Chapter 106: Honor of the Waves
I don't have any sympathy for polar bears, or any species that eats its own young, but I had sympathy for the Kodan. Despite being anthropomorphic polar bears, they did not eat their own young. Instead they built kick ass cities on top of icebergs and were slowly fleeing south because a malevolent primordial dragon woke up and didn't like that there were people living. Not just living near him. Just living.
What a fucking dickhead.
That's why the family and I are currently on the Honor of the Waves, one of those kick ass iceberg cities that got attacked by one of Jormag's Claws, a type of lesser dragon empowered to terrifying levels by Jormag's dragon energy and corruption. The city is sinking leisurely and while that is a cause for concern, the real threat comes from the Icebrood and the Sons of Svanir attacking the city for slaves and loot.
The Sons of Svanir are a faction of the Norn, a human-like race of nine foot tall giants who run a far higher core temperature and are highly insulated against freezing temperatures, enabling them to live comfortably in the frozen reaches of the world. The Sons are a splinter faction off of the normal Animal Spirit worshiping Norn in that they worship Jormag, and they do this in spite of the fact that the dragon has run the Norn and many other races from their homes and corrupts them into ice monsters.
If you are thinking that these guys are a scum tier bag of dicks that need to be wiped from existence, then you get the picture.
The Icebrood are the ice monsters Jormag turns everything into. Many of the Sons of Svanir become Icebrood, and the Icebrood like to kill everyone non Icebroody.
They came to take everything from the Kodan, and their plan was good, but they failed to account for a family of interdimensional ass kickers passing through. Few plans survive contact with the enemy, but none survive contact with us.
I split Kulag the Fallen, a champion Svanir Elementalist from clavicle to testicles with a mean overhand flaming greatsword chop while doing my best human torch impression. That's the beauty of this world's magic. I can breath out a river of holy fire on a platoon of heretics and infidels and not burn any of my friends or the buildings and terrain around them. The magic system's IFF capabilities are on so on point I can be blasting max power constantly at my friends and they'd never be inconvenienced by it beyond the brightness making it hard to see what is going on.
Both Jack and Medusa had followed my lead in greatsword supremacy and wielded an axe and dagger respectively. Wanda would get there once she unlocks the Reaper Elite Specialization, but for now she has to run around with wimpy virgin duel daggers while we wreck face with our hefty Chad greatswords.
The enemies here were tough, the best of both the Icebrood and Svanir's rank and file soldiers led by a series of champions. Cutting the champions felt like hacking into stone rather than flesh, doubly so for those covered in Jormag's corrupted ice, and they all knew how to move and fight far better than their more linear focused allies.
After slaying Kulag the rest of the battle in this area was clean up work.
When the sun set, the Icebrood and the Svanir ran off to lick their wounds and convince more of their friends to come throw themselves into the meat grinder. The Honor's Claw, the chief Kodan, sat next to us at our table after the battle.
"Tiny Norns." He greeted us, "You have once again prevented the enemy from taking their goal and given us more time to evacuate our people and possessions from this place, but I must ask you to leave now while you still can."
"How many times do I have to explain to you that we aren't tiny Norns." I grumbled, "We are big Humans."
"Humans are very small, and die in the cold." The Claw explained like he hadn't said this before, "Norn are large, and live in the cold. Thus you are, tiny Norns. But whether you be tiny Norns or big Humans, you must leave tonight."
"Why would we leave?" Wanda asked, "We have these frosty fucks by the balls."
"They will not return for further battle." The Claw shook his white polar bear head, "The Voice has foreseen that tomorrow, Jormag will send his Claw to the field. We believe that you will be able to stand against it, perhaps even defeat it, but to do so will send a signal to the Elder Dragon that the world is not yet ready for. Jormag must be content with his current pace, and if the rear guard of our people must fall to keep it that way until the world is ready, then so shall they fall."
The big armored bear man took out multiple high tier bags of holding from a sack and reached inside of one to pull out an Orichalcum ingot.
"The Frostgorge Sound is a fine place to gather crafting materials." He placed the ingot back into the bag, "The Kodan hoped to strip it of these, to both deny them to the enemy and provide the resources that will be required for the fight against the dragons. I have placed many items of such quality into these bags and now entrust them to you, both as our thanks for your valiant defense of our people, and our hope that with some proper equipment your family will be strong enough for wars to come."
"Dude." I placed a hand on his pauldron, "You let us eat your food, kill your enemies, and have your nicest stuff. You Kodan are a damn fine people."
"We agree with that assessment." The Claw nodded his head, "Head south, to Hoelbrak, and forge your gear, then head west towards Divinity's Reach, to the village of Shaemoor. Destiny awaits you there my friends, and the fate of us all hangs in the balance."
Thanks for the call to action bro.
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Traveling through the Wayfarer Foothills felt like a breath of fresh air after the FIreheart Rise and Frostgorge Sound, and Medusa's pet Arctodus and Polar Bear were fine moving down into the less extreme environment as they were supported by her Ranger magic. The pair of arctic bears could survive even in the heat of the desert so long as Medusa maintains their bond, but they wouldn't be comfortable. No one is comfortable in the desert.
As we moved south west from the Dawnrise Pass, we encountered the Lionguard's fortress, the Crossroads Haven, under siege from more of these Sons of Svanir jagoffs. How the Norn tolerate these violent extremists is beyond me, but I often find myself scratching my head in confusion at the nuances of sapient social interaction.
At least the human's have the excuse of not knowing who the White Mantle Society is, and thus have no way of knowing that their counterfaction is currently in their midst plotting their demise, but the Norn allow the Sons of Svanir a place in Hoelbrak, their cultural capital, where they can recruit new members to their frigid death cult.
After slaughtering the bastards outside the walls of the outpost, we were greeted with a hero's welcome by the Lionguard and the various merchants that use the trade route they protect.
The Crossroad Haven fort paired with another, the Twinspur Haven fort, to control the Ice Steppes, a vital trade route into Hoelbrak. Why the Lionguard did this rather than the Norn themselves boggles the mind a bit. They are essentially outposted here to defend the trade routes used by merchants from Lion's Arch, but you'd think the Norn's would have their own interest in ensuring a steady supply of… supplies to their capital, but I guess they are too independent individualist a people to get their shit together.
The Krogan in me applauds their dedication to individual badassery, but the God Emperor I have become wants to smack the shit out of them so that they can rally to prevent the end of their people in the face of the grimdark future the rise of the dragons brings.
Fuck it. At least the road down from the Twinspur to Hoelbrak was safe and pleasant.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
JManM
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Chapter 107: Khorne's Chosen
"Why is everything turning out like this?" I complained as I looked at another piece of armor I crafted.
Jack took up the gauntlets and whistled, "I don't know what you are complaining about. This armor is sick and I can feel the power radiating from it."
"The problem is that I am trying to make us some gear that broadcasts the idea that we are the good guy heroes." I spat, "And everything I make comes out brutal, more brutal, or most brutal! If we wear this stuff we will look like the guys who show up after the death of Morgoth and congratulate the heroes on beating up the nerd we bullied in high school and now it is time for them to face down some real fucking bad guys."
"I don't feel that way about my gear, master!" Medusa assured me while looking cute in her leather and fur outfit, the snow leopard skin that made up her helmet looked especially adorable with its surprised to be slain expression clearly expressed on its taxidermized upper face.
"Honey." I sighed, "I decorated your armor with Charr horns."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I am wearing a war crime."
I had taken some inspiration from the Charr Trapper armor for our lovely Ranger, and fused it with a bit of the Norn flare for utilizing leather and fur. I had found myself enjoying the blending of the two distinct styles. It was all going great until I finished and realized that I'd decorated the armor with fucking Charr horns, which is the equivalent of wearing a cape of human scalps, among other brutal little bells and whistles I couldn't remember adding.
It was like that over and over again.
Try and flute a suite of plate mail and all of a sudden it looks like a skeleton. Shape a pauldron like a lion in repose, now it's a snarling dragon. Put hearts on the rondels, now they are skulls. Engrave a poetic verse, now it's a curse in Black Speak and hurts the eyes of virgins to look upon.
Brutal has always been our preferred aesthetic, but now for some reason it was the only option. At least it hadn't dipped into some S & M Demon aesthetic. I don't care how much Slaanesh approves, heshe is a shit chaos god for wankers. Khorne all the way.
Speaking of Khorne, some of this armor was my best attempt ever to do his aesthetic justice. One of the helmets I made even burst into flame creating a sort of lion's mane of fire around my head when worn.
If only I'd intended to do that.
"Babe." Jack rubbed my frustrated back, "Actions speak louder than words, so even if we show up looking like the scariest raiders people have ever seen, as long as we are saving the day they will just have to deal with the cold shiver of dread our visage bestows on them."
She smiled that gorgeous smile and I felt refreshed.
"Also there is now way I am not wearing this armor set." she hefted a helmet that was a part of a set that let the world know she was bipedal, hard to kill, and here to fuck people's day up.
Wanda was currently being helped by Medusa slip into a corvid themed dress I have no idea where I got the feathers for. Did I fucking forged them of Orichalcum?
She had done her face up in a magical skull themed face paint that also somehow provided the same benefits as a light class helmet in this world.
Out of all of us she looked the most approachable, and that is saying something with the hefty aura of doom her gear permeated. That approachability ended when she hefted up a brutal Reaper greatsword, having begun the slog through the Elite Specialization on the way south to Hoelbrak.
For most she looked like a nightmare given form, but damn she got my cock hard. I finally had my big titty goth girl.
Despite my best efforts, I eventually had to accept my place as Khorne's Chosen in this world and donned my blood red plate armor decorated in golden skulls and accents with bearskins draped over my shoulders and from my belt, and a plethora of Charr horns tastefully welded to my helmet and pauldrons to really drive home the idea that a meeting with me will be quite final and that I'll keep a piece of you as a memento of the fight you failed to put up against me.
I was quite happy with the Ormagoden theme I'd managed to work into it, including a big golden belt buckle of his brutal face.
My greatsword and tower shield looked like a pair of crimes against all of sentient life. Looking at them causes brief physical pain and the tightening of a man's sack in fear.
All in all it was a gearset oozing power and pain, and I was excited to integrate it with tech at the end of this journey to create something truly brutal, powerful, and cutting edge.
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The Norn were happy to see the back of us after we left their capital and marched our way to the Snowden Drifts. The region was another majorly important route between Kryta and what was once the Kingdom of Ascalon. A number of small settlements exist between the steep peeks and deep lakes of the region, and all of them suffer from the presence of the Son's of Svanir, the Centaurs (who were once separate tribes now united under one leader with the goal of destroying Humanity) and the Dredge (a race of mole men, formerly enslaved to the Dwarves, and the righteous inheritors of Ormagoden in this world due to their mastery of metal and sound and their addition of fire when they would go on to form the Molten Alliance with the Flame Legion).
Needless to say there was a lot to do if a guy wanted to meander his way through the area. Right from the start we encountered hunters hurt along the road in need of help and as we continued we were beset by the corrupted Icebrood battling it out with the local Lionguard.
Those guys are fucking heroes for signing up to fight this shit. Sure they were paid handsomely due to being out here to defend merchant caravans that travel to and from their economic superpower city state, but they were the closest thing the region would ever see to an organized police force.
After pushing our way west, we took a brief detour north to battle the Sons of Svanir and the Centaurs as they duked it out with the Seraph (The Human Kingdom of Kryta's standing army) and the Durmand Priory (A multiracial scholarly order dedicated to preserving and unearthing historical information and currently trying to find some way of dealing with the rise of the Elder Dragons from historical accounts).
The general despair of our approach turned into whoops of joy when we sent the Centaurs running and put the Svanir outpost to the sword. We chose to set up camp with the Seraph as the we had little in common with the scholars of the Priory despite having gone to High School.
"Never thought I'd see the day when a family of tiny Norns would save our asses." Seraph Archer Brian stated as I hauled Centaur bodies into our camp.
"We aren't tiny Norns." I told him, "We are big Humans."
"No wonder you guys don't suck." Brian spat, "If the Norn would put their ego's down for a decade or two we wouldn't have to be in this frozen hell hole blocking up the pass into the Gendarran Fields."
"I feel you brother." I nodded as I started butchering a Centaur.
"Holy shit!" Brian explained, "What are you doing?"
"Employing an ethical butcher to procure fresh meat for my dinner." I chuckled.
"You eat Centaurs?" The man gasped.
"You don't?" I asked.
"Of course not!" Brian denied, "I'd never eat any sentient creature!"
"Why?" I questioned.
"Because it's not right!" The man nodded his head having found the right words.
"What isn't right, Brian." I said as I pulled the entrails out of the horse half of the centaur, "Is these horseman fucks trampling our fields and killing our livestock so that our women and children starve. They are the ones pushing for this war of survival, not us. They deserve no sympathy, only the press of our blades and the impact of our hammers. They deserve to be slaughtered, and they deserve to be eaten."
I put cuts of back strap on a portable grill over the campfire and we watched them brown and glisten with juices as I seasoned them with salt, pepper, and garlic.
"Are you not hungry Brian, and sick of field rations." I grinned, "The enemy has brought dinner with him tonight."
I cut into the tender meat, steaming with heat in the cold air of the frigid evening, and put it into my mouth, sighing in satisfaction.
"Come, Brian. Let us eat."
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
JManM
JManM
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