Post by Fenrir on Jun 30, 2010 10:28:07 GMT
Name: Fenrir
Age: 36
Residence: North Western Europe. An island off the coast of Norway
Appearance: Fenrir is a truely terrifying man. Standing at 6"6, he's a giant in the eastern world at this period. He is muscular as are all warrior trained men from his clan. He bares no real armour but a dark bronze helm, legends about him say that it was given to him by the god of chaos Loki, so that the glares of Odin would never reach his eyes. However the truth was he killed a roman gladiator in combat and like the look of the helm. And so claimed it as his own.
He has medium length black hair, a sort of strange trait amongst his people, as usually they were born with either red or blonde hair. However this has always been attributed to his status as a " cursed" individual. He dons a great fur and leather cape, the fur coming from a great wolf he slew in what would now be eastern germany.
Personallity: True to his race, Fenrir is generally very unfriendly. He doesn't like many people, and the truth can be passed both ways. However unlike most Saxons he's very quiet. Mostly this is down to his history, and the fact most of the time he has an inner monologue always thinking and planning for things in the future.
In battle however he's terrifying, a large presence on the battlefield whos rage tears through the enemy ranks. Particularly in battle he has what is more commonly known as a berserkers rage, unwilling to listen to reason or surrender. Which is incredibly useful because in his Mercenary group under Akumu there is very little mercy or surrendering going on
To those however that do break into his inner shell, he does seem to have a father/ rolemodel complex.
Weapon: Ragnarok( AKA, Twilight Of The Gods)
A large broadsword crafted using the money he gained from fighting in the roman gladiator battles. The sword is for lack of a better word. Extremely heavy. The sword is of an akward design.The point being shaped like a spear tip, a nod to his dead wife, and an idea that it would be useful when fighting against a spearman. Otherwise however its designed like a typical norse broadsword. A wolf head etched into the pommel and rune symbols spelling out " Twilight of the gods" on the blade.The sword is unwieldable by normal men, even lifting with two hands would be too much for even the strongest of men.Fenrir however, isn't like other men.
Armour: His clothes and tough leather cape give some protection against weapons. But in all he wears virtually no armour.
History: His history begins in the northern wastes of the land of saxons. His people at the time known as the norse tribes, heavily devout religious people who were part of the popular pagan religion believing in the multiple gods ruled by the overseer Odin. His father was a blacksmith and his mother a lady Valkyrie of the order of Odin, belonging to the temple his mother believed she would give birth to a mighty warrior for the gods. Which at least in some part. Was true. The birth was cursed. He was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck like a noose, something that usually meant death for children. However, amazingly he survived. Everyone thought it to be a sign from the gods. Until they saw the other sign. On his upper right hand shoulder. A mark. A wolf. This was the mark of Fenrir, the harbinger of Ragnarok. Norse legend told of a mighty wolf who would grow to an unnatural size, live unnaturally long, and when the time came, would bring about the Ragnarok by killing Odin. The law of the order was clear. All children marked by the wolf were to be killed, sacrificed to Odin. Its not quite clear what happened next, in some tales they say that night when they were preparing for the sacrifice Loki the god of chaos and mischeif came about them and took the child. Others say that there was a bandit attack. And everyone was slaughtered. Bar this child.
He grew up on the southern ends of the lands, being adopted by a walking Maiden of Tyr who had found him. He was given his childs name. And grew up happy and content, being trained by the order for combat just like all boys his age. However, he wasn't like all children his age. When he hit puberty he grew taller than anyone in the villiage, rumours started spreading about that he might have giants blood in his veins. And all these rumours found their way back to the order of Odin. Another raiding party. Another slaughter. Another family killed. However this time he was prepared. He took up sword, and his iron will turned a lost cause into a battle for survival. He turned the tides on the raiders and victory came. But at a cost. His adoptive family was dead. Half the villiage burned down and the crops were gone. They had captured one of the raiders, made him spill the name of his master and order before they made him spill his lifes blood. The boy had always known of his cursed mark. His adoptive mother telling him never to show it in public places lest he be killed. But now he knew that this mark was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. But he refused to be hunted. If he was to be the wolf. Then he would take the hunt to them. From that day he cast aside his child name. And took his adult name. Fenrir.
He left his village, most were too afraid of him to utter a word the moment he proclaimed the name he'd take to his grave. But he wasn't alone in his fight. There were many who would take up the sword against the gods. Those who had too been wronged. The band was small, but skilled.Eventually they made an assault on the base The band were under constant attack from the order of Odin, two major assaults standing out, forging the legend of Fenrir in the north. These two assaults had some of the leading elite members of the Valkyrie unit. After being defeated twice, the order of Odin came back to think, knowing that they could not overcome Fenrir through force they instead attempted a new tactic. Seduction. Hildegard was the Valkyrie chosen to seduce him, and she was utterly successful in this. Fenrir fell for her head over heels. And for a time. The order seemed to have succeeded. Fenrir was settled down, under constant watch by the woman who had now became his wife. On his twentieth birthday, Fenrir had lost all thoughts of vengeance. A beautiful wife, and now a child on the way. His life seemed complete. True however. He never forgot his abandoned quest, and there was something always niggling at him. To take up his sword again. And finish the job he had started before he met Hildegard. But peace was never to last. The Order began to suspect that Hildegard had lost sight of her mission, began to think that perhaps she truly did love the monster that was her husband. And so, once more. They fell upon his life, burning. Destroying. His wife and unborn child dead, his home burned to the ground. Fenrir’s mind filled once more with vengeance and lust for destruction.
In the years that followed, Fenrir walked alone. In his path he left burned out ruins of Odin’s order. But by the time he was finished. He was convinced that his purpose in life. Was to destroy the father god. Odin. He moved south, hoping that the druidic tribes of the Celts would have some insight into where he could find Odin. However, the Druids refused to give any of their knowledge to him, they demanded from him. A price. To him no price was too much, and he agreed. In return for their knowledge, he spent ten years amongst them. Training in the ways of their magic, working for their village, protecting it from raiders. Many times. He was tempted to take a wife amongst the Celtic people. However it wasn’t to be. Each time he was kissed by a girl, he remembered the face of his wife, and knew that if he settled down again. The same pain would no doubt follow. The years were long and harsh. However at the end, he had learned much. The new gift of the druids magics was his. The power over the dead. And the long awakening power of the wolf within. The first awakening of the true wolf was painful, and uncontrollable. His animal instincts overwhelming his human nature. But in the end. He had his answer. And was content. The druids had told him a week before. That in order to face Odin the god. He would need to destroy Odin’s champion. His human form on earth. They told him that his quest would be long and hard. And would take him to the ends of the earth before the end.
Not that their words mattered much now. They were dead and he wasn’t. His journey began, and he was wary of ever using his power to unleash the inner wolf in case he once again lost control. The journey took him from the south towards the great city of Rome. In the south he was captured by Roman slavers. And was taken to the great arena as a gladiator. He was popular amongst the crowds. His great strength allowing him to wield weapons that would be unwieldy in the hands of other men. He cleft steel, bone and flesh. And at the end of two years of servitude was finally freed. He could of course, had easily escaped the Romans. By using either the Druid’s magic. Or just taking one of the swords and leading a slave rebellion. However, he knew that this was a place of great warriors. And over two years. Was constantly looking for one he could identify as Odin’s champion. But death after death. The warrior never came. The money he received on his freedom went to building a sword, one that would be customised to his exact preferences. Just like the ones he used in the coliseum, but with a Norse design to fit his style. In the end the sword was a perfect success. It was a large broadsword. Too heavy for most men to wield, just like most Saxon broadswords. However the end of the blade was his own idea. Shaped like a spearhead, to skewer enemies on the point. His travels brought him next to Greece, there he took part in many of the border disputes as a mercenary. Among the Greeks they began to know him as the last living Titan, undefeatable in combat. However, no matter how many people he killed. No matter how many wars he won. He could never find Odin’s champion. On his thirty sixth year in a campaign in Sparta, he met with a Greek pirate by the name of Walachia. The man had been sent apparently to seek him out by the leader of his mercenary band. Normally he would have picked the pirate up and thrown him into the sea. However, the message that came with the invitation was all too alluring. “ The man you seek goes by the name of Lu Bu, he lives in a country known as China, where he is undefeated in combat”.
After the campaign he returned. And joined Walachia on his ship to China. On the way there, he heard stories of the warrior. Like Odin, the man wielded a pole arm. And was supposedly able to take on an entire army alone. He knew that most stories were greatly exadurated. Knowing of course from personal experience. However. This was the closest to his goal he had ever been. He’s been with the mercenary crew for a year now. However he knows that his time will come. One day he will face the champion. And then end his curse
Other details:
Rp Sample:
He stepped forward. Moving swiftly out of the tent. The Athenians had chosen to attack early this morning, arrows raining down on the front ranks of the Spartan army. However the men were experienced, skilled. And widely known as the best in Greece if not the world. He swung his coat on, and brought his helm with him hanging in his arms. And immediately headed to get breakfast, hoping that there would be some venison left over from the night before. Unfortunately, there wasn’t and apparently the cook was still unused to seeing him. A giant of a man walk amongst them. Most men were tiny in comparison to him. He towered over them all, each whispering about him being the son of a giant and a human woman. He shook his head. However legends start wherever you place them. Men will think what they want. It was a shame, it seemed the cook was this morning afraid. Afraid of what? The scholars who had discarded their books and picked up swords? The book keepers who had cowardly attacked in the early morning. And whose arrows rained down on them even now? Fenrir had to laugh. He forgot sometimes about how men unused to such horrible things still viewed it. He’d sit down, eat his ( porridge by the looks of it) breakfast and then, he put on his helm. Go into battle. And send the northern greeks running back to their libraries.
The porridge was weak and dull, and salt supplies had been running low recently so it was hardly a fulfilling meal. The wolf of the north stood. And taking up his helm placed it over his head, fastening it to his neck and then looking around the mess table of the tent. He walked outwards, an arrow glancing off his helm. He laughed again as he walked towards the front of the Spartans. There. Fifty abreast the warrior greeks, his employers had the enemies held back in a mighty phalanx. The wind picked up his cloak, and slowly Fenrir drew his sword. The Ragnarok. The blade he had named after the stories of the worlds end. The day when Odin would die. It seemed fitting to him. After the cursed and tortured life he had suffered. He approached the Phalanx, and slowly, things began to move in favour of the Spartans. It was simple really. Even his presence on the field seemed to demoralise these enemy troops. Looking up at the man in the bronze mask, who bore no armour but a fur cloak and leather clothes. And of course the helm he used to cover his face. The Greeks had called him the last of the titans. Apparently some mythological supermen born from the seed of their gods. Most men would have wore that title like a medal. But Fenrir wielded it like a weapon. Fear was the most effective tactic any man could use in battle. It made or broke men. And already the proof of this was showing. The Spartan phalanx began to stretch, breaking the ranks of the Athenian phalanx. Fenrir stepped forward and reared his sword. And the killing began. He brought the blade hissing downwards on one man, splitting the helm and feeling the satisfying crunch of the bone shatter beneath. The force of the blade causing an explosion of gore. He dragged the blade out quickly, repeating the function.The Spartan phalanx parted allowing him room to move out into the front. There was now a silence on the battlefield. And Fenrir let out a terrifying roar, a battle cry that would cause men to loose whatever they had left in their bowels. One that would surge the blood of the Spartans, making them rush their enemies with a blood lust untold of.
By dusk, as the sun was setting. The day was theirs. The Spartan general approached him. A buff man, strong. But he, like Fenrir himself was approaching his middle years. And the decades of gorging on victory feasts were beginning to show on him slightly. “ Good fighting out there wolf….the men are already telling tales of how you marched into the enemy ranks and tore them to pieces with nothing but your bare hands”. Fenrir laughed. “ Did they tell the part where I fell on my arse and was almost skewered by an Athenian pike man?”. The General laughed heartily. “ No they failed to mention that part…..ah the stories these men tell….”. Fenrir nodded. Soldiers tended to expand on things when retelling stories. Parts of his weakness would never be told, only those of his victories. And even those would be risen to god like proportions. Fairy tales to tell their families, about how they stood side by side with heroes. The general then sighed. “ Although I don’t understand why you didn’t use your magic”. Fenrir shook his head. “ Would your men like to see the corpses of their comrades return in such a state?”. The general shook his head. “ I suppose you are correct…..”. Fenrir was quick to break the tension created by that. “ So…where is our next battle then General?”. The man grinned. “ My next battle is with the Thebans my friend…you however are heading back to Sparta, I believe the king wishes to extend your contract”. Fenrir smirked. “ Or perhaps I should see just how much the Thebans are willing to pay?”. The General’s face widened with a grin and said as he laughed. “ Just make sure you tell me so I can plan my early retirement Ha ha ha ha…”.
After the battle Fenrir left for Sparta. Discussions with the king were slow. And a month later he met with the Pirate, who brought him tidings of the mercenary leader. And the whispers of destiny. The General and his men lost their next campaign, each one losing their lives against the Thebans under the guidance of the master tactician Parmenthion.
Gold:1000
Age: 36
Residence: North Western Europe. An island off the coast of Norway
Appearance: Fenrir is a truely terrifying man. Standing at 6"6, he's a giant in the eastern world at this period. He is muscular as are all warrior trained men from his clan. He bares no real armour but a dark bronze helm, legends about him say that it was given to him by the god of chaos Loki, so that the glares of Odin would never reach his eyes. However the truth was he killed a roman gladiator in combat and like the look of the helm. And so claimed it as his own.
He has medium length black hair, a sort of strange trait amongst his people, as usually they were born with either red or blonde hair. However this has always been attributed to his status as a " cursed" individual. He dons a great fur and leather cape, the fur coming from a great wolf he slew in what would now be eastern germany.
Personallity: True to his race, Fenrir is generally very unfriendly. He doesn't like many people, and the truth can be passed both ways. However unlike most Saxons he's very quiet. Mostly this is down to his history, and the fact most of the time he has an inner monologue always thinking and planning for things in the future.
In battle however he's terrifying, a large presence on the battlefield whos rage tears through the enemy ranks. Particularly in battle he has what is more commonly known as a berserkers rage, unwilling to listen to reason or surrender. Which is incredibly useful because in his Mercenary group under Akumu there is very little mercy or surrendering going on
To those however that do break into his inner shell, he does seem to have a father/ rolemodel complex.
Weapon: Ragnarok( AKA, Twilight Of The Gods)
A large broadsword crafted using the money he gained from fighting in the roman gladiator battles. The sword is for lack of a better word. Extremely heavy. The sword is of an akward design.The point being shaped like a spear tip, a nod to his dead wife, and an idea that it would be useful when fighting against a spearman. Otherwise however its designed like a typical norse broadsword. A wolf head etched into the pommel and rune symbols spelling out " Twilight of the gods" on the blade.The sword is unwieldable by normal men, even lifting with two hands would be too much for even the strongest of men.Fenrir however, isn't like other men.
- Weapon Strengths: Its weight allows for additional damage.Even if the edge fails to penetrate a person's armour, the sheer force of the blow would be enough to shatter bones underneath.
- Weapon Weaknesses: Its strength is also its weakness. Its weight means that even Fenrir has to use two hands in order to effectively use the sword. Making attacks more powerful, but slower.
Armour: His clothes and tough leather cape give some protection against weapons. But in all he wears virtually no armour.
History: His history begins in the northern wastes of the land of saxons. His people at the time known as the norse tribes, heavily devout religious people who were part of the popular pagan religion believing in the multiple gods ruled by the overseer Odin. His father was a blacksmith and his mother a lady Valkyrie of the order of Odin, belonging to the temple his mother believed she would give birth to a mighty warrior for the gods. Which at least in some part. Was true. The birth was cursed. He was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck like a noose, something that usually meant death for children. However, amazingly he survived. Everyone thought it to be a sign from the gods. Until they saw the other sign. On his upper right hand shoulder. A mark. A wolf. This was the mark of Fenrir, the harbinger of Ragnarok. Norse legend told of a mighty wolf who would grow to an unnatural size, live unnaturally long, and when the time came, would bring about the Ragnarok by killing Odin. The law of the order was clear. All children marked by the wolf were to be killed, sacrificed to Odin. Its not quite clear what happened next, in some tales they say that night when they were preparing for the sacrifice Loki the god of chaos and mischeif came about them and took the child. Others say that there was a bandit attack. And everyone was slaughtered. Bar this child.
He grew up on the southern ends of the lands, being adopted by a walking Maiden of Tyr who had found him. He was given his childs name. And grew up happy and content, being trained by the order for combat just like all boys his age. However, he wasn't like all children his age. When he hit puberty he grew taller than anyone in the villiage, rumours started spreading about that he might have giants blood in his veins. And all these rumours found their way back to the order of Odin. Another raiding party. Another slaughter. Another family killed. However this time he was prepared. He took up sword, and his iron will turned a lost cause into a battle for survival. He turned the tides on the raiders and victory came. But at a cost. His adoptive family was dead. Half the villiage burned down and the crops were gone. They had captured one of the raiders, made him spill the name of his master and order before they made him spill his lifes blood. The boy had always known of his cursed mark. His adoptive mother telling him never to show it in public places lest he be killed. But now he knew that this mark was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. But he refused to be hunted. If he was to be the wolf. Then he would take the hunt to them. From that day he cast aside his child name. And took his adult name. Fenrir.
He left his village, most were too afraid of him to utter a word the moment he proclaimed the name he'd take to his grave. But he wasn't alone in his fight. There were many who would take up the sword against the gods. Those who had too been wronged. The band was small, but skilled.Eventually they made an assault on the base The band were under constant attack from the order of Odin, two major assaults standing out, forging the legend of Fenrir in the north. These two assaults had some of the leading elite members of the Valkyrie unit. After being defeated twice, the order of Odin came back to think, knowing that they could not overcome Fenrir through force they instead attempted a new tactic. Seduction. Hildegard was the Valkyrie chosen to seduce him, and she was utterly successful in this. Fenrir fell for her head over heels. And for a time. The order seemed to have succeeded. Fenrir was settled down, under constant watch by the woman who had now became his wife. On his twentieth birthday, Fenrir had lost all thoughts of vengeance. A beautiful wife, and now a child on the way. His life seemed complete. True however. He never forgot his abandoned quest, and there was something always niggling at him. To take up his sword again. And finish the job he had started before he met Hildegard. But peace was never to last. The Order began to suspect that Hildegard had lost sight of her mission, began to think that perhaps she truly did love the monster that was her husband. And so, once more. They fell upon his life, burning. Destroying. His wife and unborn child dead, his home burned to the ground. Fenrir’s mind filled once more with vengeance and lust for destruction.
In the years that followed, Fenrir walked alone. In his path he left burned out ruins of Odin’s order. But by the time he was finished. He was convinced that his purpose in life. Was to destroy the father god. Odin. He moved south, hoping that the druidic tribes of the Celts would have some insight into where he could find Odin. However, the Druids refused to give any of their knowledge to him, they demanded from him. A price. To him no price was too much, and he agreed. In return for their knowledge, he spent ten years amongst them. Training in the ways of their magic, working for their village, protecting it from raiders. Many times. He was tempted to take a wife amongst the Celtic people. However it wasn’t to be. Each time he was kissed by a girl, he remembered the face of his wife, and knew that if he settled down again. The same pain would no doubt follow. The years were long and harsh. However at the end, he had learned much. The new gift of the druids magics was his. The power over the dead. And the long awakening power of the wolf within. The first awakening of the true wolf was painful, and uncontrollable. His animal instincts overwhelming his human nature. But in the end. He had his answer. And was content. The druids had told him a week before. That in order to face Odin the god. He would need to destroy Odin’s champion. His human form on earth. They told him that his quest would be long and hard. And would take him to the ends of the earth before the end.
Not that their words mattered much now. They were dead and he wasn’t. His journey began, and he was wary of ever using his power to unleash the inner wolf in case he once again lost control. The journey took him from the south towards the great city of Rome. In the south he was captured by Roman slavers. And was taken to the great arena as a gladiator. He was popular amongst the crowds. His great strength allowing him to wield weapons that would be unwieldy in the hands of other men. He cleft steel, bone and flesh. And at the end of two years of servitude was finally freed. He could of course, had easily escaped the Romans. By using either the Druid’s magic. Or just taking one of the swords and leading a slave rebellion. However, he knew that this was a place of great warriors. And over two years. Was constantly looking for one he could identify as Odin’s champion. But death after death. The warrior never came. The money he received on his freedom went to building a sword, one that would be customised to his exact preferences. Just like the ones he used in the coliseum, but with a Norse design to fit his style. In the end the sword was a perfect success. It was a large broadsword. Too heavy for most men to wield, just like most Saxon broadswords. However the end of the blade was his own idea. Shaped like a spearhead, to skewer enemies on the point. His travels brought him next to Greece, there he took part in many of the border disputes as a mercenary. Among the Greeks they began to know him as the last living Titan, undefeatable in combat. However, no matter how many people he killed. No matter how many wars he won. He could never find Odin’s champion. On his thirty sixth year in a campaign in Sparta, he met with a Greek pirate by the name of Walachia. The man had been sent apparently to seek him out by the leader of his mercenary band. Normally he would have picked the pirate up and thrown him into the sea. However, the message that came with the invitation was all too alluring. “ The man you seek goes by the name of Lu Bu, he lives in a country known as China, where he is undefeated in combat”.
After the campaign he returned. And joined Walachia on his ship to China. On the way there, he heard stories of the warrior. Like Odin, the man wielded a pole arm. And was supposedly able to take on an entire army alone. He knew that most stories were greatly exadurated. Knowing of course from personal experience. However. This was the closest to his goal he had ever been. He’s been with the mercenary crew for a year now. However he knows that his time will come. One day he will face the champion. And then end his curse
Other details:
- Personal Weakness: Women. Although he refuses to marry he has a soft spot for women. Refusing to kill them in combat, he once went so far as to let a woman stab him, before knocking her out with a backhand slap. This is something his comrades say will likely get him killed one day.
Rp Sample:
He stepped forward. Moving swiftly out of the tent. The Athenians had chosen to attack early this morning, arrows raining down on the front ranks of the Spartan army. However the men were experienced, skilled. And widely known as the best in Greece if not the world. He swung his coat on, and brought his helm with him hanging in his arms. And immediately headed to get breakfast, hoping that there would be some venison left over from the night before. Unfortunately, there wasn’t and apparently the cook was still unused to seeing him. A giant of a man walk amongst them. Most men were tiny in comparison to him. He towered over them all, each whispering about him being the son of a giant and a human woman. He shook his head. However legends start wherever you place them. Men will think what they want. It was a shame, it seemed the cook was this morning afraid. Afraid of what? The scholars who had discarded their books and picked up swords? The book keepers who had cowardly attacked in the early morning. And whose arrows rained down on them even now? Fenrir had to laugh. He forgot sometimes about how men unused to such horrible things still viewed it. He’d sit down, eat his ( porridge by the looks of it) breakfast and then, he put on his helm. Go into battle. And send the northern greeks running back to their libraries.
The porridge was weak and dull, and salt supplies had been running low recently so it was hardly a fulfilling meal. The wolf of the north stood. And taking up his helm placed it over his head, fastening it to his neck and then looking around the mess table of the tent. He walked outwards, an arrow glancing off his helm. He laughed again as he walked towards the front of the Spartans. There. Fifty abreast the warrior greeks, his employers had the enemies held back in a mighty phalanx. The wind picked up his cloak, and slowly Fenrir drew his sword. The Ragnarok. The blade he had named after the stories of the worlds end. The day when Odin would die. It seemed fitting to him. After the cursed and tortured life he had suffered. He approached the Phalanx, and slowly, things began to move in favour of the Spartans. It was simple really. Even his presence on the field seemed to demoralise these enemy troops. Looking up at the man in the bronze mask, who bore no armour but a fur cloak and leather clothes. And of course the helm he used to cover his face. The Greeks had called him the last of the titans. Apparently some mythological supermen born from the seed of their gods. Most men would have wore that title like a medal. But Fenrir wielded it like a weapon. Fear was the most effective tactic any man could use in battle. It made or broke men. And already the proof of this was showing. The Spartan phalanx began to stretch, breaking the ranks of the Athenian phalanx. Fenrir stepped forward and reared his sword. And the killing began. He brought the blade hissing downwards on one man, splitting the helm and feeling the satisfying crunch of the bone shatter beneath. The force of the blade causing an explosion of gore. He dragged the blade out quickly, repeating the function.The Spartan phalanx parted allowing him room to move out into the front. There was now a silence on the battlefield. And Fenrir let out a terrifying roar, a battle cry that would cause men to loose whatever they had left in their bowels. One that would surge the blood of the Spartans, making them rush their enemies with a blood lust untold of.
By dusk, as the sun was setting. The day was theirs. The Spartan general approached him. A buff man, strong. But he, like Fenrir himself was approaching his middle years. And the decades of gorging on victory feasts were beginning to show on him slightly. “ Good fighting out there wolf….the men are already telling tales of how you marched into the enemy ranks and tore them to pieces with nothing but your bare hands”. Fenrir laughed. “ Did they tell the part where I fell on my arse and was almost skewered by an Athenian pike man?”. The General laughed heartily. “ No they failed to mention that part…..ah the stories these men tell….”. Fenrir nodded. Soldiers tended to expand on things when retelling stories. Parts of his weakness would never be told, only those of his victories. And even those would be risen to god like proportions. Fairy tales to tell their families, about how they stood side by side with heroes. The general then sighed. “ Although I don’t understand why you didn’t use your magic”. Fenrir shook his head. “ Would your men like to see the corpses of their comrades return in such a state?”. The general shook his head. “ I suppose you are correct…..”. Fenrir was quick to break the tension created by that. “ So…where is our next battle then General?”. The man grinned. “ My next battle is with the Thebans my friend…you however are heading back to Sparta, I believe the king wishes to extend your contract”. Fenrir smirked. “ Or perhaps I should see just how much the Thebans are willing to pay?”. The General’s face widened with a grin and said as he laughed. “ Just make sure you tell me so I can plan my early retirement Ha ha ha ha…”.
After the battle Fenrir left for Sparta. Discussions with the king were slow. And a month later he met with the Pirate, who brought him tidings of the mercenary leader. And the whispers of destiny. The General and his men lost their next campaign, each one losing their lives against the Thebans under the guidance of the master tactician Parmenthion.
Gold:1000
