The Challenge - Draft One

Harrok's back!

Harrok circled his opponent, his new trolltooth dagger in one hand, his iron knifethe other. The tribe circled the pair, silent and staring. No cheering for their faveroites, no support was given to either member, for this was a solem occasion. Hurorkap, literally translated as "Bad blood spills" but meaning closer to "The spilling of bad blood/emotions" was a ceremony of the most dire kind, a ritual dual to either death or surrender. Due to the nature of the tradition, death was almost always the result.

Rejk faced Harrok in the circle, moving slowly and readily, his norscan-forged iron sword in two hands. Between the pair the tribes shamman, Krajh, stood tall. His bare chest was tattoed with occult designs, and ritual scars, which extended to his upper arms, neck, back and lower face. Holding a ceremonial dagger his hand he help it above the pair, in view of the surrounding crowd. The whole tribe watched as Krajh spoke, telling the tale of Orik and Bjorn, and the enmitty betwene the great ancestor-gods that was tearing the pair apart. Where Bjorn wanted to go south and fight the horse-riders and the hill-warriors, Orik thought that the tribe should flee north where the southern armies would not follow. Bjorn called Orik a coward, and a fued between the pair begun. Their conflict was tearing the tribe apart, and if something was not done, the tribe would schism and be crushed by their southern foes. The pair decided to fight a single combat, the winner would continue, and the loser would not trouble anyone, leaving the conflict solved one way or another. Since that legendary fight, any fight between tribe members or any personal hatred within the tribe that threatened the tribe as a whole were decided by Hurorkap.

Krajh lay the dagger in the centre of the circle, and then stepped back, joining the circle. Now in order to complete his challenge Rejk must throw the dagger in the air, and the moment it hit the ground, the pair would begin their fight. Neither must intentionally touch the dagger, for that symbolised surrender. The copper dagger flew high in the air, glittering in the low sunlight before plumeting down within the circle. The blade sunk into the soft snow, and the combatants lept at eachother.

Rejk swung his sword for a low hit, was parried by Harrok, reversed his sword and flicked his blade up attemping to cut Harrok's jagular. Harrok ducked, and stabbed with his trolltooth dagger as Rejk jumped back and lept on the offencive agian. Harrok jumped a second low swing, ducked a thrust to the throat and tackled his opponent, arms around Rejk's legs, holding the daggers out. The shock of this move caused Rejk to drop his sword, and Harrok dropped his dagger as his arm hit the ground. Freeing his arm, Harrok pulled his knife out from under Rejk, the cold iron dark against the slowflakes that adorned the crude blade. Rejk kicked Harrok in the face, spraying crimson blood over the pair, and possibly breaking bones. Spitting blood and teeth Harrok held Rejk down, barely flinching at the blow, despite the pain. He must seem relentless if he was to succeed. With a witheringly powerful headbut Harrok broke Rejk's nose, the younger fighter screaming in pain. Harrok placed a foot on Rejk's chest, and held the dagger over Rejk's neck. Asking Rejk if he would yeild he emphasised the point by placing the edge of his dagger against the soft skin on Rejk's throat. It was painfully cold, the rough blade raising pricks of blood from the exposed flesh.

Rejk suddenly stabbed Harrok in the leg with Harrok's dropped dagger. Again, unflinchingly Harrok took the blow. Deamons cried out in his head, but no outward sign of the agony was forthcoming. Pushing harder with his wounded leg, he felt intense pain but thanked Bjorn that he had missed the major tendons and muscles. Sudenly beneith his foot a rib broke, snapping loudly and painfully. Repeating in a voice that Harrok hoped was louder and more intimidating then it felt, Harrok one more requested "Yeild".

Rejk paniced beneith Harrok's boot and blade. He gave a scream of pain, and asked Harrok to finish it now. Instead Harrok stepped back and stood behind the dagger burried in the ground. He remained silent. The only noise that could be heard was the howl of the wind, and the heavy breaths of Rejk. Harrok stood there, breathing deaply, taking great pains not to sound laboured. He felt as if he would collapse any moment. Wondering whether he had chosen correctly, or if he would pass out and be finished by the younger warrior, and leave his wife a widow. His determination and reslove returned in full measure and he straightened, dispite the pain. The dagger was still in his leg, bleeding slowly as it tortured Harrok.

Rejk saw his choice. The message was easy, chose to surrender by touching the dagger, or fight Harrok, and die. He realised his fued wasn't worth dying for, and attempted to rise, but collapsed. He knew if he passed out he would die, Harrok would be forced to kill him. Marsheling his resources, he stood, stumbled a step forward and then fell. He began to crawl towards the dagger, and then collapsed. He almost passed out, and he felt his conciousness slipping away. Suddenly friendly hands lifted him to his feet, and helped carry him towards the ceremonial dagger. He knew the tribe couldn't interfere, and looked up to his benefactor.

Harrok carried the young warrior over to the knife, gritting his teeth, refusing to gasp in pain. He could't give in to pain now, not now when he had almost succeeded. Lying the young warrior down next to the knife, he kneeled over him. After a moments thought he grabbed Rejk's sword.

Rejk reached out for the dagger, and life. Suddenly he saw Harrok grabbing his sword, and bringing it over. Collapsing barely concious, he failed. He couldn't muster the strength even to grab the dagger. The blow to the head must have concussed him. "What a way to die" Rejk thought "Killed with one's own sword." He waited for the death blow, and he realised that Harrok had placed the sword next to him, and didn't mean to kill him. He summoned the last of his reserves of energy and grabbed the dagger. He then passed out, sinking into blackness.

******

A week later Rejk came to. Lying in a bead of moss, next to a fire, he was covered by the skins of many animals. Tossing them off he gasped in pain, as his ribs ached. Looking to his chest, he saw the sign of Orik cut into his chest. The sign of honourable defeat. But he surrendered? How could he have earned the sign of Orik? Pondering to himself he went back to sleep.

Over the next few days, Rejk heard the tales of how Harrok had spared him, carried him across to the dagger and how, after he had passed out, Harrok had carried him to the shaman's hut, and only after he had made sure Rejk's wounds were bound, had removed the knife in his leg and bound his own cuts. How as he slept, Harrok carved the sign of Orik into his chest.

A week after the fight, Rejk could sit up and walk unassisted, his head injuy fully healed. His rib still hurt badly, particularly when he moved, but Krajh told him that he could hunt in another three weeks or more. Sitting in the shamman's hut, his tempory abode until he healed, a visitor walked in. Harrok sat down next to Rejk, and handed him the ceremonial dagger. Freashly sharpened the tip gleamed with a copper sheen. Rejk took the dagger and carved the sign of Bjorn into him, sealing his own loss, but graciosly with honour. Harrok smiled, and calmly worked on the open cuts on his chest, first covering them in healing salves, then binding them closed with cloth made from the hair of the Trakun, the great hairy yak of the northern mountians.

Rejk's next move shocked Harrok completely. Rejk took the ceremonial knife to his own skin again. Calmly cutting into his own arm, Rejk cut a stylised skull of a great bear into his own arm. As he did so he said to Harrok "Brothers in mingled blood, your family is mine*. Your enamies are my foes. Any fight you are in, I will watch your back before mine, defend your hut and fire as if it was mine own. If you take my oath, take this dagger now." Finishing these words of submission, he offered the knife to his potential leige. Harrok took the knife, and placed it in his belt, before returning the traditional responce. "Brothers in mingled blood, your family is mine*. Your allies are my friends. Any fight you are in, I will fight alongside you, defend your hut and hearth, for it is now mine."

Clasping eachothers forarms in the warrior grip the pair exchanged a smile. Rejk understood now that he was Harrok's man to command. His own disagreement was elipsed by the service he owed his new Jorg. (Roughly translates as leige or honour lord.) Harrok said to him "Rest now, sleep. When the dawn breaks, we will have much to talk on. Now I must return to my hut and family."

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Notes:
*The word used was "Myln", which translates from Norscan to something close to mine. No ownership is inferred, and it is used as one would use mine in english reffering to one's own family.