Into The Breach
The berserker's camp, the night
A heated debate was raging between the berserkers and their leader:
With all due respect, Þórri, this was most foolish! You may be our elected leader, but we still have our own council!
Are you afraid? Is that really fear I hear in your voice, my brothers??
Þórri, what has happened to you? You are not yourself since we set foot on this land? Should you not enjoy the fight? Has your spirit for war burned off?
Nonsense! I can feel the burning urge inside me. Perhaps it is truly you who has lost his will?
Nay! But we ougth to wait. Our methods are old, and this new art of war is alien to us, isnt it? I know Yngve has been studying this new kind of battle, but we have not? Perhaps you are to old, set in your ways, unable and unwilling to aknowledge that our methods need refining?
Our way of battle has been good enough for the last thousand years, and will be good enough for the next thousand years!
He threw his sword into the ground, driving its blade feet-deep into the earth, and thundered out of the great tent. He could no longer hide his tears, and did not wish his companions to see them. Their words stabbed deep into his heart. Perhaps he really did lose his will to refine, to learn, to live.
To live? Was this it? Was he really lost to this world, as the world was lost to him? Was there really nothing more to live for, except a glorious death? Gods!
He fell down to his knees, praying aloud, in the most archaic tounge he has ever heard, to his god up in Ásgarðr. He prayed for a clear mind, or a big fight the next day, so he may die with honour worthy of a berserker.
The Gods granted him both.
He gathered himself up from the ground, and walked back into the tent. His brothers were waiting for him in silence, for theymay not agree with him, but he was their leader, and they were oath- and honour-bound to obey him.
You mentioned new arts of war. What better way to learn them than a battle? Also, never forget that our Úlfhéðnar brothers are away in the siege of that fortress by the mound? Am I the only one who wants to show them that we are still the better of the two?
That sank. The Úlfhéðnar and the Berserkers may have been brothers in arms and in faith, but the rivality between them was always high. Noone of the Berserkers wanted to miss an opportunity to impress the other band with their exploits. All agreed that by the next nightfall, Riga was to fall.
The night then shook with the roars of the berserkers, as they danced aronud a great bonfire, calling to the Bear Father to grant his powers to them. Slowly, the dancing man transformed into something else. Their bodies seemed to grow stronger, more muscular, their sight sharpened, their ears now picking up the snorting of those swedish soldiers who could still sleep, their nostrils smelling the earthworms beneath their feet, their tounges tasting the air, their minds becoming more and more obsessed with the urge to hunt for human prey, to rend their enemy into parts with bare hands, or to gut them with their great swords. The shouting, dancing, the noise, the light, the aura of otherworldly power this ritual emitted brought fear into the hearts of the defenders of Riga, and brought a fear-mixed awe into the hearts of the swedes, for they now felt the Gods on their side. Riga will fall!
The next afternoon, near the walls of Riga
The meeting with the Kings cannoneers was surprisingly easy. Of course, the Kings presence and his clear orders helped a lot. At the signal of a sigle little gun, all swedish cannons were to fire at a single section of the wall, the berserkers waiting nearby. A thousand swedish soldiers stood further away, ready to exploit thev gap made by the berserkers.
As the time of that fatefull shot drew near, the berserkers had trouble controlling the rage inside them, some of them visibly shaking from it. Their eyes hungered for blood, their blades drawn and shimmering in the sunlight.
First, a small "bang", and then came the thunder of the cannons, like tha thunder of angry fire-beasts from the Múspellsheimr, the iron balls shattering the walls. The stone cried out lound under this assault, and gave away. A section of the walls collapsed with great noise.
Commanded by their rage, the berserkers charged forward, howling like rabid beasts. Þórri was the first to enter the gap, cutting down two defenders with a single well-aimed blow. The rest of his brethren followed close behind. Their battle-cry, a praise to Odin and Thórr shattered the will of the first line sent to met them.
The Bear-warriors, like thundering whirlwinds of destruction, brought terrifying carnage to bear. Their great swords cut trough the hurried defenders like kinves trough tallow. Their cries froze the blood of their enemies. Þórri, thier leader stood at the front of the carnage, cutting a bloody swath trough the ranks of the latvian and polish defenders. His sight now only saw men as prey, his ears only hearing their death-cries, his nostrils smelling their sweat, their blood, the stench of their spilled guts. His hans were slippery with blood, and he threw his great sword into one of the defneders, then gripped the next one with his bare hands, squeezing his throat, and breaking it with ease. He ran forward, almost on all fours, towards his next foe, and, wtih the senses of the bear, and his power, ripped the veins from his nech with a single movement, then threw his body into the quickly-grwoing pile of dead. By now, the Bear had taken over him almost completely, he was almost reduced to simply watching and enjoying the carnage around him. His next enemy met his death in an eyeblink, as Þórri's hands cracked trough his ribs into his abdomen, and ripped him open at an instant.
But even a bear grow tired. He felt his movements slow down, almost to the point before the ritual. His hands had now difficulty hoding onto his targets, and he noticed a deep wound in his side, caused minutes ago by a sword or axe hitting him. He felt no pain, but he knew he would die soon. Fueled by this relevation, his strenght returned once more, to burn itself out completly, and he threw himself at the next polack, grabbing his sword by its blade, cutting his own fingers half off int hte process, hitting the pole in the face with his swords button, and charged toward a group of more organized fighters, and impaled them on his sowrd. But their weapons had not left him unharmed, for he felt sharp pain in his ribs. He looked down, and saw his own guts spilled all over the ground.
He heard a beautyfull song next, and, looking up, saw a bridge streching up inot the sky, and saw a Valkyre flying towards him, holding out one hand towards him. His purpose had been fulfilled. He showed his brothers how a leader has to die, and earned himself a place in Valhöll, beside all his ancestors.
After the battle was over, his brtohers found Þórri with a smile on his face.
The next night, near the sea
Sadly, all the berserkers knew that Þórri could not be buried with the proper rite, as as long as the swedish army was still christian, they would at veryleast not understand it. They also lacked a proper godi, so they gave their borther's corpse a burial their own way.
They found a small ship nearby, left behind by the poles, probably. Þórri's body was placed on the ship, along with what meager posessions he had, for he was a warrior, not a men of waelth, but a men of strenght and noble spirit.
They gathered what little firewood the sea washed ashore, and built a great pyre to place their borthers' body upon.
The ship was launched into the sea by nightfall, a fiery arrow fired into it when it was already in deep water. All night long, as long as the ship burned, the berserkers sang songs of lament, rímúrs of times long gone, told sagas to the sea and to their borthers spirit.
The bears in the nearby forests howled for three days.
A year later, in the kings courtroom
The Lion of The North was pleased. The exploiuts of his newest warriors brought him great wealth. Riga fell on the very day the berserkers assaulted it, the defender shocked by the carnage brought by these ancient warriors.
Daugavgriva fell a few moths later, and the Poles agreed to a truce. Sweden gained Riga and its surrounding parts. A new port was now giving all its taxes to the swedish crown. New gold now flowed into the treasury. Soon, Sweden was to controll al trade in the baltic. And then, Sweden would go to war in Germany.
