Topic: The Story of Carsten

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  • #3948
    DerethorDerethor
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    Come one and all, sit round the fire brothers, and let me tell you the story of Carsten.. It all begins in the town of Wedemark, in the east, where our brother in battle had lived for years, since his journey to record the history of the wide world began, for you see, Carsten fancied himself a historian, and wished to chronicle the tales of this wide world for future generations to come. He had thought that Wedemark would be a good place to begin his mission, for it was dangerously close to the frontline battle between the realm of men and the invading Greenskins. Carsten knew where there was battle, there was history to be made, and that was something he couldn’t miss out on, and he did not have to wait long for action to come his way..

    It wasn’t long before the Orcs came and raided Wedemark, setting the village ablaze time and time again, yet Carsten, along with a small handful of others, managed to survive the seemingly unending raids. He thought of fleeing southwest, to the city of Almborg, but he knew that the Orc hunting parties were out, picking off the fleeing villagers. He remained in the villages husk, and helped rebuild when more villagers returned, only to see death on the horizon once more. The Orcs came again, but this time the villagers were not alone. A horn sounding on the horizon, they could see a torn white banner, with a raven in the center. He had seen this banner before, it had been borne to the village in the past by a mercenary band, looking for recruits, and as luck would have it, this was the same band of mercenaries; only this time they seemed more battle-hardened and better equipped. They took the orcs by suprise, striking them in the flank as they fought the weary villages militia, and it wasn’t long before they had cut down the orcs and put their heads upon pikes ’round the village.

    Carsten couldn’t believe the villages luck, and thought this would make for a great story, but then he had an epiphany. Why not join this band and write their sagas? Surely they see much of the world, and vanquish many dark fiends that would make for a fine story for future generations to be inspired by. So he approached their leader, a gruff man they called Sigmund ‘the Steady’, and asked if they had need of any more hands. The suprised look on Sigmunds face was mirrored in the man Sigmund had just recruited, some former raider that had come to the village after his bandit group had been driven away or killed by orcs. Carsten thought if they would hire a man such as that, surely they wouldn’t be bothered if a Historian offered to join them. And it seems he was right, after the initial shock he was signed into the company, and he was now a member of ‘The Omens of Death’.

    Before signing on though, he had spoke with Sigmund and two others who were co-founders of the company, and he told them of what he had planned to do as a historian, and asked of them that if he should ever fall in battle, that they would promise to record his tale. They agreed, and he handed them his will. Sigmund looked at it in confusion, but then looked up at him and smiled, “So be it, welcome to the company” he said, and with that, Carsten was equipped with a fine mail shirt, a spear, and a large shield. He had little clue how to use them, but the rigorous training he underwent at the hands of Sigmund and the other veterans quickly whipped him into shape. Carsten was a quick learner, and he overcame his inexperience rather swiftly.

    It was a good thing Carsten learned so quickly, for it wasn’t long before they saw battle against the foul undead. The company had been hired by a rich merchant in Almborg to dispose of a necromancer who had been raising the bones of the dead at a mass grave, apparently the site of some ancient battle. The fear that gripped Carsten was real, but he also found steely determination in the fact that he finally had a chance to prove himself to his new brothers. After a days march, they arrived at the site of the mass grave, a truly gruesome thing to behold. The sight made Carsten sick, but he pressed on with his brothers, as they saw the first signs of movement in the distance. Bleached white bones wielding rusted ancient weapons and shields, turned to face them as the company fell into a shieldwall, Carsten had been trained to hold the flanks with his spear, and he wondered what good a spear would do him against a Skeleton? But he held fast with his brothers as the undead fell upon them, and their bones were ground into meal beneath their bootheels.

    As the company pressed forward Carsten noticed the dead beginning to rise behind them, and he shouted a warning to the brothers in the flank, who had been firing arrows at some nearby skeletal archers ineffectively. The brothers barely managed to draw their blades in time before the risen skeletons were upon them, but their bones were brittle still, and they fell swiftly. Thats when he saw him, a darkly robed man, with a sickly face and a long white beard. He was casting some sort of dark magic out of sight of the group. Carsten knew if he did not act, they would be overwhelmed, as new foes entered the fray. Skeletons armored from head to toe, wielding fierce weapons that could cut a man in two, or sever his neck without a second thought. As these new foes crashed against the shieldwall Carsten broke off, shouting a warning to the brother next to him before running off over the hill where he had spied the necromancer. As the sounds of battle became more heated behind him, Carsten crested the ridge of the hill and saw him, the seemingly frail man was wielding a dagger in his hand, and hissed a curse at Carsten. Before the man could flee, Carsten charged him, and with a fierce thrust, shoved his spearhead into the mans chest. He crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him and carsten knew he was dead. He returned to the battle to see his brothers had won the day, but at a cost, two of the more experienced brothers had died, cut down by the heavily armed undead. As the party went about looting the dead, Carsten approached Sigmund and told him of what he had done. Sigmund praised his efforts, and told him to collect some of the armor that was still repairable, and grab a stronger weapon from the dead. Carsten did as he was bidden, and, with new loot in hand, the party set off back to the city for their payment.

    After a days march they neared the city, but something was amiss, they smelled smoke on the air, and, when they came in sight of the city, they could see it was under attack by orcs. They swiftly rushed in and made short work of the beasts, for they were young and foolish. But it turned out they had killed the man that offered the company reward, so they were without payment. A regal man approached them then, and offered a new job, to burn down the orc stronghold nearby that kept raiding the nearby lands. They accepted, in great need of real gold, and set off north after a short rest to recuperate from their battle with the undead.

    As they traveled they met many orcish raiding parties, or scouting bands, and made short work of them, collecting their savage gear to sell later on. When they neared Wedemark, they noticed the poor village was in ruins once again, seemingly the work of the same orcs they were hunting. After asking the remaining villagers in what direction the orcs went, they set off in pursuit, heading north into the mountains. After three days of traveling and tracking, they came across a massive orcish encampment, swarming with greenskins. And it seems that they were being led by a Warlord, for they could hear the bellowing cries as he ordered the orcs about.

    They braced themselves for battle and charged into the fray taking the orcs off guard, and cutting down many of the younger ones before the grown warriors could react. But once the warriors gathered, it was a horrible sight to behold, led by their warlord they charged into the ranks of the mercenaries and battered them aside, spreading them thin, and Carsten found himself cut off from the shield wall, surrounded by orcish warriors. He fought with his spear until it broke off in an Orcish warriors neck, and as the massive savage fell to the ground, Carsten rushed to pick up the orcs large cumbersome weapon. This proved to be a mistake, for Carsten could hardly wield such a thing, truly not made for men to wield, and he had little time to react before another warrior smashed into him, sending him reeling, before bringing his massive axe down, and shattering the shield Carsten wielded. With a last desperate attempt to save himself, Carsten heaved the massive cleaver at the warriors head, aiming to sever it. Maybe it was because he was inexperienced in combating orcs, or maybe he was just exausted, but regardless Carsten swing missed, and he had no chance to defend himself as the warrior slammed his axe into Carstens stomach, spilling his guts.

    As Carsten crumpled to the ground, the life draining out of him, he hazily saw Sigmund blow his horn, rallying the remaining brothers to him, he stood on the dead warlords corpse, and then Carsten could see no more.. Fin.

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