Kelbjorn

=From Whence he came= Once, there was a clan of the Ulfen, The Wyrmbane they called themselves….that was long ago. The actions of the dragon-king Elros, once an elf, had annihilated the traditions of the Land of the Linnorm kings- No threats remained to be the measuring rod for one’s own prowess and right to rule, so the society began to break down. It fell to banditry and petty raiding and only a few of the existing linnorm kings were able to hold their kingdoms together however… The warrior of the Wyrmbane, deprived of purpose scorned the Land, and traveled east. They moved in great numbers, a well armed host of thousands that was thus unharried by the armies of the Witch Queen of Irrisen as they traveled ever east, coming to the Realm of the Mammoth lords. There, they decided, the constant tests of the land would be their testing ground.

=Foundation of Darkness= They built a city, it was nothing enormous and did not have a formal name however it had a monicker. In common it’s name was pronounced “The Maw” For the place was a warning to the beasts of the land. The reason for this was that the Ulfen on arrival had to prove their greatness to the saurian creatures that dwelt there, and they took down many a great beast, the perimeter of the hilled stronghold was barred by Earthworks, topped with the teeth of tyrannosaurus rexes and other great creatures. The huts of the town were constructed of canvas and bones and the place thrived for a time. However, this success was due to something dark.

Initially on arrival, the clan had encountered great difficulty, the local shoanti humans harried them constantly and while the average ulfen warrior was more than a match for the puny natives, there were wild creatures also adding problems to the mix, so…the chieftain of the clan, who’d named himself Skiirjald the Grinder had, with the assistance of his shamaness, made a pact with the demon queen lamashtu, a pact for mastery over the beasts of the land and to make his clan grow strong, but..the price was of course that the worship of lamashtu began to slowly spread, cropping up in many of the families that dwelt there.

But all sins come back to haunt you, it seems.

=Born in hell= There was, born about eighty years after the city’s founding, a young man who would grow to cure the city of it’s terrible cancer. He was named Kolbjorn and he proved a thorn in the side of his chieftain who, through the use of magic, had sustained his life all this time. He was old and decrepit by now, but he held on to his lifeforce with a foul fervor. Kolbjorn was an extremely successful warrior, and had by the age of twenty four felled his first gargant- the title they bestowed upon the creatures too large for the average run of the mill warrior to take down alone- T-rexes, Spinosaurus and other large creatures. In the time he was not out on patrols, he was forging weapons though he knew in his heart some would end up in the hands of worshippers of Lamashtu he knew his clan was his soul he would not go against them so openly. He did not, however put very good work into the construction of those weapons he knew were destined for those he thought of cowards. =The Warrior's Path= He was an extremely vocal opponent of the worshippers of lamashtu which was only tolerated because to openly attack him would land those who did such in an uncertain situation. Perhaps the town would assist him ,perhaps they would not- plus he was ,while a malcontent, a useful one. That is, until one day the shaman of the town spoke to the chieftain, claiming he’d had a vision of the threat posed by the rising champion of a man and that he’d need to be silenced.

So it was that, that night, five ulfen owing allegiance to lamashtu and the chieftain snuck toward the smithy- a well established structure near the upper echelons of town where they knew he’d be asleep –he’d been observed to nod-off in the structure each night, working away at the forges. And so, they entered, swords drawn. Luckily for Kolbjorn, one of the men was quite large and unexpectedly bumped his head on the low doorway. Kolbjorn sat in a chair near the forge, but was out of sight at the time of the sound and so was able to disguise his being awakened by the noise. The men crept forward, glaring at their blundering comrade. Two stood near the door as three crept up. One drew his weapon back to strike and Kolbjorn rose in the moment, a fire of rage burning in his eyes as his arm darted out, he gripped the wrist of the man who held the sword, kicked his leg out and bowled him to the side into the open forge. He began to scream. Sadly, with the man went his sword, and Kolbjorn staggered back as the two men advanced on him slowly. He looked for a weapon in this situation and saw something, a length of steel that had been left in the forge earlier by a careless assistant- his forge had been doused but the blade was left within, unshaped.

He reached for it and winced as his leather-gloved hands began to burn in pain, the forge was still extremely hot as he gripped the enormous, unwieldy piece of metal in two hands, bringing up to catch the blow of the first man to come for him. He then put a great amount of strength into a shove to force the man, blocked, back. He then put on a grim look and began to advance….

A few minutes later, he’d dealt with the five warriors. He spat on them and then beheaded them. He was amazed, the metal he wielded was no weapon, yet it cut like masterforged steel. His hands were burnt and cut from the rough edges of the bit, but it was a minor concern. He took from the men some of their armor- the pieces that fit him- not much at his height of 7’ 5” and his particular build, then he swiftly wrapped lengths of thin hemp rope around the grip portion of the blade to allow a better grasp- he needed to hurry, he heard crowds of people outside, attracted by the screaming. He stepped from the doorway…. =A perfect slaughter= And found nearly the entire city was present, having heard shouting from the neighbors who’d heard from the neighbors, who’d heard from the forge, they’d come in their multitudes- many did not seem happy,  and all of them had weapons- even if just daggers. Also present was the chieftain and his shaman. Though the shaman glared at Kolbjorn with terror filled eyes and the Chief was too old to stand strong. Kolbjorn glared at him, throwing the heads to the ground and saying “Cowards! You worshippers of the demon queen, you pathetic, spineless wimps unworthy even to stand! I challenge you to meet my blade, for I am a true son of the Land of the Linnorm kings, I am a true Ulfen while –YOU-!~ “ he said, pointing at the chief and his guard “Are going to die.” He readied the weapon and began to advance on the chief. He met the blades of many hurried attacks and took many wounds, a nick across his cheek and a few cuts that pierced the armor but he was so unwilling to yield, so strong. He was a force to be reckoned with. The shaman began to plead and the chieftain merely seemed to lose his cool and drew a sword. Kolbjorn batted it aside and then lopped his head off in short order. All around him, the people of the town tore into eachother, Demoniac against Traditionalist but, as the chief fell, the worshippers of lamashtu seemed to lose their heart and fled as best they could, into the wilderness.

Kolbjorn stood there, breathing deeply. He bled from many wounds, and was grieved by these wounds quite fiercely, his vision was red, he’d entered what he knew to be a supernatural rage, something only the most hateful of combatants could do reliably, but it felt different….he felt blessed to some degree, but more fatigued at the moment. He drove the steel length into the ground and sighed as a woman approached him from the crowd. She held a greatsword and had blindfold over her eyes, she was Selwyn, the one who preached the words of the lord of battle and she immediately dropped to a knee before him saying “You wield a blade most crimson, Kolbjorn…You are blessed indeed.” He glanced down to the steel in his hands and was surprised to find the metal looked slightly different, red in tinge.