Alrik
In a poor settlement near the shore is where Alrik was born. To the surprise of his parents, he was born with a blind right eye, just like Cuyler, his father. He grew up marked by this, treated like a weakling, despite his norse blood. His father, too, had been belittled as a boy, considered weak and feeble, but that had not stopped him from becoming a trainer of great renown, so Alrik learned not to mind much.
Still, Alrik felt angry as time passed, the harsh treatment by his countrymen not abaiting. He was a cool-headed person, he did not lash out nor hit back when the stronger kids bullied him. He held his pain for many years, and only in the spring of his fourteenth birthday did he tell his father of his woes. Cuyler, by contrast, was not cool-headed and immediately resolved to go out of the house and pummel the brats. Alrik's mother, Ingrid, had the presence of mind to stop him at the door, and told him something that Alrik could not hear.
The next day, Alrik awoke to find a poor man's axe buried in the foot his bed. After some time, Alrik gave up trying to get it out. He went to his father, the only person he knew was strong enough to have stuck the axe stuck in his bed, and asked what it was for.
"My son," he replied, "this is for you, when you are strong."
Alrik looked at his muscles. Surely, he thought, he was not as burly as some other norse, but he was still stronger than some. He then looked to his father's impressive biceps, and knew what he meant.
"So how can I become strong?" he asked his father, already knowing the answer. He would have to train.
Cuyler stood up, motioning for Alrik to follow him outside. The boy followed his father as he led the way out of the village. They trekked for a whole hour to a place Alrik had only seen a few times: his father's private training area. This is where his father gained his small fame in the small settlement they called home, training most of the hometown heroes to win glory a-viking. Sadly, the respect did not trickle down to his feeble heir.
In the beginning, the training seemed idiotic and unnecessarily hurtful to Alrik. Like the leg training and endurance running, which he thought did not matter. When would he have to run if he was arm strong? He went on training, though, and he began to not feel the 'unnecessary' pain. In fact, to his own surprise, he began to love the pain. He trained yet harder than ever before, and within a month's time he had become a burly teen.
His father sounded his applause while his son exercised on his own without his help, but stopped short, having heard something. It sounded of something striking the walls over and over, meaning only one thing; someone was breaking in. He ran over to his son, and quietly alerted him of the dangers.
"So what am I to do?" Alrik asked his father.
Alrik's father went to a small box that had lain on the wall for some time, pulling out a battle axe and hefting it in his left hand. He
also ripped a shield from the wall for his right arm.
"Watch"
And right on cue, the intruder dropped from the ceiling, but still there sounded thuds from the wall. Surprisingly, two more bandits dropped down from the walls. Alrik's father was unfazed as the bandits drew out short swords, glances exchanged between themselves suggesting they had not expecting to fight anyone in here. Alrik hid behind a fighting dummy and watched.
Sweat drew from Cuyler's body as he stood prepared for battle. The first bandit to arrive charged him, followed by the other two. The bandit immediately tried to stab Cuyler's undefended legs, but the jab was turned away by the light round shield. The bandit struck two more times, each strong, but the second one was parried, throwing him off balance. Before the other two could arrive, Cuyler quickly clove the first's head open, kicking his body away along with the sword. The sword clattered to a rest beside the fighting dummy.
Seeing this, the other two felt fear, but still attacked ruthlessly. Cuyler had trouble blocking their attacks, facing blows from two different angles, but was holding up. He only just managed to block each thrust in turn, but could not find a chance to parry. Cuyler felt confident, but all that confidence meant nothing to his son. Alrik picked up the sword, charging right at the two and catching one off guard. The sword swung down, impacting the backside of the bandit's head. His body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling at the combatants’ feet. The final bandit was furious, looking at Alrik with murder in his eyes. That was a mistake. In that second, Cuyler dispatched the bandit with a chop to his turned neck.
Sweat, blood, and weaponry were scattered across the floor as father and son looked at one another. They both went home to rest.
And Alrik rested with the poor man's axe in his hands.
Years of training passed, and Alrik became what he was meant to be; a true warrior. His parents were so proud of him, but wept as he left the house all in mail armor, a warrior's iron helmet, and pride in his heart. He felt the need to make a name for himself, and he knew just how. He had to become a true Norseman.
He boarded a war boat with fellow men, quickly befriending his fellow warriors. Their leader, Maximilian, was an Englishman who had been raised in the north lands, his father a captive of Alrik’s father. He had become well respected as an astute leader, a clear improvement over their previous leader, Jo, who led them to disaster.
Alrik and Maximilian got along well enough; each having come through hardship to become strong. But the servitude of Maximillian’s father was always a barrier between them that kept them divided, never really becoming friends. They respected one another, but there was never trust.
Years of pillaging the lands to the south at length become tiresome for the group. They wished to found their own city, so their hopes elevated when they heard of a new place to finally settle; Vinland, home of indigenous people who, for the most part, were kind enough to share their lands.
The journey there was not easy, and many stops were needed to span the vastness of the seas. They first stopped at an island of ice, using what little trees there were to fix up molding parts of their boat. They next stopped on a vast continent of ice, but it was to be an ill venture. Maximilian went missing on the second day when he went out looking for food. The men, after a fruitless search, decided he had become what he sought.
With supplies dwindling, the group began to fight. Several of the crew killed one another for food, but one man stopped the fighting. Alrik called an end to all the infighting, proclaiming himself the new leader, and anyone who challenged him...
"Anyone who challenges me will have to either kill me, or die,"
Alrik knew such an ultimatum was harsh, but times were harsh as well. Too harsh for mere punishments. There were challengers, but to their surprise and dismay, he was much stronger than he looked. Like his father, he fought with a poor man's battle ax in his left hand and a shield on his right. One challenger, a man also named Cuyler, had tried to fight. He was twice the bulk of Alrik, his armor great riveted plates instead of chains, and he was fully a head taller. Their roars echoed in the mostly empty continent, the snow turning red, but in the end only Alrik stood. The others looked in surprise when he walked back into the camp, and from then on looked at Alrik with both friendship and fear. Henceforth, they called him 'Alrik the Strong'.
When they reached Vinland, they had found that food was quite abundant. The natives they encountered welcomed them among their tribes, trading shelter and knowledge for defense against rival villages. Alrik did not like being treated like a bodyguard, but he and his men loved the people they were protecting. All that stood for naught when the tribe to the north attacked.
The natives from the north were dishonorable, coming under the darkness of the midnight hour. Many men who were asleep died, and even with the norsemen to aid them, the tribe was overrun. The settlers could do little else but retreat to gather arms and regroup, and found only twelve of them were left. Alrik was among them.
These twelve watched as the small village burned, but in the glow saw something that truly angered them. Captive women. This made the head of Alrik hot with rage, and he clutched his armaments all the stronger. His men were filled with as much anger, so they followed when their leader charged. By the baker's dozen the foemen fell to the ground. Alrik killed two men at a time, twice as swiftly as his fellows. The enemy archers were not fast enough, Alrik's men hurling jarid spears into their heads before the twang of the bow.
The battle was ended, but it was not a victory. It spelled the destruction of both, only the women and children had survived. Alrik and his men felt ashamed of themselves as they preparing their boat to return to their homeland in defeat. Tears of grief were shed at the death of the kindly tribe, and even to the enemy. They might have welcomed the norsemen, had they landed further north.
They set sailed for the open seas once more, in their grief forgetting something highly important. It was a windy season. The seas showed no pity as the ocean currents dragged the shameful vikings' boat below, far out at sea. There was no land in sight, there was no hope, but no one was scared. They had fought the foe valiantly, and in truth all were bound toward Valhalla. At least, most of them were...
"What do you mean I cannot go in!" Alrik shouted at the man guarding Valhalla, tears in his eyes as he saw his men merrily drift into the Golden Hall.
No word of answer came from the guard, but he did at length move aside. Alrik almost took a step through the door, until he saw him. The norseman quickly knelt to honor the figure striding toward him: Odin, All-Father and Lord of all Asgard. Odin wielded a jarid in his left hand, for his right eye, too, was blind. Alrik knew better than to plead his case, and thought best to go along with anything the god said.
"You are not worthy," said Odin, his finger pointed at Alrik.
Alrik looked to the ground, and back at Odin, too shocked to say anything.
"At least… not yet," Odin said, scratching his blonde beard, "but there is a way for you to become worthy, Alrik the Strong, son of Cuyler."
"A-and what is that, my great Divine king? What must I do?" Alrik asked, trying to keep his composure in front of his lord.
Odin drew an orb from his pocket, handing it to Alrik, "You must go to a world untouched by my greatness, a world known to neither man nor god. There you must go, and become a king of war," Odin said, "and before you ask, the answer is yes. I did choose you for this task, but my reasons are my own."
Alrik looked at the orb, which revealed a prosperous settlement. He thought it must surely be a horse-training town, for there were horses everywhere! He looked back up at Odin, war god and king of Asgard, and asked, "What is this land called?"
"Equestria," Odin grinned, "home of a race of intelligent, and idiotic equines. Many among them use magic, others fly, and most if not all hold peace above all else," Odin said, barely containing a laugh.
They looked easy enough to conquer, and though he would rather not, if it was the only way to Valhalla...
Alrik looked directly at Odin, with an eye of determination, and said, "when do I begin?"
Alrik woke up to the sun shining brightly in his eye. He raised his head and took stock of his new surroundings. He lie in a boat much like his own, though much shorter. He sat up, looking around further. His men were gone. He sighed, accepting his vision was indeed real. Turning to the west, he smiled as he saw the town depicted in the orb. He noticed a flying object heading towards him and frowned at having been discovered so soon.
He knew this land was one of magic, so decided to take no chances. He saw his quiver of jarids beside him, and hurled one at the flying horse, spearing it though the neck. It plummeted into the water with a loud smack a few feet away from him and floated there, slowly staining the sea a deep crimson. Alrik rowed the boat over to the body, and removed his jarid from the green, winged (but above all, dead), horse.
He began to row to shore, pondering his situation. By the time he’d arrived, his mind was made up. He was angry.
Landing was surprisingly easy, for no one was at port. Alrik got out of his boat, happy to leave the sea in one piece, and looked for an entrance point into the city. He walked around until he spotted a toll booth, but it was abandoned. Alrik walked past it, finding some metalic circles in it. This should be some kind of currency, and who knows when it is needed, so Alrik picks it up. He puts the currency into the jarid pouch for now.
Empty buildings were everywhere, but that meant only one thing—free stuff. Alrik happily raided each and every home, finding more and more of the currency to one day spend, and finding food. In one beige house near the toll, Alrik found a large, red, bag with only a sting trying it together. He looked around the house and found a rope, which he used to replace the bag's string. He also used some spare rope to make it easily carry-able along his back. In the bag, Alrik stuffed food and shiny utensils, for those usually sold well back home...
In fact, by the amount of loot, this city must be enormously rich! How in the world could almost every household have pure silver, and some GOLD, utensils? Because of this, Alrik looked harder for any possible hiding places for their currencies. Using his ax, he chopped down a locked door in the beige house, but found something he was not expecting. A horse.
The horse was crumpled in fear, staring at Alrik. Alrik tried to talk, but that is when the pony...
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
Screams, and bolts between his legs and out the room. Alrik chased it out of the house, noticing it was most likely a child from its size difference from the flying one. This one had small wings, and was a normal, exhausted, scared, purple, winged, horse. Alrik stared at it, as it was trying to catch its breath.
"bitte töte mich nicht!" The horse pleaded in a strange language. Alrik laughed at its possible plead for life and what kind of world he was in. It was funnier than when the bullies fell into the frozen river, but only because they died shortly after. He still laughed. though.
Alrik turned away from the child-horse and went back into its home, looking for currency. Alrik did look back, but by that time, the horse was gone. Alrik sighed, alone again, but he now had a chance to strike riches. And, low and behold, he found a chest. Using his ax, Alrik broke open the chest, finding ludicrous amounts of currency in it. He took every one, putting it into his jarid pouch. He now had a couple hundred golden ones and some shiny, metallic, ones.
With his new found fortune, Alrik decided that the raid was over, and decided to, instead, look for clues as to why this horse town is abandoned.
He looked around the city, walking on its nicely paved streets, until he saw it. The reason why the horses ran. They towered stories above him, and their surroundings were burnt to a crisp. They were dragons. Around the dragons were the corpses of several maimed horses, each of differing color. Although he is supposed to be conquering this land called Equestria, he cannot stand the merciless genocide of an entire city by the hands of these monstrosities.
So he charged.
Princess Celestia
The castle was frantic. Magisters and pages with scrolls of information ran through the hall, as the guards scrambled to get into battle positions. Amongst the chaos was only one Princess, Celestia. Luna was too busy organizing emergency orders through the populace, so she was left the duty of organizing the defenses.
Celestia's glorious mane was frazzled, but she kept her body composure strong. Her teeth were lightly clenched underneath her slight frown, her eyes narrowed. She walked up to the pony dressed in military attire with a general's patch. The red color of his
polished armor reflected his mood.
"Where is that scout? We need to know what is happening out there!" the Princess shouted. The General of the Royal Army winced, as did Celestia inside. She rarely raised her voice, but she couild hardly help feeling anger at the sudden declaration of war by the Dragons' Republic.
"I do not know!" the general replied, stammering, "He should have been here an hour ago!" The Princess grunted in frustration.
"Then send another, we cannot lose Horseshoe Bay! It is our main naval city!" she barked, dodging a distracted messenger as he darted past.
"We are doing all we can, but there are too many dragons," he said despairingly, a frantic mare carrying orders almost running into him.
"Where are the Wonderbolts?" the Princess asked the general, thinking of how they could possibly turn the tides.
"Tied up in the assault on Manehatten, Princess," he turned to a pony armored in gold, "Initiate Order 75!"
"What about the… Shadow Bolts?" The princess asked somewhat quietly, the words a little sour on her tongue. If there was anything she resented of her sister, it was Luna’s insistence that her one-off concept concocted while under the influence of the Nightmare actually be implemented. Surprisingly, the group was fairly well received and was startlingly effective.
"They are, er," he looked up for a second, thinking, "Free, actually," he turns back to the pony, "Scramble the Shadow Bolts!"
"You think they will be enough?" The Princess asked.
"I hope so. If not, we will inevitably lose ground."
The Princess nodded, letting the general go do his job. She needed to keep her composure, so she walked back to her podium, sitting comfortably, and tried to relax. Not a moment later, a frantic messenger burst through the door.