Jorvar the Blooddrinker (Warhammer fanfic)

There was a nought but a glimmer of moonlight that penetrated the canopy of pine needles to illuminate their path. The shivering procession of migrants had been near enough directionless, following the Moon westward through the mountain passes, and hopefully, towards the coast where they could begin anew. They had fled their old homeland; a scattered collection of villages and hamlets nestled on the slopes of the Yngvar Valley that subsisted on game and hardy winter vegetables.

Jorvar brought the column of refugees to a halt and surveyed the surroundings of their campsite for the night.  A slither of footfalls and continuous drag trails marred the snow behind them and continued beyond his sight. Their home for the evening was a wide forest clearing, centred with a rough stone obelisk that was carved with glyphs and icons of peoples long lost to the world. It was a cramped fit for the fifty odd tribesmen and women, they began unloading their makeshift man-hauled pulk sleds, unfurling the furs and pitching rough circular yurts.

The elders took to the largest pavillion in the centre of the site to discuss their course.

“We ought to be heading south into the Troll Country.” Began Yngvik, the chief’s hubristic firstborn,“I hear the lands around the River Lynsk are fertile, we could begin anew there, brethren.”

“Troll Country? The land is blasted waste, boy. If we managed to make it over the mountains, half of us will have been eaten by beasts or carried off by the rat-men before we even reach the Lynsk. Do not think of such follies, child.” Jorvar corrected. He was a hunter without equal within the tribe and as such had been entrusted with the guidance of the community’s exodus.

“So we make for the coast and hope for salvation?” Questioned a grey bearded elder, Eorlin, who had once owned the largest cattle herd in the Yngvar valley.

“Do you not know the legacy of our ancestors? Norska have always lived off the sea. What makes us so different?” Jorvar argued.

“Ours have not sailed for generations. You would have farmers and huntsmen mend nets and weave sails?”

“I would have us march through the Gates of Chaos before I surrender our people to the cold.” Jorvar stood and raised a pointed hand at the interrogative old man before him, “I would have us take to the seas and live off the fat of the ocean. And when we tire of our feast we shall set our sails south and plunder whatever we will from the weakling Imperials! As it was in the days of old!”

The deliberations continued long into the eventide, and Jorvar’s course of action held its prevalence amongst the counsel.

Jorvar left the elder’s yurt and headed for his tent soon after midnight to the glow of the polar lights; his posse of supporters dispersed to their own families and temporary homes.

Jorvar arrived and set about lighting the miniature fire pit centred within the fur boundaries of his tent. Once the warm flames were suitably ablaze Jorvar settled into the deer hide sleep sack.

*I will update this with new content soon*