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Joint Val/NoR/DT/Asgaard/RoK announcement


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[i]Listen well dear friends and foes alike for all shall know and be touched by the great and befuddling event known hereafter as The Forging of Mjölnir; aka The Binding of the Four Northern Realms plus the Dark Elves; aka The Draining of the Mead; aka The Great Mixing of Blood and Honey Wine; aka The Battle of the Seven Armies.[/i]

[b][size="3"]First Scroll – The Sending of Messages[/size][/b]

Throughout the icy lands of the north, throughout those lands of legends and songs, throughout the lands of snow and blood where the Norsemen hunted, fought, and went a Viking from, there was a division. The time of breaking happened so many winters and so many generations ago that not even the oldest and wisest of the skalds know how or why it happened, but only that the Norsemen were once one and that now they are many. So many kingdoms, so many clans, so many halls that hold folk of the same breed and metal, yet they are divided. Brother raising blade against brother, squabbling like rabid dogs over the scraps of the world when they could be great. Despite these obstacles and through hardships two fold, strong realms of the Northman were raised to stand as pillars of strength in the world, yet they still stood divided, if they did not war openly then they stood apart. One night though a dream came to the leaders of those realms and the dream was the same for each of them, they saw the northern realms united together as a power to make the great ash shake to its roots, as a people whose lives would be the envy of the worlds, as a hope for the world when the @#$%^ crow and the battle is joined. So from across Bifröst in the Sky Citadel of Asgaard, to the blood stained fields and mead filled halls of Valhalla, to the vast forests and halls of Nordreich, to the barracks and longboats of the ever ready Ragnarok the messengers were sent out and the words exchanged as all agreed that the dream must be made reality.

[b][size="3"]Second Scroll-The Gathering of Hosts[/size][/b]

Deep in the heart of the northlands far from the normal roads and ways of ordinary travelers and wanderers there was a deep dale surrounded by a ring of high mountains that contained a hilly plain of green where elsewhere there was snow and ice, this lonely place was to be the meeting ground of the Norse realms that have been told of. Why you ask was this remote and quiet place to be where kings and lords of power and repute met to discuss the forging of a bond that would unify much of the north, and guarantee the survival of the Northman till ragnarok? The answer is that this was no ordinary dale, for out of the center of that evergreen plain rose a hill higher than the rest with a cloistered grove of trees atop its head, and in the center of this grove at the roots of an ancient ash tree lay a well of grand origin. The legends tell that long ago when the world was still young that as the Norns watered Yggdrasil for the first time with the sacred water from the well of Urd that the squirrel Ratatoskr surprised them with his chattering and that they spilled some of the water. It is said that that water fell down in a remote land of Midgaard and that where it struck a spring welled up. The skalds sing that the first of the Norsemen drank at this well and it was from this place that Odin and his brothers made the first man and woman from the trees. Ages past and the North men left the dale for far off lands, but even now the faintest memory of this land still survives, and it was this place this land that was so sacred to the Norse where the pact would be met over and hopefully agreed to, for if the Norsemen were once one here perhaps at least some of them could become one again in that hallowed spot. So it was to that far off grove that the leaders and representatives of the many realms of the north made for, whether it was by foot, horse, or ship each intended to be there to make sure their people would not be left to become another forgotten mark on history. One by one five long processions marched out of five of the seven passes into the dale. What a sight to behold that day, the shining armor of the massed hoards in the bright sun, the gleaming rings and finely worked weapons, the brightly colored shields and massive battle horses, the rolling wagons full of barrels of mead, wine, and other liquors to tempt even the soberest of men and women. One by one each procession spread out across the plain to set up their respective camps. For although it might seem strange to others peoples that the leaders had brought vast entourages of warriors with them this was a matter of course for the Norsemen as they were far from their homelands and they had many enemies, as well as the point that if the common soldiers of the realms could not drink together in the place of their origin then how could they do so elsewhere.

[b][size="3"]Third Scroll- Arguing of Hosts and the Gathering of Foes[/size][/b]

The chariots carrying the moon and sun had passed across the sky more than once since the talks had begun and the grumbling nature of the Norsemen was not lending itself well to the task of unity. The leaders continued to meet around the well and under the ash tree but they were still divided. The realm of Nordreich had brought a close ally to the talks but the choice had been poorly made as the folk they brought did not present themselves well to the folk of Asgaard and Ragnarok for the folk that Nordreich had brought named themselves The Dark Templars, but the Norsemen named them Dark Elves for no mortal lay under the black plate armor and glowing green gems that hid the templar flesh. Talks to unite the north was their purpose here so the presence of these grim forginors who never removed their armor and never supped or made merry with their neighbors did not bode well for the peace, but this was not the only reason for even in the sacred dale the Norsemen still squabbled amognest themselves. Asgaard and Valhalla men would often scuffle over which realms brewers made the mead, and no Norsemen scuffle ever ended without furniture splintering and bones breaking. Nordreich against Ragnarok shipwrights, Valhalla blade smiths against Nordreich’s, Ragnarok’s shield wall against Asgaard’s, wherever an argument could be found there was one. If the way of the Norsemen had continued down those paths then they surely would have departed that land still broken and even more divided by bitter anger than before if not an outright bathing of the blades. It was not to be though, far from the green dale, over high-mountain and across frozen sea lay Jotunheim, the realm of the giants. Long had it been since the giants had left their dark and frozen realm to plague mankind, though the great eagle still sent biting winds and freezing rains to Midgaard, but this did not mean that they were weak for the giants were an old race, older even then gods themselves and they knew how to wait. Thryme a great lord of the giants and gathered much strength to himself and thought that now was the time to strike. The men of the north who had in times past fought and defeated the giant’s attempts to invade Midgaard were now divided and although mighty by mortal standards would not be able to win in a meeting of arms with the giants if they stood alone. Thryme through spies and old knowledge of seeing knew of the meeting at the well and the lack of success, but also knew that if the Norse overcame their petty squabbles that he might not be able to even attempt to take the North of Midgaard until another age had passed, so he decided on a bold strike at the gathering to cut off the heads of the major kingdoms and to leave them so weakened that his loathsome folk would have little opposition of merit as they took some of Midgaard for their own for the first time in centuries. So as men grumbled, wrestle, and drank a dark shadow spread across the land.

[b][size="3"]Fourth Scroll-First Strike and Desperate Stand[/size][/b]

In the black of the night clouds blocked out the light of the moon and the stars leaving nothing but campfires like lonely stars in a sea of darkness for men to see by, almost all either slept in their bedrolls or lounged near the fires cooking meat and the few groups of men assigned from every realm to guard a pass peered vainly into the dark seeing nothing, so it was when weary eyes were rubbed that long arms stretched smoothly out of the dark and cruel grasping hands locked in iron grips around the necks of half asleep watchmen pulling the gurgling writhing forms out of the small circle of firelight. One by one the circles were emptied of men and one by one dark shapes crept slowly into the dale, but the watch fires were not put out for Thryme knew that if the lights vanished then weapon men would be sent to investigate. Soft thuds and cracks were might have been heard as the unseen hoard began to cut away the outermost fringes of the camps, though a watchmen’s cry may finally have alerted the sleep soused folk it would have too late and all lost that night if one of the very things which had sown such disharmony had not been stalking the night as well. Like a seething tide the dark templar surged forward between the beds and fires, men yelling in surprise as the large slightly green lit forms struck against the giants. The long arm of a troll had stretched over the sleeping form of Tyr of Asgaard who slept fitfully with a keg of honey-wine at his head and a sea chest at his feet and his life may have ended without the glory of a meeting of weapons if the black scythe had not snaked out and cleaved that arm from its unseen body. As if all at once great howls and yells rang throughout the night and as if the breaking of the silence had also broken a spell the thick clouds were swept away with a fierce wind as the silver light of Mani revealed the doom of the Norsemen as the mighty hoard of giants and their allies rushed forward stealth abandoned to finish what they had started, and if the dark templar had not met their charge as the norsemen scrambled to arm themselves then there would be no story. As it was Tyr was woken as much by the warm blood that gushed over him as the howling, springing to his feet fully armored and a rune inscribed hewer of flesh great sword in his one hand, for when one has had a hand engulfed by Fenrir he does not sleep as lightly as other men. Taking in the loping form of a templar and the fleeing one of a troll Tyr let out a piercing whistle that would have made even the deafest of men wince, and a great wolf came out of the darkness to him with the grace born of practice Tyr mounted Geri as the beast lowered itself for him and borne as the wind it was sleep poor Tyr who was the first mortal into the fray bellowing for the men to rise. Time passed and even though most of the warriors had garbed themselves in shining battle skin with battle blades they still milled about in confused chaos for the giants seemed to be everywhere and it was not until bright clear notes of their leader’s horns rallied them that they stood a faint chance, but that chance was bought dearly as a few of the swifter Jarls and lords with not but their small bands of brave huscarls threw themselves at the giants to allow the scattered forces to pull out of the fray and to form up. One such bloody conflict that was not lost admist the confusion was this, Vinzent Zeppelin the Konprinz of the empire of Nordreich sat his battlehorse on a small hillock, separated from his huscarls and blowing on a horn to gather his folk to him he did not see the tree trunk that was a giant’s club come striking down at him. Smashed and broken under his dead stead his teeth gritted as he watched the laughing giant that stood three men high stoop down to crush his skull with fingers the size of legs. Choking out a cry for Nordreich Zeppelin plunged a dagger into the giant’s outstretched hand, rearing back and roaring the giant raised its club to finish the impudent mortal, but that particular blow was not meant to fall. No one ever found out why the High Chancellor of Ragnarok Yukon Don was so near the Nordreich that camp, but he was as before the giant could strike the Chancellor rode out of the dark and swung battle hammer into the giant’s knee, roaring the giant swept the man away with an arm and both men of high standing most likely would have ended then if the giant had not been swarmed by the Chancellor’s huscarls. Some stabbing high and between the knees with their spears, some standing on their fellows’ shoulders to try and get at the neck of the giant, the fell back crushed by the club and pierced by the spikes on the boots that the giant wore. The Konprinz watched the High Chancellor rush into the fray, battle hammer swinging for the last time as his own faithful huscarls finally came to him and after dragging the dead horse free carrying him on their shields away from the battle. Grimly surveying the scene of battle from the hilltop grove of the well Levistus the marshal of Valhalla and Thor the reichmarshal of Nordreich had managed to form up many of their warriors in ascending rings around the hill. Both men wished to take their troops to the rescue of their respective lieges but without knowing where they were to break the defensive circle was to abandon the only real stand that the northmen had in this swirling battle of blood and dirt. Frowning both waited for the grey of dawn to see what there was to see.

[b][size="3"]Fifth Scroll-The Counter Strike[/size][/b]

As the grey light of dawn illuminated the field of carnage the Empress of Ragnarok looked out from the grove tapping her riding crop against her palm and darkly cursing to the massed ranks of giants and trolls simply lying on the ground at their leisure. “Why don’t they finish us?” She asked Magni of the Asgaard as he tore at a leg of mutton. He shrugged and said, “Were trapped on a solitary hilltop with hardly any provisions and days away from help, if I had just spent the night enjoying myself at slaughter I’d want to have a quick breather before I finished off the pitiful mortals.” The Empress frowned and Magni said, “Well us pitiful mortals and the Empress of Ragnarok.” Magni stepped back as the riding crop narrowly missed his head. The hours passed and the grey dawn turned to midday and the giant still waited. Then they surged forward to finish the job, the Norsemen let fly a volley of arrows and boulders from their catapults. To this day no one knows how the Valhalla Norn Tronix managed to build five catapults in a few hours without cutting down a single tree of the sacred grove and the only comment given was, “You got to do what your gut says that your brain says that you shouldn’t do on an empty stomach when you haven’t had more than a pint in five hours and the only thing that doesn’t remind you of Hel’s thrice cursed visage is a blasted rowan tree that looks like a woman wearing a donkey’s skin.” Not even the skalds wish to ponder what inane origins of lack of sleep, lack of drink, and lack of sanity could produce this statement. Giants fell as the boulders flew, but as they neared the first ring of Norsemen something else flew out of that grove. A huge four man eye brute of giant covered in armor except for a helmet and wielding a massive sword that would reap death abruptly fell as Kryievla a Vanir of Valhalla’s spear went right through the giant’s eye and out the back of its skull, Kryievla landed with thump on the ground beside the giant and rose freeing a long hafted bearded axe from a belt loop. Similar sights were occurring all across the giant’s stalled front line as Valhalla and Asgaard warriors dared each other to be catapulted at the faces of the giants. Later on Thrawn a Vanir of Asgaard claimed that this was his idea that had bought the besieged hilltop precious more time, others contest this but the argument that any man who was brave and stupid enough to lose all of his clothes and armor to the Valkyries in a new game that he called strip poker and then go into battle with nothing but a rapier against giant flesh most likely would think to launch himself out of a catapult. Blades flashed and armored men collapsed into shattered piles of bone and gore as the giants pushed them back to the top of the hill. Then as hope seemed the last thing to show itself it did as many horns broke over the sounds of battle and those on the hill top saw a grand sight. A hoard of Norsemen issued froth from behind many of the hills that lay behind the giants. For though the dale was covered with Norse dead many had escaped during the night to beyond the passes where their leaders had rallied them and then waited for the giants to be attack the hill so that the foul creatures would be caught between hammer strike and anvil. At the front wolf mounted Tyr rode beside the black striding from of Titan of the Dark Templar’s Dark Triumvirate, the Regent of Valhalla Chef Joe mounted on a massive golden boar, and even the Konprinz of Nordreich Zeppelin was there holding a great sword in one hand and riding a great bear that was loaned to him by Vice Chancellor of Ragnarok Bob Llyani who strode beside the bear keeping one hand on its head and one on his glaive. How Zeppelin recovered so quickly is a closely guarded secret of the highest of Nordreich, Asgaard, Ragnarok, and Valhalla and if asked they will say that it was the potency of mead from all four realms mixed together that did it. Battle was met but even then it went hard with the Norsemen for the giants were still numerous, then with the midday sun at their backs an army of dwarves clad in golden armor and well armed with flesh hewers, skull smashers, and heart skewers came out of the mountains with the weaver of words and the keeper of ties with the wide world Bassman of Nordreich, who in the night had stumbled into the underground realms and convinced the dwarves that it was in their favor to strike a blow against the giants. Even then the giants fought on till the sacred hill and the ground surrounding it was red from the blood and black from the number of corpses. Late in the evening it was and Sol was departing and Mani was coming when the battle was done.

[b][size="3"]Sixth Scroll-The Sealing of the Pact and Funeral Arrangements[/size][/b]

All of the warriors, Jarls, and Hesir who were not needed fell amongst the dead and rested for long had they fought. The rulers of the realms met around the sacred well once more tired and gore covered, all with some wound or other but more at peace then they had been since first coming to the sacred dale. So a great stone was raised beside the well and its surface inscribed with runes that told the tale of the battle, wrists were slit and the rune marks rubbed with blood, and five realms became united. All reservations of the Dark Templar dispelled from their bravery and quick action which had saved the Norsemen from total slaughter. The nameless dwarf headman and his people were offered a place there but they refused saying that they made no pacts with mortal man. So the dwarves departed carrying their dead and dropped equipment with them, even the ruined pieces so that when they were gone there was no sign that they had ever been. The giants and trolls were stripped of anything of value and burned in a great pile near one of the passes, and to this day that spot is still blackened and no green thing will grow there. The dead men were gathered into great piles and either set aflame or buried as was common to that realm, the noble dead had solitary pyres of broken mead barrels and whatever wood could be found, while others had barrows raised around them. So with that all of the remaining mead, wine, vodka, and other spirits were drain during celebrations across the next few days. Dancing was had, contests of belly and battle powers and tested. Magni and Bassman both were matched for who could lift the most stacked barrels. Tyr spoke with Thor about the worth of wolves and bears as calvary. Grim Titan organized a contest of stories and Thrawn still was told he won if he would just put his clothes back on, with Chancellor Don protesting that his broken bones deserved a chance to tell their story. Kryievla sat by a fire warming toes and comparing launches with other warriors who had been fired at the giants, a large cat sitting on Geri the wolf’s shoulder grinned at the telling of tales that grew with each word spoken. Finally the celebrations ended, rings of gold were exchanged, battle blades given as gifts, men clasped arms and butted heads in farewell as the realms went their ways separated by distance perhaps but no longer divided in spirit. The mountain passes closed after that and no mortal man who was there has yet found his way back to that dale, but what was done there shall never be forgotten. The name given to that pact was Mjolnir for as the great thunderer’s hammer when the united realms struck the heavens would shake and the earth shatter.

[i]This is the telling of a story but yet many more remain to be told in this land of ours, wars not yet fought, treaties not yet made or broken, names not yet made or forgotten, time yet before Ragnarok for us all to carve our mark in this great world we call Bob.[/i]

Story by Cheshire Cat

Edited by gambona
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I can't tell you how excited I am to see this finally come to fruition.

Let the Mead Flow. [img]http://www.cnvalhalla.org/forum/style_emoticons/default/chefjoe.gif[/img]

Edited by Graphix
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Congrats all; it was inevitable that the Vikings would band together to pillage...my womenfolk are well-hidden for the occasion, but probably not well enough.

Edit: I cannot English.

Edited by Schad
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