Viking Tales Pt.1
	Harkamus surveyed the carnage around him and knew that the battle had taken a very serious turn. Just moments ago Harkamus' clan Slegga had all but routed the invading Huns. Although outnumbered over three to one, the Viking clan known as the Sledgehammer, had waded into the invaders with a ferocity that the Huns were unaccustomed to. Feared throughout all of Asia, the Huns were use to people fleeing before them in terror not fighting back with the viciousness of a tiger.
	The push of the Huns into Viking territory had met little opposition in the six months of their occupation. That is until they had reached the small settlement of Studject. With little more than 60 men of fighting age, and about 30 women and children, the small hamlet looked like an easy target for the army of 200 able bodied Hun soldiers. But Clan Slegga that resided there were no mere villagers. The men of the village were some of the most brutal warriors ever to heft an axe, and were not to be trifled with. When the initial surge of the Hun attack had begun, the soldiers of Clan Slegga met them at the crudely constructed wooden fence that surrounded the village. The first hour of the attack had been brutal, but the Huns were forced to retreat and lick their wounds.
	When the dust had settled, almost half of the Hun invasion force laid dead or dying, but only a handful of Viking warriors had been sent to Valhalla. In the hours following the initial onslaught, the silence was almost deafening. Standing on the battlements of the crudely constructed wall, Harkamus peered into the early morning gloom trying to figure out what the crafty Huns next move would be. Harkamus was a giant of a man, even by Norse standards. He was over a full head taller than any of the other Viking warriors that surrounded him and was known far and wide as the strongest in all of the lands. His long fiery red hair flowed down over his massive shoulders and entwined itself in his chest length red beard. His eyes were deep-set and dark blue, and bore the weight of years of battle. The muscles in his massive biceps corded like bands of steel as he gripped his massive war hammer Bjorenstead.
	It is rumored he once felled a troll with a single blow of the mighty hammer. Although blown out of proportion, his deeds were legendary, his prowess as yet unmatched in combat. An uneasy feeling crept into his gut. Never in the six months that he had been fighting this vicious enemy had he known them to withdraw. Fanatical to the end, the Huns normally fought to the last man. This was uncharacteristic of them and that worried Harkamus. In the next few moments his fears were justified. On top of a small mound just a few hundred yards from the main gate of the fence, an unusually large Hun appeared. He wore a flowing scarlet red robe with a blue satin sash pulled tightly around his waist. The sleeves of the robe had been torn off to reveal the Huns arms. They were muscular, though not as large as Harkamus', and covered in runic tattoos. The bottom half of the robe had been pinned up between his legs, probably for increased mobility. But the man's head is what really grabbed attention. The man was shaved bald, all but a long topknot of hair that flowed down his back like the mane of a wild horse. His face was covered in the same exotic tattoo markings that covered his arms, and his eyes glowed blue under the morning faded light. He was unlike any man Harkamus had ever seen.
	He had no weapons that could be seen but carried himself with a supreme confidence. The Huns parted as he passed, some falling to their knees in abject submission. He strode towards the gate, completely oblivious to the more than 40 bows pointed at his chest. Harkamus let him get within 50 yards of the fence before he issued the command to fire. Arrows filled the morning air, rushing toward the advancing Hun like rain. He didn't seem to notice. As the arrows struck their target, a small blue globe of energy to surround the Hun, and the arrows shattered harmlessly on its shell. A hush came over the defending Vikings.
	The man neared the front gate, and Harkamus started to issue the command to fire again but stopped. The Hun stopped several yards from the front gate, and everyone stood transfixed. The tattoos on his arms began to glow a soft blue, as he slowly chanted something under his breath. The language was lost on the Vikings, but all on the wall knew that this was not good. The quick thinking Harkamus saved them. "Off the walls!" he bellowed. Most of the men were use to his commands and jumped immediately. Those few who hesitated paid dearly for it. The gates of the structure suddenly buckled in, as if a mighty wind had slammed them from the outside. With a hideous rending sound, the gates shattered, throwing wood splinters and timbers hundreds of feet into the compound. The first hundred feet of the walls on both sides of the gate collapsed with it dragging the remaining men from the walls and burying them under the wood. The remaining Huns seized the opportunity, and came rushing through the hole where the walls and gate use to be.
	The Huns flooded the village following behind their almost godlike leader. Battle was met on all sides. If not for the presence of the sorcerer the outcome would have still favored the Vikings. The Huns were skilled warriors, but to attack a Viking settlement filled with women and childrenmeant you would fight an opponent who would fight with an almost inhuman ferocity. As Viking men fell, the woman rush in and armed themselves, thus adding to the defenders numbers. Though not as skilled as the males, the women were not to be taken lightly. But just as the tide of the battle seemed to be shifting the sorcerer unleashed his fury. Lightning shot from his fingertips dancing from man to man charring flesh and bone alike. All in his wake fell like wheat to the scythe. Arrows and stones merely bounced from his protective spells and fell harmlessly to the ground.
	Harkamus understood his course. He had crushed a handful of the invaders just moments after they entered the compound, but to win victory today, he would need to take out the sorcerer. Clearing the path between the Hun and himself proved difficult. He was at least 30 yards away, and would take several moments to reach. Moments he didn't have to waste. Hefting Bjorenstead over his head, he took one giant rotation, and let the hammer fly. It tumbled end over end, its aim unerring. The hammer slammed into the defensive shield of the sorcerer, and the blue nimbus that surrounded him buckled with the blow. The hammer slammed through the shield and hit the Hun squarely in the chest. The sorcerer was thrown 20 feet backwards, slammed into the outer wall of the longhouse, and slid down the wall like a rag doll. This blow would have normally killed any mortal man, but the shield had absorbed a tremendous amount of the impact. The Hun slowly got to his feet, clutching his chest and his now shattered ribs.
	Harkamus rushed down to the longhouse clubbing Huns as he passed with his bare hands. He reached the sorcerer just as he gained his feet. Grabbing Bjorenstead from the ground, he was swinging just as the sorcerer's chant started. Unbelievably, the Hun grabbed the shaft of the weapon before it could start its decent. The two behemoths struggled for control of the weapon; both had firm grips on the shaft of the hammer. Slowly Harkamus gave ground. The sorcerer pushed down with all of his incredible strength, and the Viking dropped to one knee. Exulted by the rush of victory, the Hun pressed his face closer to the Viking and whispered, "I am Ying. I thought you would like to know who your executioner was". Although thickly accented, the words came through clearly. From this vantage point Harkamus was amazed to see that the sorcerer was just a boy. He could not  have seen more than 18 seasons, yet he wielded tremendous power.
	But Harkamus had endured many hardships in his long life and he was as crafty as he was competent. Ying realized to late that it was all a ruse. No matter how strong he was he could never have forced the mighty Viking to his knees. He saw the flash of the open blade a fraction of a second to late. Harkamus dropped one hand off of the handle of his fabulous hammer and pulled the long dagger from its hiding place in his fur-lined boot. With one quick motion, he thrust upwards, and into the exposed belly of the Hun sorcerer. Ying jerked back reflexively, taking the hammer with him as he went. He staggered back against the wall of the longhouse, his lifeblood pooling below him. Biting hard against the pain in his midsection, the adept sorcerer released his final spell. It was a desperation spell. One that was designed to teleport him to a predetermined sanctuary where he may heal from even this grievous wound.
	Harkamus barreled into him at full force, throwing all 290lbs. of his considerable bulk into the Hun at full speed. The wall behind them gave way and they tumbled into the longhouse interior. Ying never finished the spell, but the effect went off anyway. Both men were covered in a glowing ball of green energy then they slowly faded to nothing.
		To be continued...