opened. Before the man could scream, Gunnar leapt up and grabbed him by the throat and bent him over backwards and plunged his head into the boiling ooze in the pot, the sweet smelling ooze seeping up his arms and coating both the "hammer" shield and the claw shield and he held the old man under the ooze. The old man kicked at Gunnar's midsection and used the oportunity to raise his head and gasped for air, his breath desperate and ragged. Gunnar reached to grab him with his left hand and raised his right to bring down the claw shield on the man's neck. Despite the old man's age, his eyes shined as if he was still young, a bright, brilliant, unnatural blue.
"Go ahead, finish me little raven. Your struggle is for naught. Your friend's fate was foretold by the Norns before they left their walls." His eerie calmness gave Gunnar pause.
"What are you talking about, old man? What 'fate?'" There was a twinkle in the eye of the old man. He reached a bony hand and grabbed Gunnar by the wrist with an unnatural strength.
"You think you've saved your friends, but they will die by Surtur's hands, and you will be powerless to save them, little raven."
"You're wrong. Your little false gods are nothing to fear. I won't be killed by some false idol." The man smiled and showed his gap filled grin.
"Oh I never said you would be killed by Surtur, young raven. The norns have a special death for you. I can see it. Like brave Tyr, you too shall lose your arm to Fenrir." The old man began to cackle.
"The little raven is going to get his wing clipped! Ahahahaha!" Gunnar gritted his teeth and threw the old man at the wall before swinging his right arm and cutting his throat with the iron claws. The old man's body slumped to the dirt, the twinkle starting to fade. Huffing and puffing, Gunnar reached down and took the key from the corpse before walking outside.
Gunnar stepped outside of the hut and looked at the small host of warriors at the fire. There were at least ten of them. Gunnar reached into his bag that he liberated from one of the cultists and produced one of the clay orbs with the candle still burning inside it. Gunnar tossed it up and down before whistling at the group. The cultists looked at him and scrambled to their feet before he tossed the orb, the clay pottery shattering upon one of their chests and fiery ooze splashing upon the others, sending them into a fearful frenzy, screaming as the oil stuck to their skin. As others started to emerge from the surrounding huts, Gunnar took the chance to run forward at the cage, key in hand, and quickly started to fiddle with the locking mechanism. "Come on come on come on," Gunnar breathed rapidly as he tried to get the key into the hole in the dark.
"Hurry, boy. I see the freaks leaving their huts," hissed Ivar. With a satisfactory click, the lock was undone. "Quickly, mov- AAAH-." Gunnar shrieked as a dull ax blade came swinging down and bit into the side of the cage. Ivar kicked the door open and sent it slamming into the cultist before rushing out, the rest of the party joining him.
"Grab a weapon, lads! We're not dying in this God forsaken pit!" Ivar cried out as he delivered a rib cracking kick to a cultist and toppling him over. Ivar kicked an ax into the air before catching it with his left hand and proceeded to effortlessly slam it into a cultist skull and wrenched it free before following up with an upward swing across another fellow's jaw. Gunnar's squadmates similarly went to work, fighting for their very survival. Taking up arms from dead Odinists, the group fought back, a righteous fury powering them as they took on their shocked captors. One by one, the cultists went down. Many of them were barely clothed, and most were missing their masks and make up. They looked mortal. Gunnar produced another clay orb and tossed it at a group of cultists, setting them ablaze. Out the corner of his eye, Gunnar saw a flash of a blade in the dark and whipped to the side as the blade buried itself in a neighboring tree truck on the edge of the village. Gunnar spun on his heel and rammed his shield like a hammer into the figure's gut and drove him to his knees and held the claws above his head and prepared for the final blow. Gunnar thrust down his claw shield before he felt a strong arm grab the back of the wooden shield. Gunnar turned his head and saw Ivar standing behind him.
"Ivar? Wh-what are you doing? Let me go!"
"Stop, Gunnar. The battle's over. Look." Ivar pointed at the camp's center. Most of the warriors were dead and laying in the mud motionless, the rest crying out in pain and rolling back and forth.
"It doesn't matter, Ivar. We're ending this. We can't let them live. They're monsters!" Gunnar struggled to pull the shield out of Ivar's grip.
"And if you kill him, that makes you a monster too. Look at him, he's barley grown his first chin hair. He's younger than you are." Gunnar turned back to the figure and looked down, and was surprised to see that Ivar was right. Past the mud, the face was young and fresh, roughly about thirteen winters by the looks of him. Gunnar felt Ivar's grip leave the back of the shield.
"If you really want to kill him, do it. But that makes you just as big a monster as the man who killed him." Ivar pointed to the man hanging from the tree. Gunnar's arm trembled. He looked into the child's eyes and past the tears, he saw a scared little boy in the pale, blue reflection who was caught up in something bigger than himself. Gunnar saw himself.
Gunnar lowered his arm and stifled back a sniffle. "I'm not a monster," he said quietly. He felt a powerful hand on his shoulder.
"I knew you weren't." Gunnar looked down at the boy. "What about him?" Ivar looked at him and studied him a moment. "We take him with us." Hauling the boy up by his shoulders, Ivar pushed him ahead as he led Gunnar, Olaf, Agnar, Becan, and the twins Tatoson and Wamsutta and Kjotve's war party back to civilization, and out of the dark forest, hoping to leave the horrors endured over the past few days behind them.
I'm glad to hear the encouragement, though I'm sad it took me this long to pump out the update. I hope to be more active with it come 2023!