Gwrnal Whiteghost

A legend is born.

Snowflakes slowly glided down, gently touching the ever white soil of northern Midgard. It was already daytide and hunters swiftly strode through the land in search for food. A group gathered near the coast, setting up camp to share game and trade goods. Always alert, for the land was not safe anymore; the ‘’people’’ have been around, attacking tribes and stealing their cattle.

Beneath a dim orange light they sang Norse tunes of old, of the Father of all Hunters and of the creation of Midgard.  After eating roast quails and part of a boar they decided to part, for the north lost its warmth, and it was not welcoming.

They could only hear the sounds of the waves grinding against the rocks. Something they did not foresee was about to happen.

With quiet, but sure steps they headed south, getting deeper into the woods. Brown, green, and white was all they could see. Some of them kept whistling tunes and lullabies as they walked, but they were put to a stop as their leader suddenly held his hand up in a sign for silence. They all raised their bows and started looking for targets in alert.

“What is it?” asked one of the youngest.

“Silence!” held the leader, as he pierced the landscape with his eagle eyes.

“Look,” said one of the men, pointing in front of him, “there’s a woman.”

A woman in a crimson red dress wandered alone on the snow.

“We should call out to her,” the kid pointed out. “HEY LADY!”

“No-!” barked the leader, “it’s a tra—“

He couldn’t finish, for an arrow had pierced his throat. It was an ambush. In the blink of an eye they were running from exotic tipped arrows. Men in colorful garb swarmed the woods, hunting them down. They spoke in a strange language, the language of the people…the Alukhai.

All of them were slaughtered, except the youngest. As nerves took over him, adrenaline surged through him and his feet hurriedly took him to a more foliaged area. They followed his tracks to a clearing where a deep fear broke him. Trembling, he set an arrow to his bow, trying to aim at something dark hidden within the trees. An arrow hit his shoulder and his bow fell. The boy knelt with tears in his eyes.

From the trees, five humanoid shapes came to him. They looked like humans but demonic masks covered their faces. Their apparent leader unsheathed his weapon, a curved iron blade. He spoke some words and put the sword over the youth’s neck. The boy clenched his eyes shut, waiting for the blow as the demon readied his blade…

But it never hit the target.

A frightful cry came from the woods, terrifying them, making them step back. Leaping over the bushes was a strong man, armed with a massive axe. He swung the mighty weapon at the leader of the Alukhai, severing his head. The kid rolled to his side and ran until his lungs collapsed.

The masked men drew their swords, cursing in their language. But that did not stop the Ghost. In front of them was the fiercest warrior they’d have ever seen: tall, strong, bearing a naked chest and his hair was white. This man had seen many years, but they seemed not to affect him. He lunged across the clearing sweeping his axe, catching one of them in his ribs. The others attacked, deeply injuring him. He took a deep breath as he strode widely, aiming for every last one of them. The group attacked with all their abhorrence, but through all of his muscles and weight he was too quick to be hit. One of them managed to land a hit, but it only empowered his attack. Another managed to stop the axe with his face.

They kept hitting and closing in on him, but as he was baptized in the fire of combat and pain it did nothing but make him stronger. With a deep guttural scream the primal forces of the old warlord entered his body and the rest of the masked warriors faltered back. He killed the one next to him, and then advanced to kill another.

The last one looked from side to side, and upon realizing he was alone ran back for help. But the white haired man was strong, and with an amazing leap he landed in front of the masked man. It was swift, but painful. The Ghost took the mask off his face and raised the deceased head high in triumph, holding his mighty axe in his other hand as he howled in victory and power.

In that moment, two legends were born.

Gwrnal Whiteghost is the creator of the Gwrnal house of warriors; he who was first man to fight the Alukhai in Norse land. Second, Urklund, his axe, the Bringer of Death, the Terror of “Demons.”

A legend was born.