Forums / Roleplaying / The Saga of Ragnarr Ragnarrson

What happened to my character, or my son, and Cidel? Hopefully you'll say! :-D. And it's looking good. Name my son in the story Validus Septim if you're going to include me.

That's fine with me! :-D

Usually my RPs have no other races other than human... but if I can I will add your character somehow, Erunion. And thanks for the compliment (:

“Elena, girl, come here damn it!” spoke Borys loudly over the soft noise of the tavern and its visitors. They had entered the tavern by the docks, which they often visited, and knew almost everyone there – that was how it was in these lands, in a town, everyone knew everyone.

Elena, the barmaid, skillfully found her way through the cramped tavern and left two large mugs of dark ale. Before she turned away to serve ale to others, she gracefully winked to Borys, who then had a wide smile on his rough, yet friendly and pleasant face.

“You know I’m with you on this journey of yours…” he said.

“What? I thought we already went over this. You have a life here, you belong here. Why risk your life with me?” asked Ragnarr Ragnarrson surprised.

Borys took a long drink from his mug. “Hell, we grew up together, we are like brothers! Remember that time we were attacked by a bear in the forest? If we were not together, but separate, one of us would not be here.”

Ragnarr laughed. “That story with the bear always makes a good laugh.” He then drank half the contents of his mug.

“I can get a few other people I trust and know that are good sailors – around ten, fifteen lads.” Borys was nearly done with his ale.

“Good. I know a few friends that are descendants of northerners here who want to join me – they feel it is their duty to do so, since my father was Lord of the North, and are seeking a life of adventure.”

“Some adventure this will be – sounds more like a quick way to die.”

They both laughed over the remark, though they both knew it had a grain of truth in it. Ragnarr and Borys finished their drinks (they usually drank much more but it was the late morning, a bad time to get drunk) and Borys left a silver coin on the oak table, paying the price for the ale and leaving a large tip. They got out the tavern (which was called “Perunova Svetkavitsa”), and walked by the docks slowly.

“So when do you plan to leave?” asked Borys.

“As soon as possible – supplies are already being loaded on board the Nordvarg. And as soon as I have my crew – I’m leaving.”

“It will take me a week to get the lads I spoke about.”

“Same with me,” said Ragnarr Ragnarrson. “I also have to read through my father’s old runic scripts he left again – I might find something useful there…”

They spent the rest of the late morning in planning the journey. After they were done, they both went on their own ways to seek the crew they needed.

[ More to come soon. ]

“Leave the alcohol right there, by those barrels over there.” Ragnarr was amused – he already supplied the longship with enough for drinking, but almost every one of the sailors had brought some with him – whether it was a few bottles or a barrel.

“That is how they are,” said Borys, “but when it comes to duty, they do it well.”

Ragnarrson now had a crew of sixty-eight well armed sailors (and fighters), who were not as experienced, as most of them were not older than he himself was, for most of them were friends of his since childhood.

Borys had gathered twice more as he said he would – thirty-two Slavyarusians, all young and energetic sailors, with an exceptional ability to create a home-feeling and pleasant atmosphere anywhere around them, all eager to sail off. Most of them were from the port city they were in – Chernomor, which was in fact a mighty city, ruled by Knyaz Zhelezorukov – or the local country. They had little to leave behind and a lot awaiting them.

Ragnarr had gathered thirty-six northerners, or descendants of northerners, who were also mostly young and adventurous, lead by their will to see the world and the seas and follow Ragnarr Ragnarrson, heir of the true Northern lord.

The whole morning was spent in the last preparations of the journey and the settling of the new crew in the fresh new longship. By midday, the sky was in clouds, but the wind was strong and favorable. They were ready to leave.

“The Nordvarg will be our new home, lads,” spoke Ragnarr to his men, “so treat her well, and she will not let you down in the fiercest weather! We are heading to my homeland, but first we shall pass through the western lands were a great city Cidel lays. You will get your shares in anything we gain, and your payments will not be the only reward – adventure, experience, and the world lies before us! We shall be back to Slavyarus, I promise you, and we shall return rich and wealthy warriors!”

There was a joyful cheer. The ropes holding the Nordvarg at port were untied and taken in, and the stern was pushed away from the dock. The sail was stretched, catching a maximum amount of wind and pushing the longship swiftly through the waves on its first, maiden journey. She sailed smoothly and quickly, with great maneuverability and swiftness, using the powers of the mighty sea in its advantage.

The longship was sailing farther and farther away from Chernomor, and the clouds above broke out in a light, harmless rain.

“What happened with her?” Borys asked Ragnarr, noticing his quite emotionless face and guessing the matters were concerning a certain woman.

“I bid Raya farewell last night…” spoke Ragnarr Ragnarrson, still clutching the rudder oar with a strong hand, and touched his charm around his neck (Thor’s Hammer) with the other.

Borys nodded. “She didn’t accept your sudden news very well?”

Ragnarr had decided to tell her in the last moment, not to make more concerns for his beloved. “Not at all.”

“Just don’t worry about it – Elena was not too happy about this journey either, so I guess we’re even here. And I bet more than half the lads here have beloveds waiting for them back there.”

Ragnarr nodded and turned to look into the distance of the sea, as if we already saw their destination.

[ More to come soon. ]

:-D

[I read it. More please!]

Great work Ragnarr! Keep it up.

[9.61781/10] ☺

[Are you going to put everyone into your story?]

“She’s a marvel. I guess she sails as good as she looks.” Spoke Validus Septim as he was looking at the Nordvarg, still docked at Cidel’s port.

“Oh, you can count on that. She’s a dragon that flies above the sea waves,” replied Ragnarr with a smile.

After a moment of silence, Validus spoke: “I will sail with you to the seas around the Northern lands, were the naval blockade of Mullendor is. I will come with my own flagship and another three of the fastest sea demons we have at port. We will lure them out when I will continue distracting them away from the blockade and you will continue through, using your speed and agility. I hope it works.”

“It sounds good enough to try it.”

The four days of the longship’s stay were soon over and it was time to leave. All of the crew made it back on board, and Guthorm and Ivan had taken care that the longship was resupplied for another long journey, both with provisions and weapons. The Nordvarg left the Cidellian port in the early morning, while the sun had not yet entirely risen in the sky. The wind was favorable, but not strong enough, so they would sail slower than intended. Ragnarr’s longship left the protected area of the harbor and let the sail loose, so they could wait for Validus Septim’s ships.

They came out of the port a few moments later. Septim’s flagship, the Augusta, was first. She was one of her kind, being a mix both from a fast caravel and a galley, and was fast even in the weak wind. Her sails were white, with the large coat of arms of the house of Septim on the main sail. The three ships behind the flagship were fast galleys, the Avenger, the Winged Courage and the Blue Demon. All four ships quickly caught up with the longship Nordvarg and set sail at a north-northeaster course.

Two weeks of changing weather passed before they caught sight of both Northern land - now all green since it was the end of spring – and the Mullendor naval blockade. It was dusk when the four ships approached a patrol of three heavy galleys, which were fortresses on water, equipped with a catapult each, but heavy, slow and clumsy in steering. In the far distances of the northwest and southeast, more lights were visible, showing an unclear number of ships still patrolling the waters.

Ragnarr Ragnarrson’s longship was very close to the Augusta, and he could speak in a low voice to Septim, who would understand him.

“This is it, Validus,” he said.

Septim nodded. “We’ll engage them, you’ll be on their southern side, and while we’re luring them farther into the sea, you slip in through the blockade. Good luck.”

“You too. I won’t forget this.”

The ships prepared for battle and made maximum speed towards the heavy galleys silently. It was only when they were over a kilometer away from them when they saw them. Alarmed shouts were heard on board the war vessels in the southern tongue, and sailors could be seen running to their stations.

Septim’s four ships passed in front of the bows of the three galleys, shooting flaming arrows at the three southern ships, being too fast to be hit by the catapult projectiles of the patrol. The Nordvarg sailed behind their sterns and did the same, making the commanders’ decks of two of them catch flames. Their attack was too quick for the southerners. The longship made a quick turn and did another run, shooting flaming arrows at the galleys, while Septim’s ships had turned around and started skirmishing, trying to lure the galleys into deeper sea. And he managed to.

But not quite.

Two of the heavy galleys started a pursuit after the Augusta, Blue Demon, Winged Courage and Avenger, while the third one was after Ragnarr’s longship. There was nothing Septim could do, as if he sailed to help Ragnarr, his ships would get directly engaged by the heavy sea fortresses of Mullendor, and he did not want to risk losing his men’s lives.

The longship was much quicker than the heavy galley and it made good speed towards the land. The distant lights were now approaching – reinforcements were on the way to secure the area, so Ragnarr needed all the speed he could get.

“Loosen the starboard side of the sail, damn it! On the oars, now!”

The sailors rushed to their positions at the oars and started rowing with great force, increasing the speed of the longship. The distance between the Nordvarg and the heavy galley behind them was increasing. Their pursuers fired a few catapult projectiles at them, which turned out useless, as they slashed into the water behind the longship. The sailors were now cheering while rowing.

Soon the heavy galley was only a few lights in the darkness behind them, and the land was closer than ever. Ragnarr had studied his father’s maps carefully and found a large enough river to reach to Stormpeak, one of the few remaining cities in the North. The river was wide and went right through the town. In fact a sleeve of this river passed through Stormguard, the capital itself, but its ruins were probably heavily guarded by southerners.

The longship headed towards the wide outflow of the river…

{It is good!}

[ Arrr, I forgot to add: More to come soon. ]

[Another good one☺]

Nordvarg continued on its way against the flow until dusk, throughout the whole night and on the early morning they had reached where Herreflod, the river that flowed through the ruined capital of the North, Stormguard, flowed into Frusenflod in a fork.

Ragnarr was tempted to go to his father’s old capital and just slay all of the invaders there, at the moment. But that would be blind rage, leading to nothing but death – not even honour, as he would kill the whole crew along with himself.

After three hours they encountered danger. In the distance, the smoke of Stormpeak was seen – the remaining city under siege, the single bastion of Northerners left. The river was blocked by an improvised barrier of floating rafts, on top which was a small palisade. The structure was weak, but strong enough to hold off ships from passing. Or at least from that side of the river.

It was flanked by two wooden towers. And just beyond were the river gates of Stormguard, part of the mighty stone wall surrounding the city, protected by Northerners. The city’s north and west side were protected by cliffs and mountains, so only the southern and eastern sides were besieged and surrounded by a camp. At the moment, it seemed that both forces were resting from another siege assault, unsuccessful for Mullendor, but equally exhausting and bloody for both sides. Ladders, broken and abandoned, lay under the stone walls, beside lifeless bodies of attackers and defenders. A burning siege tower was collapsing as they were approaching, and the smoke created a black atmosphere above the city, and the heavy clouds in the sky which gathered during the night contributed to this. It seemed that it would break out into heavy rain any moment now.

“Oars, full speed. Put some pressure on that sail, we need all the wind we can get now.”

Borys stopped suddenly when he heard the command. He turned to Ragnarr, who was looking straight at the wooden blockade ahead of them.

“Wait, we can’t pass,…” he said nervously.

“The blockade was meant to stop ships from coming out of the city, but not protecting the rear. Let’s just hope it’s weaker on this side and that we can pass…”

As the longship got closer, alarmed calls aroused from the besieger’s camp, and a band of troops ran to the shore. They were reloading their crossbows to fire at the Nordvarg, which was gaining speed and heading straight for the blockade. Ragnarr was gripping the rudder oars with one hand and his charm around his neck with the other.

Then a crash and splintering wood was heard, tension of planks and creaking of bending wood. The longship had passed through the wooden blockade like a butcher’s knife through soft meat.

“Yaaaaahr!” Borys and many others cheered their victory over the odds.

“Embark here! Prepare for a land attack!” Ragnarr commanded. He was hoping that if he attacked the besieger’s camp after an exhausting attack by surprise, the garrison of Stormpeak would rush out of the citadel through the gates to help him.

The sails were loosened and the oars brought back inside, and gently, the Nordvarg scraped the river bed at its shallow shore and stopped slowly.

“Shield wall in front of the ship, after me!”

The sailors jumped overboard onto ground with armor, shields, axes, swords, helms and battle cries and formed a loose shield wall, with Ragnarr in its middle. His greatsword was in its sheath and he was holding a normal, yet well forged broad sword, which was more for stabbing than slashing, since combat in shield walls did not allows such great freedom of movement.

The sailors, in their loose shield wall formation ran through the camp’s tents and towers forward towards the regrouping enemy warriors, who were both tired from the siege and shocked by the sudden, bold attack by the northerners. They had formed three battle lines, but were still unorganized and confused.

The shield wall bashed into their formation with a great “thump” of the shields on both sides crashing. Then there was yelling of rage, rattle of ring mail armor and clash of weapons. The northerners’ attack was perfect, but their shield wall was short and was easily flanked by troops, now more in their numbers and better coordinated by their captains and commanders. The shield wall was bending and curving like a semi-circle to protect its flanks.

Ragnarr was blocking another attack and stabbed the attacker’s flesh blindly from under the shield. He felt sticky blood running down onto his hand and heard the cry of pain of the other as he fell to the ground. The northerner then made a pace back, luring an enemy to think that the shield wall is giving away, but then made a sudden attack again and another warrior fell dead.

Soon after the bold attack the besiegers softened their attacks. After a few moments, they were throwing their shields to the ground and running in the opposite direction, towards the woods. It was then when Ragnarr understood that the garrison of Stormpeak had charged the enemy formation in the rear and thus, defeated them. The besiegers were running away from their camp, leaving all behind.

The heavy clouds broke out into heavy rain.

Ragnarr’s warriors were tired and as soon as the enemy was beaten away from the camp, they stumbled to the longship and rested, throwing off their heavy armor and weapons. Seven had died today.

Ragnarr Ragnarrson was cleaning his blooded blade when someone approached him and started speaking to him.

“I don’t know who you are, but if you had not made those bloody southerners concentrate entirely on you, thus leaving themselves exposed to our attack, this siege would have continued much longer…Gods, who are you?” the man’s voice was now shaking, as Ragnarr had turned towards him. “Lord Stormguard?!”

“I am Ragnarr Ragnarrson of the Stormguards.”

[ More to come soon. ]

The dead northmen, who died defending Stormpeak during the siege and during the assault on the camp, were gathered and given a decent burial, being burnt on top stone “ships” in the forest north of Stormpeak with their weapons in their hands. The remains were covered in stone and earth, on top which a stone with runes was placed, telling about the bravery of the dead ones.

After that was done, the abandoned camp was pillaged and by nightfall nothing remained around the city but grass and dirt. Major repairs would start on the city on the following morning, but foraging parties were sent out to search for crops and food, as Stormpeak was a starving city during the siege, which ended only that day.

Once the longship was docked in the river port inside the city, the sailors scattered off to find places to sleep over or help the ones recently besieged. Ragnarr and Borys went to the citadel, which was a great hall, both from wood and stone, with a tower at the end, which was part of the defenses of the city. On their way, people gathered around them and thanked them, each in their own way – whether it was a tap on the shoulder, a bear hug or words of gratefulness, Stormpeak thanked Ragnarr, who accepted it all with a wide smile.

Once they entered the great hall, they were greeted by Earl Bolverk and lesser jarls (note that it is pronounced “yarl”), who had held Stormpeak during twenty years of siege. They looked exhausted, but more than joyous to see Ragnarr Ragnarrson.

“Lord Ragnarr! Gods, you look just like your father!” Earl Bolverk was obviously amazed. In fact, he had been young and strong during Ragnarrson’s father’s reign, around twenty-five, but he was one of the few to continue the fight and protect Stormpeak. Now he was twenty years older, with red hair turning gray, and a face of a person who had lived under great restrictions for two decades. “There were rumors that the heir was alive, and somewhere to the east, but so little could be understood from behind these stone walls with an enemy on the other side. We don’t even know how the war is going on out there…”

“I’ll tell you all over a few horns of mead. I hope that that had not finished off during the siege?”

The earl laughed. “We have so much of it, we were living on it!”

All through the sunset, the rainy night and the wet early morning, Ragnarr and Borys lively explained about how Ragnarr Ragnarrson survived, where was he and what he did. They also described their visit to Cidel and the journey through the naval blockade and the river. Apart from that, Ragnarr learned about the struggles of the ones under siege and how they survived.

“I swear, if it was not the river, as little fish as it provides, we would all be dead by now…” spoke Bolverk after finishing another horn of mead.

The sun, partially hidden by clouds, rose above Stormpeak. The city was booming with activity now – carts entered, carrying food, grain and other supplies. Scouting parties left the city to study the land around and see where the enemies had gone. Work had begun on the walls, repairing them and making them ready for another attack. Houses where restored and granaries refilled. Even weapon production had begun, although not much was left of the men who could wield a sword well. There were around seventy thousand people in the city at the beginning of the siege, of which at least one tenth, consisting of fighting men, was now dead. That left around seven thousand warriors and another seven thousand, unskilled and untrained men. There were many orphans and widows, as one third of the male population was no more. Many of the women, over the long years of siege, were now skilled in archery.

Ragnarr woke up at midday, with a splitting headache, finding himself in some small chamber on a fur covered bed. He did not remember how he got here, but he assumed that at the final stages of the feast (or rather the hard drinking), he got to a room and fell asleep. Ragnarr washed his face, combed his straight long hair (it was a strange trait of most northerners to keep their hair in perfect condition), placed on his ring mail shirt, took his belongings – namely, his sword – and left the great hall. He headed towards the river docks to inspect his longship and crew, and to await the scouting parties’ reports, since their future actions depended on their knowledge of the Mullendor forces’ positions.

[ More to come soon. ]

[ Hey, thanks Ernest (: ]

Wow!

Ragnar!!! <3333333333333333333333333333333

[ Hey, good to see you people are still here. ]

A long stretch of Mullendorian troops was making its way through the mountain pass, located between Stormkeep, the main Northern port and the old capital of Stormguard, which now lay in ruins, merely a reminder of the kingdom that once was here. The column of troops was only three troops wide, since the path only allowed that much. On one side of the pass was a steep slope downwards to a stream, which rumbled melodically. On the other side was cliffy wilderness, nearly impossible to go through.

But if one was on top those cliffs, it was a different story. The ones above could easily aim at the unfortunate ones below and make them arrow fodder. That seemed to make the column of troops that was escorting Lord Gregory uneasy.

They had a reason to be. A very good one, as a matter of fact.

A volley of arrows appeared from the sky and crashed into the ranks, tearing them apart. Suddenly, all discipline was gone and everyone were looking for a way out of the trap. Many fell to their death in the pushing, panicked crowd that was rushing its way forward.

“Bloody fools! Regroup you dogs!” Lord Gregory took out his sword and raised it above his head. “Regroup!”

A dozen armored noble warriors, or knights, had surrounded him protectively, but no one else listened. The recent raids from the Northern rebels of Stormpeak had lowered morale to the very minimum and all were ready just to flee to the south, towards their own kingdom.

Before anyone heard the heavy gallop, from both sides of the path came mounted northerners with raised swords. They stopped before the ambushed ones, leaving them no escape route.

“What are we to make of you, Lord Gregory?” asked one of the Northerners, a tall man with pale blonde hair, neatly trimmed beard and moustaches and coldly blue eyes. He seemed to be their leader.

The southern lord hesitated. ”I surrender my sword to you, sir.” He swallowed his pride to save his men. “I’m sure my king would pay a ransom for my release.” He was sweating under his iron helm, which only let his eyes be seen, and slightly muffled his speech up.

The northerner laughed. “I’m sure he would, sir. However, it is not the ransom we want. In fact, we have no interest in money at all.”

Gregory’s heart was beating quickly.

“I see that you have no will to fight. I see that you surrender. But what I also see is my lands devastated, old cities ruined, burnt temples, hanged men who protected what was theirs, who defended themselves, who had pride in them. I have not passed through not one single town were the woman were not violated. What do you expect me to do?” Ragnarr was now serious and his smile was gone.

Lord Gregory knew that in every invasion these things happened. It was nothing he could control, though he knew some commanders in his ranks that encouraged these kinds of things.

“Give me your honest word of a noble that you shall leave this land with all the men you command. Swear it by honor of your title.”

“I swear it.” Gregory removed his iron helm. “I give you my word.” His tone was bitter, but also sounded defeated and broken.

“Let them pass.” The northerners made way for the ambushed troops to pass through, back towards Stormkeep, from where they came, and would, as they said they would, make their way back towards Mullendor.

When the column was out of sight, Borys looked at Ragnarr critically. “You really think they are going to keep their word?”

Ragnarr looked back coldly. “I could not kill a surrendered, broken foe. I cannot do it. It is not right.”

“Is it right half the women of your own people to be raped by these southern b a s t a r d s?”

There was heavy silence. It remained so during their whole journey back to Stormpeak.

[More to come soon. ]

[ Rag, I think you should give Stormborn a bump ;D ]

[ You were never in it ;D ]

Sir Revenge Report 8/30/2008 1:38:23 AM

[ You were never in it ;D ]

Yes I was you tool >_> I was in like 2-3(except the third ended it)

Yes Ragnarr....the sp- to the -a- to the -m word is banned >_>

I was in the first one, Rawr

Game and Watch!?

The sun rose over the land. Brightness lit the fields and forests around Rurikhof. It was a place of numerous streams and falls, with flower beds and tall grass, waving from the usual gust from the sea not too far away. Tall pine trees cast deep shadows around them, under which forest life flourished. This morning, however, was not full of life, but of death.

The soil was had soaked the blood of many. Broken weapons and pieces of fine armor were scattered across the field, still covered in bodies. It was a feast for crows.

The Mullendorian camp by Rurikhof had burnt the whole night of the attack and was now in blackened ruins, though still some patches of it burnt.  Only a flag reminded that there used to be an army stationed here, just till yesterday, but only pitiful hanging rags remained from the banner.

The field was muddy from last night’s heavy rain. But the mud was red.

This scene truly terrified Lord Edwaris. He rode here as fast as he could to bring the reinforcements asked from him urgently at midnight with fire signals, and now he was here, leading two thousand mounted knights from the occupying Mullendorian garrison from Stormkeep, and he was too late.

He alone, followed by two lifeguards, continued forth through the field, leaving the speechless knights behind in silence. He rode amongst the corpses, blaming himself in his mind for all the lost lives of his own countrymen. All this could have been prevented.

He rode slowly into the field and heard a groan from below. A weak yelp, a last plead for help. Lord Edwaris quickly dismounted and looked around. A hand was reaching out for him. He grabbed it, but did not pull it, as he wanted to spare any further pain of the weak, dying man.

“Closer…” the heavily wounded managed to say. He had an eye missing, and an improvised patch over it made quickly from cloth from his tunic. Black, hardened blood and dust covered the whole left part of his face. He had a terrible wound in his chest, and Lord Edwaris was amazed the man still lived. He went on his knees to hear the knight’s last words.

“They…had placed death traps in the dark…,” he managed weakly. “The horses fell into…pits with spears…and…they rushed from amongst the trees to…to finish us…” The wounded suddenly squeezed Edwaris’s hand, afraid to leave this world, as if hoping that holding someone strongly would help. “The madman…Henreys…we only followed his orders…and his…underestimating of the rebels…has killed us all.” The man groaned with his last breath and died.

Edwaris stood up, with a face trying to hide his deep sorrow. He mounted his horse quickly, turned round and galloped back to his troops.

“We shall give our brothers a descent burial. Dismount!”

The whole day was spent on digging mass graves and filling them. The sad remains of the flag were taken back and the camp was announced abandoned. It would not be recreated. Edwaris, while overlooking the work of his troops, was deep in thoughts. This was a slaughter. So many of his own had died in the dark by an unseen cause. Horrid. He suddenly had a surge of hatred for the northern rebels. If he could, he would track them down like animals, and kill them so. But he then realized – these people were fighting for the freedom of their fatherland. He and his men were aggressors, practically. And it was Henreys’s army that charged, eager to destroy the enemies. It was not like they were killed dishonorably. They all died in battle. And what about these northerners, who were supposedly, lead by dead Ragnarr’s son, Ragnarr Ragnarrson? Was he not merely fighting for what was once his father’s, for his kingdom, for his people? Would Edwaris not do the same if his kingdom was occupied by an enemy? And why were they here anyway? To satisfy the bloody ambition of their mad king, the son of Ballaron, Kaeso?

He gave up on thoughts. If people followed commands and had no emotions, things would be much easier. When commanders thought differently from their king, they often found themselves in a very grim situation, sometimes leading to their deaths. He kept his thoughts to himself and followed orders now. They would leave when the graves were done and then hunt down the rebels.

[ More to come soon. ]