Onward to glory (private)

[Dusty]

[[Retconed disguised appearance, new appearance below.]]

Spoiler

 

Two weeks of nothing. Two weeks of sitting about in Saarvagerg getting drunk and killing time. At first she was overjoyed that she somehow got in with the Red Jarl, he was by her view, the greatest warrior alive. His skill at arms was legendary and for many years she dreamed of learning from him. She’d settle watching him battel even! And yet for two long weeks he’s held her at arm's length. She’d seen him just a few times and all of this was starting to feel pointless! At this rate she’d wasted all of her time and had to sneak away back home. She can’t stay as a caribou forever… But on the third day of the second week a breakthrough happened. By his will she and the others in the city loyal to him were to march north-west to a camp underneath his flag. About two days travel. He did not tell them why and none asked him. And so early the next morning they marched… It felt good to do so. 

 

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It was dusk when it happened. The marching column was breaking up to make a tent for the night when horns sounded for battle. An unknown number of loyalists launched an ambush and things were madness. Bulls and cows rushing every way to from battle lines, orders were mixed and confusing as chaos erupted all around her. She had no way of knowing if they could even win this battle yet, it was unclear if they were outnumbered or not! But one thing was clear. She had to get into the thick of it. And so she did. As the minutes ticked past she pushed herself to the front of battle, claiming a large poleaxe from a fallen bull along the way. Her goal? The Red Jarl himself. She HAD to find him and prove herself before his eyes! This may be her one and only opportunity to see him in battle and learn from him. And with this goal she pushed Onward.

 

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With steel, blood and will she carved her path to where he must be. It's where the battle was most heavy and the loyalists pushed the hardest. That can only mean one thing. Something was there they HAD to take or kill and the one thing out here worth that was the Jarl. She’d taken a far few blows, blood running her fur red but she did not slow, she did not stop. She was lightning, she was the storm and she will not falter. She wished to call his name, scream it so he may know she was doing this for him. But she need not words, for her auctions shall scream for her. They shall yell out her power for him to see and maybe then he will give what she wanted. 

 

In her wake was a trail of broken soldiers,  roadblocks on her path of glory as her goal came in to view. Holding his own, leading from the front was the most glorious thing she has ever seen. Standing like a giant the Red Jarl was a wall unbroken, holding strong against all that crashed against him. It was Awe-inspiring to witness. Every movement was precise as it was powerful, no blow missed and with every hit a bull was sent flying like some calf. She felt her heart flutter as her jaw went slack. He was… Wonderful. For all his evil, for all his wrongdoing. He was what she wished she could be. And just maybe, what she will be. Steeling herself she rushed to his side to claim her moment in his eye. No matter what may come she was ready, this was it. This was her only hope of earning even a shred of respect from him. And with poleaxe in hoof, rared up and ready she forced herself in to battle alongside him with all the fury she can unlash.

[SteelEagle]

Finally a battle. Not that he hadn't expected it, though. Much of the Whitescar mainland was held in the weak hooves of the so-called loyalist scum who infested this noble land with their weak ways. And if you went northwest from the city of arenas you started to cut right into loyalist territory, heading towards their capital. Plus he had made sure to get the word out that the Red Jarl was in the area. Hopefully this would mean that the loyalists would try something bold. They did finally, and launched a beautiful ambush. "Finally some courage!"

 

The hardest blow came at the head of the column, towards the Jarl himself. That was as desired. Caribou doctrine, even loyalist-infested, called for trying to engage the enemy leader and fell him in combat as quickly as possible. Their best and strongest charged towards the Red Jarl and his honor guard with predictable results. He moved with the practiced elegance of a sophisticated artist but he struck with the force of a mountain-cracking earthquake. None could find purchase upon him yet in increasing mounds did the loyalist dead pile around him and his honor guard. "Hahaha, see how they break upon us brothers!"

 

They were joined by one cow or bull at a time, then a few more. The column was being hit hard. Good. This was a test. Most of the column was made up of the young and those who wished to join the ranks. This trial by combat would omit the weak and recommend the truly strong. Among those who were making their way to him was a particular cow. The cow who stunk of magic found her way to him, as he had foreseen. He had yet to fully trust her because she had yet to reveal the nature of her magic. "You! I see my eyes did not let me down in the arena," he said as he looked at her, parrying a blow with his sword and leaving his axe in his assailant without looking. 

 

"Sound the real ambush!" He barked to one of his honor guard. He lifted a horn to his mouth and took a mighty breath before belting out. The horn made a deep rumbling sound that echoed without reply for a few seconds.
Then, from the sky, two distant brass responses. Everybou who didn't know what was about to happen looked up, while those who did continued the killing.

Two large longships came hurtling towards the ground, breaking the cloud barrier even as they gave off increasingly aggressive responses. One came abreast of the battle on either side and slammed into the ground, their bows armed and armored and slicing through the forests with speed and aggression. Dozens of loyalists were crushed, and the loyalist lines were thrown into confusion. The longships continued to scar the earth until finally they stopped. Ladders were dropped and ramps lowered. The veterans of the Red Jarl's campaigns arrived and charged into the rear of the loyalist ambush.

 

Now the real slaughter began.
"Leave none standing! For the Old Gods! For Whitescar!" He yelled out. All around and across the battered column came a furious response as honor guard and newblood alike charged the shocked loyalists, catching them in a berserker piercing strike. He grabbed the magical cow and pulled her in close, pointing out a strong-looking loyalist warrior who cleft two newblood in twain as they charged him with a might battleaxe.

 

"I can smell your need to prove yourself, cow. Kill him and bring me his helm!" He roared as he violently pushed her towards him, leading his honor guard in a charge nearby.

[Dusty]

She has seen much in her life in a dozen war zones as she made one kingdom after another drop down and beg for mercy in the name of the Storm King. Yet in all that time she’d never seen something so insane as to drop ships out of the sky with troops on them. It left her standing with a dumbfounded look of shock at the sheer audacity of the move. Yet her shock was broken as the red Jarl grabbed and pulled her in close, his words booming in her ears forcing herself back to reality and the beast of a bull yelling at her… and she loved it. Orders were not given but delivered with force and fact. She nodded her head, eyes unflinching before the bull as he aimed her at the pray and pushed.  She did not need more motivation to rush ahead at the loyalist warrior, grabbing her own poleaxe in muzzle.

 

Her charge was not blinde as she leaped over spear and axe with the grace of a leopard on the hunt. Her heart beat like a drum as she saw the wolves in the corner of her vision. Constructs of her imagination born in her harsh youth. Friends and foes all in one. Ever taunting her, ever pushing her to be more. Monsters to keep in the cage well heading their advice. Yet they did not speak as the hunt was on and in this they can be united with her and let free. She was the hunter now.

 

And without a word she made contact, axe swinging as the loyalist warrior barely had time to react. Sparks raced in to the sky as she let the axe go, pushing onward with a hoof strike at his face. The bull stumbled over his down flank from the blow as the two clashed in a close and deadly wrestling match as both pushed and hit the other for the fallen axes. He was on the back hoof a first, taken back by the raw aggression and speed of her blows. She held nothing back even as a tiny voice cried. The wolves just laughed at it. This is what she really was after all. 

 

Forcing her back hooves to meet the bulls stomach she kicked him off. Pulling herself up she got her axe back as he rolled to his hooves and jumped up, yet he backed off from her. Everything was. She was confused as to why for a brief moment as it clicked. Her antlers were shimmering with rolling magic electricity. She never used magic before when disguised like this, she did not know if it was possible and that blindness to it let her slip up. It was easy to stop it, as soon as she thinked about it the magic was put back in its place. Yet others saw it. Gripping her axe harder she cussed underneath her breath and pushed in to a charge at the bull with the rage of a berserker, it was his fault that happened and he must die for it. She can work out what to do with the others that saw it later.

[SteelEagle]

The battle was a tempest, uncontrolled and furious to the untrained eye. But much as the pegasi of that weak land could control the sky, so could a real warchief grab hold of the tempest and direct it to his will. The loyalists had been broken by the ambush turning into an ambuscade and found themselves being churned at in every angle by a swirling maelstorm of blade and muscle. What had once been a relatively organized melee became a series of duels and brawls that lost any cohesion. That was, until you got to the head of the column about the Red Jarl and those areas around his favored lieutenants across the battlefields. They remained organized and pressed into the loyalist mass. And many blades driven towards a singular goal were much deadlier than a similar mass of unorganized ones.

 

This allowed him to focus the lion's share of his attention to the fight involving the cow eve as he continued fighting the stragglers that were allowed to reach him. She was fierce and had a lot of natural talent, but she was indescribably raw. Too much fluff and flash! She needed to have a greater understanding of the killing blow. Still, she was agile, she was fast, she was strong, and she was vicious. He could do a lot with that material. As he studied her movements an the fight progressed, it happened. The facade she had kept up for so long with broke, if ever so slightly. Magic arced between her antlers like the start of a lightning storm, briefly. It happened almost too quick for others to see and it was over before it could attract attention.

 

But he saw.

He knew.
No matter that. He could confront her and force the truth later. He had a battle to finish in the meantime.

By this point the Jarl's men had surrounded the loyalists, having pressed them into a tight ball by charging their flanks and in accordance with the pincer attack. The Jarl took out a horn and blew twice in quick succession, followed by one his bodyguards trilling twice more on his. The rebels pulled off of the loyalists for a moment, giving them breathing space. A brief lull in the battle as the two sides took a breath before the elite of the rebels took the front- armed with spear and shields, creating a circular wall. "Charge!" he cried, and the rebels moved in, though not as wildly as before. It was slow and methodical as they crushed the loyalists into a smaller and smaller area, repulsing their attacks with ease and advancing in an ordered, consistent fashion, with spear and shield doing their work. 

The twilight of the loyalists had come, which gave the Red Jarl more time to watch the cow engage in battle with her prey, the rebels having pushed past them but ignoring them. They knew better than to interfere with an assignment he had given.

[Dusty]

With a clash the two meet again, more driven than ever she pushed hard on the attack. That one small slip up was… worrying. Not world ending. Far from it. In the heat of battle it's easy to miss something like that. She hoped. But she can not worry long, her focus taken by the battle at hoof. This time it was much faster. Pushing in hard she forced the block she wanted and locked the hook of her ace over the handle of the aposeing weapon and forced it upwordes more. She did not think the bull would lose his grip and he did not. but she had no aim to disarm him with this move. All she needed was him to focus on keeping his axe as she let one hoof slip free and strike with the leading edge of her hoof at his neck. He reeled back while wheezing, losing the grip on his weapon. She let go of her own unleashed a storm of blows on the bull as he fell down. Wearever he failed to block she hit. Chest. Nethers. Neck. head. It did not matter where so long as he was not blocking. When he stopped she continued to rain blows on him, unrelenting in the onslaught until finly it registered in her mind that he wasn't moving. 

 

She felt… weird.  wrong. She lost control of herself and felt ashamed in some deep part of her soul. But she has won. What did she do now? Looking up to the battle it seemed to be in the winning strokes now. They won. Looking back at the bull she saw his chest moving. He was alive still. She was ordered to kill him. Kill and take his helm. Easy. She picked her axe back up and chewed on the handle in her muzzle as a small part of her protested what she was about too do. She’s killed before. So why was this so daunting? “Sorry.” She whispers, unsure why as she swings the weapon down one last time. 

 

 

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Holding the helm by its straps she made her way back to the Jarl. She’s done what he wanted, killed the bull and got the helm. Yet she felt wrong about all of it. Was this really what she was doing? Why WAS she doing this? Why did she feel so much need to win even a glance of respect from him? Did she crave that feeling of self worth this much? But for all the protest her mind gave her she kept walking to him. She can go home whenever. Leave. Just a few days more of this will not hurt. Will it?

[SteelEagle]

The enemy fractured before them. The Loyalists were tough, strong, and brave, but it took a unique mind to withstand the knowledge of your imminent death and the crushing defeat that was laid bare before you. Many fled, or at least tried to. Some threw down their weapons and gave themselves over to the rebellion. A bright, blazing few fought heroically and tenaciously- and with total furility. The slaughter was quick and vicious. Some of the Red Jarl's men wanted to pursue the retreating Loyalists and cut them down but he held them back. Better to leave some ashamed survivors to bring word of this defeat to their fellows. Fear- fear was a weapon as sharp as any blade, and he knew well how to wield it. 

 

But that was not when the good news ended. His cow, the magical cow mercenary, returned with the helm of her defeated enemy. He noticed the slight hesitation, the flight concern that had flashed in her. It only made him more curious as to who she really was, but no matter. In the moment, she had done her job. She approached, helm in her hooves. When she got close enough he reached over and picked her up by her legs, the helm still in her control. He roared in victory, his army following suit. The helm fell off and he grabbed it, gazing at it with a wicked smile. "You did well today, warrior. Now, let us depart. We have proven what we needed to prove," he said, and the army followed suit. He then stared at the helm once more with that same smile. That would show his traitor-cousin the meaning of 'dishonoring the family', wouldn't it?

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In the Badlands of Equus the rebels had created any number of large, roving settlements. They shared the badlands with Changeling hive-groups who left the Changeling kingdoms after Chrysalis' defeat, pony criminals, outlaw groups, and loners, and any manner of magical creatures and dangerous wildlife. For all of those threats though it was the caribou who dominated their surroundings. Over time the exiled rebels had turned their camps into towns and ports, militarized in the way that only fanatics could do and bustling with activity. Large numbers of slaves- pony, griffon, kirin, changeling, reindeer, and even some caribou- toiled endlessly as the fires of war-making industry from innumerable forges lit the night sky in roiling auras of currant and cherry-tinted black smoke. 

 

The Red Jarl landed in Helmsberg. Very creative name- the core of the town had been a Mighty Helm fort and outpost in the days of early, early Equestria when ponies had been more exciting and had explored the continent more so. Now those were respectable ponies. Air longship docks were arrayed around the town and as they disembarked each ship was immediately set upon by dozens of repairbou. From there, they had been allowed to do as they please until the night, when they would meet again in the center of the makeshift town. Most bou spent their free time drinking and fighting if they were members of the crew- and as usual, the drinks were free for victorious bou- while around the town the little bou practiced their soldierly, teams of cows hustled and bustled taking care of the bulls, and skalds led their brothers and sisters in song and religious practice.

 

By night, the mood turned somewhat more somber. The Red Jarl emerged from the Helmskeep as two dozen bodies were wrapped up in nice linens with their weapons and armor laid around and on top of them. One by one he said the names and a skald spoke of their deeds. Those with families were taken into a nearby Barrow where they would be interred alongside their families for generations. Those without families and without great deeds to their name were burned on large pyres nearby. One of them was put on a boat and pushed out to see before a rain of arrows on fire caught it on fire in the cold waters of the frozen north.

 

Then the drinking began, because to die in battle was glorious.
Lit by the fires of pyres in the sea and on land, the Red Jarl mingled with his fellow caribou for a while, disinterested in small talk but indulgent in his description of battle. Before long he vanished inside the Helmskeep. The party continued for some while until one of his housecarls found the Magical Cow. "The Red Jarl wishes to see you in the Helmskeep, warrior." 

[Dusty]

From Whitescare she oddly found herself back closer to home. When she heard word of them traveling to the Badlands of Equus she saw no need too say no and leave. When she did need to make her leave it will be all the more easy to do on land she knew. In years past she spent some time out in the badlands. Some day she wondered if she couldn't settle down there. But that was many years away. Her time in the warband was… Well, fun! The conflicting feelings she had from the battle washing away with time and mead. She was even learning the names of her ‘brothers and sisters’ at arms. She wanted to keep away from such things, worried what it may do later. Yet she found it happening as she was pulled along to join in parties, clashes and drunken mayhem. She felt… Kinship. 

 

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She hardly had the power to hold back laughter as a bull named Blotjarl cracked one of his crude jokes. He was one of bulls that seemed keen on taking her along to things. She can’t tell yet if he saw a friend in her or a mate just yet. But he and others embraced her as a sister of the warband sooner than most. “[I see that twitch! You ARE laughing! Don’t shake that head no!]” He shouted, tossing his head back in laughter as he and her other… friends? Walked down a mud path in the dark. All of them were more than somewhat sloshed and seeking some place to crash and sleep. That was until a housecarl of the Red Jarl made his way up to them. They all stopped to see what this was about.

 

Soon as she spoke all eyes were on her. He wanted to see her? Worrying, but maybe good? It's been some weeks since the battle. She did wonder if he’s gone and forgotten her. With a sift nod of her head she waved goodbye to her ‘friends’ and walked down the muddy paths for Helmskeep. The news did sober her up some, she has from day one watched how much she drinked. She can not risk being drunk as a drunk… Cow has loose lips and if she broke her act now? Well she was not about to think about such things. Reaching the door the gourds let her inside, clearly they knew she was coming. She just hoped for good news.

[SteelEagle]

The Cow arrived in good time, looking all the part of somebou who had enjoyed her party this day. A part of hi recoiled at the idea of somecreature that had been lying about her identity enjoying the company of his warriors but she had earned it the way any caribou might- by crushing her opponents and scattering the enemies of the old gods. If nothing else she had earned the right to celebrate that, no matter how short her celebration may last.

 

The room was quite large and at the very center of the Keep. It was used now as a planning room. A massive stone table was erected in the middle and on it were placed wooden figures signifying the rebels, the loyalists, and other military forces of concern. Charts and maps  and books- yes, books- littered the area around it as the Red Jarl and other caribou examined it. That was, until she came in. He gruffly tossed his wildly maned head to the side and the caribou left one by one, their hoofsteps echoing in the silence of the Keep. Once the final caribou left it was only the Red Jarl and the cow, ad the far off sounds of celebration.

 

After a few moments the Red Jarl, who had been leaning against the table, stood up to his full height and started circling it around to her. He gestured to one of the figures in Whitescar. It was a loyalist figure in the northeast of the continent, where almost no rebels could be seen. It had been toppled, a red X marked on it in washable colors. Across the waters into the Stottingsburg Isles, multiple rebel figures were turned rightside up, though few of them appeared to be warrior figures. "That was our doing. The Hjaarvesgar Clan was an impediment to our contact and alliance with our brothers and sisters in the Slave Islands. With them out of the way, that corridor will be easier to transit through," he said as he finally made his way behind her, examining her form for any inconsistencies. For one who was well briefed in the layout of the body it wouldn't take long. "You have a keen mind. What else do you see? What do you think I see?"

[Dusty]

and powerful as the Red Jarl. She loved the way Caribou made things, the mix of hardly long term use mixed with hints of art hit her in just the best ways. Gathering herself she pushed on to the grand tabel as others moved away, leaving the hall so she and the Red Jarl were alone. It made her worry somewhat, yet if he was going to kill her he’d want others around yes? So her hopes did rise, more so when he spoke and guided her to the map. As he spoke she nodded her head in understanding, she had helped the rebel gain power. More easy sea paths to the Stottingsburg Isles. That will help them bring in more soldiers, gear and weapons. Then he asked what she saw, speaking of her sharp wits. This was a test! Maybe he wanted to see if she was fit for strategic skills and planning?

 

Such a test is something she knows she can do well at! She loved such things and spent YEARS doing that for the stormking! Kingdoms were wiped out or made in to slaves by the strategic plans she put in to work. So this was her element fully. Even as his eyes were on her, looking for a hint of worry and weakness she’d give none. With a sharp nod she looked over the map, focused and fixed on its details as her mind worked to piece together a stratagem to impress him. If she was less focused on it she may worry about him looking her over so close, yet she did not. All she was thinking about was the map and how to make a plan to impress him fully. She needed to impress him. A deep seeded craving and need to feel worth something, wanted and needed. And in the moment that desire to be wanted pushed away all fear. Being sloshed did not help in such matters as well. 

[SteelEagle]

He gave her the space he thought she needed, the space she needed to prove his fears founded right. There was a certain way caribou waged war, a certain way they thought. Their culture bled into the way they thought strategically. Everycreature did the same. Your culture informed how you thought even militarily. Training was supposed to root out such subconscious bias but training was itself rooted in the cultural values of the society that all involved grew up in. Sure you could study an enemy, learn their thought processes and doctrines and use that information to plan your own strategy against them. But that was different from how you would have proposed that strategy yourself. How you would have discussed it, explained it. And that was what he was here to hear. And that was how she was revealing her true colors, word by word.

 

As she spoke he circled around her and the table, examining her far more than what was on the table. He wasn't truly looking at her for signs of weakness. No, he knew she was strong, for whatever she was. No, he was looking for the physical signs of...change. Changelings had some difficulty being caribou. A war wound would reveal alien biology deep inside. Equestrian magic was taxing and tended to roll in effectiveness, shading some parts better awhile others that were out of line of sight tended to weaken to conserve power. But try as he might, he could not divine what it was she doing. He knew she was false and her words, her method of speech, betrayed her. But he needed more.

 

"I see. Good work," he said as he finished his rotations around her, his body neatly overlapping hers as he looked at her body closely. "Your strength and strategic insight would make you a wonderful broodcow for me. It is a shame you are false," he said, with one of his legs on her back pressing down, pushing her front-facing into the table, pinning her. "You have the stink of magic about you. You do not speak in the manner we do, nor think strategically like we. I have known you are not caribou since the arena. Who are you?" He said as he pressed more, the strength now such that the stone table started to shake and move. "Speak now and speak plainly!"
 

[Dusty]

She ‘spoke’ her plan with hoof movements, pushing figures in to place for some mock battle. Deception was a word for her movements. Using small forces too draw in bigger ones to bottle necks they’d never see coming. Only to have forces move in from the back and trap them. Brutal efficiency with no love or care put in for things other than winning. Every soldier was a pawn to be moved however needed. In her eyes this is how war is waged. You win or lose. There is no room for feelings in the mix. Yet she was feeling a lot of things in the moment. Fear. Worry. And most of all excitement. 

 

And that excitement grew as he moved closer. She tried to push it off but the need to feel useful, wanted, was powerful. She got stiff as stone when he pulled himself up over her back. What was he doing? Was he going to just take her on this table like some romance book? No. As he spoke all the lust and wanted pride was washed out in fear. Feeling a hoof pushing her down made her push back, hooves pushing on the table as all his mass pushed down on her back. Yet she did hold herself up off the table. But even if she was holding herself up mostly, he was heavy. If she moved a hoof at all she’d fall down. It was an act of defiance but one she can’t act on. The worst outcome did happen and she was at his mercy at this moment. 

 

She looked down for a time, thinking. “[I… I am not. Normel. Yes.]” Her speech was slow and broken. “[Touched… of the magics of sky thunder. But I not use it, not one. I kill as asked. Do as asked. Wish no harm on you. No. I see… power in you. Read of you, seen of you. Wanted more. Got more. You are strong and honorbound. Keep words. Keep promises. I been betrayed so much. Wish I followed you first. Other life. Other times maybe.]” She grunted, it was hard to speak and focused on holding herself up with him on her back. If this was less… threatening she’d call this the hottest dam moment of her life. But it was hard to feel too worked up when she may be killed soon. Maybe he’d let her die with some honor? She’d not fuss too much at such a death.