A King's Last Stand [PK]

[DAENGIE 468]

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A King’s Last Stand

The Final Moments of Halvar Edvardsson

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     Snow began to fall as the nearly century-old former monarch made their way further north towards their destination, escorted by a pair of silent behemoths that loomed over his every step; the Svarling Huskarls of Zharrtyr keeping a watchful eye over their temporary charge as he made his way toward their lord's camp. Dozens of thoughts raced through Halvar Edvardsson's mind as he approached the Svarling fort, evidence of the invader's brutality shown everywhere he looked, from the frozen half-eaten corpses of North Guardsmen to flayed and impaled effigies of innocent village folk. However, all form of thought ceased as the elder's attention was brought front and center to the sounding of horns and the steadily lifting gate. 

 

A man of monstrous proportions came from the entrance, seeming more akin to a golem of steel and ivory than a mere human. "Are you the leader of these men?" The old monarch would ask, staring at the massive mountain of a man for a moment before then glancing up at the snow, shouldering his Dane axe. The monstrous man would continue to make his way forward, snow crunching under each heavy footstep of the Svarlandic Warlord, his greataxe at rest atop his left shoulder. The Huskarls stood still and silent as Zharrtýr Rykhässon appeared, and when he spoke, his voice boomed across the fells. "That I am, and you are?". Halvar Would continue to observe the northern tundra for a moment, pondering as he took in his surroundings before then turning his gaze to the Svarling Lord and Answering, "Halvar Edvardsson. Former King of Norland". The massive man seemed to pause for a moment at that, responding soon after. "And what brings a former king to my camp?" Zharr asked, taking several steps forward. "Surely, they have not resorted to sending their old men to fight me." 

 

The elderly former sovereign would scoff at that, responding, "I've come of my own accord. To atone for my mistakes. To atone for leaving my country and the care of my people in the hands of unworthy stewards, The clans who sought naught but war with the empire and left Norland in the state it currently is. Barely able to hold THE LINE AGAINST GLORIFIED SEA RAIDERS WITH INBRED GIGANTISM!" The Old king would utter, gesturing at the half-eaten frozen bodies along the pathway up to the camp as he let loose a long-held fury. The aging monarch would then look up to the chosen once more. "I have come to pay with my life. Dying in battle as I should have done long ago". On this exclamation, Halvar would begin to pace from side to side. "In my age, Norlanders fought demons with fire and steel ten times your number, worse than anything you fashion yourselves after, and WE BEAT THEM BACK INTO THE TIDE!" The Former king would then come to a stop upon this exclamation, his fury turning to grief as he looked around to the fallen around him once more. "Now we send our youth to fight our battles for us. I have had enough". 

 

Zharrtýr stared down the once-king from beneath his horned helm, fashioned akin to the same demons Halvar fought once before; nevertheless, it was a pale imitation. Zharrtyr hefted his poleaxe, moving to clutch it in both hands as he slowly stepped towards Halvar. "You are brave, son of Rurik, braver than those who now dwell in these lands. It will be my honor to be the one who cuts you down". At that, Halvar would stare at the svarling lord from beneath his helm once more, hefting his axe into both hands. "I'm Coming Celie." The old monarch would state beneath his breath, thinking once more back to his wife and son before advancing on the Warlord, first at a jog, then at a sprint akin to those of his younger years, yelling out a cry of fury as he hefted his axe toward the Svarling's right arm. Zharrtýr was caught off guard by the sudden burst of speed from the old monarch, and as such, didn't bother blocking the blow. Halvar's axe slammed into the lord's bloodstained plate, the sickening sound of metal crushing metal could be heard as the weight of the greataxe actually managed to puncture the plate and dig into Zharr's shoulder. 

 

The Svarling Warlord let out a growl, equally of pain and anger, before moving to knock Halvar back with a forceful shove using the haft of his own poleaxe. Halvar buckled upon the blow’s connection, the strength of his youth having left him long ago as he rolled backwards down the hill, landing face down in the snow. After a moment, the old king would stir and rise on wobbling legs. To the onlooking Svarlings, Zharrtýr appeared fine, having taken the axe blow in stride, though the Warlord shifted the grip of the axe, from his dominant side to the other, and to Halvar, it would be clear he'd dealt a substantial injury, as blood dripped from the ugly gash left in The Chosen’s armor. The Lord of blood-soaked hosts advanced on the former Norlandic monarch then, now in his own sprint, and, as if to serve his wounded pride, raised the axe high overhead before attempting to bring it down swiftly upon Halvar's shoulder as the old monarch stood. As Zharrtýr swung his own massive weapon down, Halvar would bring the staff of his own two-handed axe up in an attempt to block the blow. 

 

This effort would prove fruitless however, as the Warlord's massive axe crashed straight through the weapon’s wood haft and into the elderly former sovereign’s shoulder. Halvar would freeze upon the blow connecting, looking towards the axe head with a wide-eyed expression of shock for a moment before his gaze steeled, looking first up at the falling snow then into Zharrtýr's eyes and smiling. "Someday…You will…Meet the same fate. Lord of blood-soaked hosts." The Former Monarch would utter out with what was left of his strength, then falling back into the snow. There Halvar Edvardsson, Former king of Norland, protector of the highlanders, and friend to many lay dying. The man likely had many other titles though he didn't care to recall them, as his last thoughts were more occupied with peaceful times of song, ale, and merriment when the light finally left his eyes. 

 

The Chosen Lord remained silent, allowing Halvar his final words before pulling the poleaxe from his opponent’s shoulder. As the once-great king Fell, Zharr drove the axe into the ground, curiously watching the other's final moments. He'd reach down, plucking the crowned helmet from Halvar's head, and fastening it to his belt before silently remarking. "A pity we had not met in days of yore, a worthy fight you would've been." He answers before turning to face the onlooking Marauders. "Bring the body to his kin in Varhelm. Do not loot or desecrate it. He did not die a coward's death."

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[AstriaS 3683]

Sylvia Camian entered the temple where the former King's body had been taken, looking up his fallen form with a dark, dour expression. The man she had served dutifully for most of her life had finally met his end. "Oh, you impossible fool." She stated simply, offering one final salute to the only King she had ever and would ever respect.

[SimplySeo 5184]

Zharrtýr Rykhässon clutches the crown of the once-king in his hand, having pried it from Halvar's helm. He had slain a beloved and courageous king this day, and it was a small sign of respect towards his foe that the body was left unmutilated. A Demon-slayer warranted more respect than those cowards arrayed against him now.

 

As Zharrtýr mused over Halvar's crown, he contemplated the future of his conquests, and the will of his dark gods. He set the crown upon his belt, beside the hanging skull of the Skanarri chieftain, and set out to speak with his captains...

 

Too much dawdling, he was growing impatient, but he would not voice his annoyance. The Dark Gods would provide.

[Javert 5498]

Ragnvald Eiriksson Ruric had been raised on the stories of kings of the past, and Halvar too was one of them. He had grown up learning about how Halvar had led Norland to repel the Inferi invasion, and had fought Oren during the Sutican war. In Ragnvald's mind, Halvar was just as much a hero as the rest of the glorious past Kings, worthy of being among Javier 'the undefeated' and Caedric 'the reclaimer'. And thus, the Eiriksson mourned. He mourned for the lost hero of Norland, who had died with honor. In his residence north of Varhelm, Ragnvald uttered softly in memory of the former King.

 

"Iron from Ice, King Halvar."

[hemomancy 2835]

Off somewhere did an elf sit within her silent home- for this time, it was at last empty. "Iron from Ice..." Spoke the old Rabbit, taking the time to accept the word being spread around of her old friend's passing. "Iron from Ice." Did Athri Onfroi repeat, feeling as if it were high time for a visit.

[Qaz_The_Great 1189]

Alric, after discovering the corpse of Halvar, had taken the old king to the Hearth Temple with King Vane. He watched over the body until Hearth Brother Aeden could tend to it and prepare for the coming funeral pyre. He whispers a short forthwith prayer as he bids his grandfather farewell.

 

"Father welcome this warrior into your Halls,

      prepare for him a great feast,

            let the bards sing praises of his deeds,

                  For you have taken from us the finest of Man."

[Wand 932]

Once stood three friends in Varhelm, each of them royarchs in their time. Behold came an elf of sentiment, who blessed each with star-silvered rings in vow and memory. For one final time did Sea and Ice speak, and to that Son of Varhelm had he said...

 

"May that road take you home."

 

He could not have imagined how true his words would be.

[BDanecker 858]

A not-so-humble blacksmith, once-teacher of Halvar Edvardsson thousands of moons ago, stands within his forge, far from the lands in which he taught Halvar his first magic; that of metallurgy. Dorimnur is poised over the work of another human apprentice, thinking about the dour news of one of his first apprentices in Kal'Mugdor, and one of the only descendants the stoic and untrusting dwarf truly called friend. "Perhaps he changed his tune to Steel from Ice after me lessons..." he says in a shallow attempt to raise his spirits, but little could avail the loss of yet another dear friend. He sighs of the weight of watching Halvar live his entire life, and goes to tune back into instructing his new human apprentice. Whether it was wise or not to set himself up for sadness once more, and watching another human apprentice live their life in front of him again Dorimnur knew not, but he knew that if the pain was worth knowing Halvar just once, it might be worth knowing another human once more.

[sarahbarah 5008]

One former Queen Ancelie stood, awaiting her husband’s arrival in the Father’s Halls.

 

“Ah’ve been waitin’ for ye, ye oaf. Welcome home, dear.”

 

 

[Draiden 319]

Jager would welcome Halvar to the Father's halls with a joyous embrace, laughing and smiling. "Took your sweet time, ja? Kept all of us waiting to farm cabbages for a few years?" He'd laugh, clapping the fallen king on the shoulders. "Bah, I'm just messing with you, lad. Welcome home."

[_pr0fit 2944]

Vane stands resolute before the old kings body, his hands clasped behind his back as he recalled all that was taken from him in his past 25 years of constant unbroken war. He thought to the caves beneath Varhelm where Sven had been taken away by the creatures of the dark, Hali Kvitravn who was executed by the Skanarri after surrendering, His own eye, which had been left dangling by the Svarling hordes, Aedan Faretto's legs, which had been stolen and eaten by the cannibalistic Svarling warriors.

 

Vane let out a low sigh, he knew this was but just one of many to come.

[SadBeanQueen 209]

Eleonore remembers the time she helped the king when he was extremely high on drugs. She chuckles to herself. "Halvar will be missed."