The Allfather and the Vikir
Ancient Allies
When the Angr threatened much of the mountainous, snow-covered shores of the north, the area that would be divided into the Icelands of Rendeh and the varl kingdom of Vastreach, Mankind fought against the threat with just as much savagery as their horned compatriots. The warriors, druids, and shamans who risked everything against an overwhelming foe of black iron and dark magic forged an identity amongst the dead and the dying. They called themselves Vikir after the varl word for warrior. They styled themselves after the strong animals of the north, after wolves and rams to tie themselves to Galea as her protectors. When there was no war to fight, they raided the surrounding lands, took from the other humans, orcs, and half-elves of the continent and shared it amongst their people to gain favor with the Direwolf Queen, The Indomitable Ram, and called those they attacked rabbits, hens, or sheep. The giants among their cloud fortresses saw the tall-reaching mountains of the north and saw the men building atop it. The vain giants became threatened and made a terrible assault against the Vikir’s home atop an icy peak. Men and women rushed from their longhouses to face the threat, and the varl came to their aid. Terrified by the savagery and strength of the men and varl, the giants retreated, but continued to assault outlying settlements and sabotaging what they could in a complicated, prolonged war. The war took a terrible toll on the vikir. They were not used to fighting an enemy that were experts in sabotage, manipulation, and misdirection as the cloud giant leaders were. Boats burned, families were torn apart, and hardened warriors died poisoned in their beds never to see the halls of Valhalla. Thankfully the Allfather of the mighty kingdom of Rendeh saw their plight and thought them potential allies.The Journey North
They were a menace to the Allfather’s people, who for a long time had raided, burned, and plundered Rendeh’s settlements along the northern border. Knowing of their culture, the Allfather himself strode to the Vikir’s Northhold, an old Angr fortress, alone. He would challenge the Chieftain of the Vikir, Chieftain Runestead, to a duel for the right to aid the stubborn Vikir. But before he could, the Allfather had to face the treacherous landscape and wildlife. Days passed with no word from the first king. Most of his people assume he had died, torn apart by wolves or worse: Vikir Bloodsoaked. A winter week and a day passed before the Allfather reached the Northhold. He had suffered from the terrible snowstorms, the treacherous climbs, and the ravening, half-starved beasts, but as the Allfather approached the great wall of the Northhold, he did not hesitate. “Bring me your chieftain!” He called out. The men at the wall called him mad, and the king looked as such after his long journey. But as they saw the man’s white wings unfurl, ice and red snow falling from them in clumps, they quickly called their leader. The Allfather did not balk as the half-varl Lord of Giantspeak (as their capital had now been named) approached in full panoply of war. Only a handful of words were exchanged. The Allfather extended his aid to the Vikir in exchange for their fealty. They could contribute weapons and men, but especially they could provide machines and mages. The Vikir had always shunned arcane magic since it was used against them at the hands of the Angr, and refused. So, the Allfather did what he had to do. He challenged the chieftain to the Rite of Holmgang, ascension by ritual combat. If he were to defeat Runestead in a duel, then the Allfather would take his place as chieftain. The chieftain laughed at this, and even though it was unprecedented to be challenged by an outsider, he agreed, if only for his own curiosity at the idea of fighting a demigod.The Rite of Holmgang
Once the space was blessed and the appropriate permissions granted by the spirits of wind and storm, the battle began. Thunderous hammering blows of the chieftain’s hammer shook the earth, and the Allfather’s flaming lance seared the air and burnt the falling snow. Two minutes passed, the chieftain smiling as he probed the Allfather’s defenses and measured his ability. The Allfather, serious as he usually was, laughed as their blows came but inches from cleaving each other. Suddenly a bolt of lightning seared the stone between the combatants. The clouds above parted to reveal a giant strike force of ice giants and their superior, a proud storm giant. Three ice giants thundered to the earth, their weapons raised. Runestead did not hesitate to crack the skull of the first attacker. The Allfather, basking in the lonesome rays of light from above, felt renewed. With grim surety, he soared through the air, the ice on his wings melting, and cut the storm giant from groin to crown. The terrible spell that was winding between the giant’s fingers loosed to hew a distant mountain. Runestead, shouting to the spirits for aid, was still overwhelmed by the terrible foes four times his size. His shield raised to block an axe-blow, and his cry shook the fjord as the bones in his arm shattered. Shield wrested away, the other giant’s halberd pierced Runestead’s gut. Runestead’s smile didn’t fade until he saw the Allfather descend from the heavens and pierce the giant’s heart. The chieftain grabbed the dead giant’s halberd, snapped it, and hooked his hammer around the last giant’s neck before pulling him in and impaling the monster’s head on the broken shaft of the halberd. The Allfather did not help Runestead to his feet. He took his blade and placed it to the Vikir’s throat. The duel may not have been fair, but Allfather Menethin did save the other man’s life. The chieftain relented and his druids tended his wounds. The chieftain, beaten, frowned at the idea of his position being taken by an outsider. The Allfather, however, shook his head. He told the other man to keep his land and his title, but swear fealty to him. Runestead agreed, taking his direwolf helmet and pledging it to his new lord. The following weeks were full of festivities as the Allfather brought them into the fold and discussed the battles to come.A New Kind of War
As the Allfather’s soldiers, machines of war, and powerful arcane magickers joined in the war against the giants, the vikir and the varl’s tactics had to change. They had to be twice as underhanded, twice as sneaky, and utterly merciless as they struck against the giants whenever they could, abolishing the idea of honor duels, pre-battle banter, and the like. The varl viewed the Allfather’s soldiers as honorless and thankless to the land they battered with their machines and salted with their magic. When the final battle was won in a gambit to use the giant clairvoyant’s son as a hostage to draw out the giant’s last forces in a horrible ambush, the varl saw the result of the massacre and grimaced. Their allies, the Vikir, for all they knew, were dead, replaced not with proud wolven warriors, but intelligent, conniving men that would do anything to achieve their goals. And so the varl left to seek their own land and take back the Wyrhold, an old mountain castle that had been taken by a terrible dragon. There were no hostilities between the two peoples, the interaction between them now restricted to infrequent trade ventures. The new chieftains adopted many cultural elements of the Allfather’s people, but stayed true to their faith. Their warlike and raiding culture had all but withered into spoken tales at the campfire. The Vikir are dead, remembered only by seanchai storytellers. They are now, and have been for generations: the northmen of the Icelands.Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild
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