"And now I think I understand why people don't like this trip!" Sten growled as he jammed his palm deep into the stomach of some kind of half-troll half-human all-asshole monster. Crimson orthstirr screamed as a spike of iron tore its guts to rags and plunged deep into the rock wall behind it. The monster sagged, leaving a red smear in its wake.
"It's not so bad." Steinarr replied as he crushed a troll-man's skull against a rocky outcropping. "The view is nice and the mist feels good against the skin. Shame about the locals."
Steinarr span around and grabbed the nearest monster by the crown of the skull. With arms thicker than Sten's thighs, he lifted it into the air before kneeing it in the chest hard enough to break bone. The creature's face froze in a picture of screaming agony as its life slipped away — Steinarr having struck it with enough force to tear it asunder.
He tossed the body aside like a soiled shirt and clapped his hands clean in the now silent cliff-faced ridge.
"Think that was the last of them?" Sten leaned against the craggy wall, face red and breathing ragged. They'd been fighting near constantly since they started up this side of the fjord, as evidenced by the stretch of corpses following their path along the ridge.
"I'd say that it's lik-" An ear-splitting screech rang out, cutting off Steinarr as it signaled the arrival of yet another horde of troll-men. He clicked his tongue and stretched his shoulders, looking as fresh as when they started this journey. "Guess not."
Sten shook his head disbelievingly as, yet again, his father displayed the true gulf between their abilities. Steinarr could rip troll-men to shreds with his bare hands while Sten needed his sword and his Ironbloom to even attempt keeping up. Keeping pace? A distant dream. Competing? Never.
For every troll-man Sten killed, his father tallied four. He was death in the shape of a man, his hands the tools of his trade and his craft the bloodiest of them all.
But Sten had no time for further contemplation, for the horde set upon them like a wave of bristle-haired, gray-skinned bodies. How fortunate, then, that they were the rocks that waves dashed themselves against.
His sword removed heads from shoulders, limbs from sockets, and freed lives from bodies. Iron sang as it shot from his hands in thick, hefty metal darts
But compared to his father? It was like he was a child again, like he was a boy watching his father work. In a way, that wasn't inaccurate to what was happening.
Together, father and son fought as one against the unyielding onslaught. One after another the monsters came, one after another they were sent straight to the gray fields. But even so, they were slowing down. Near imperceptivity, after hundreds upon hundreds of troll-men were cast into the endless, mist-filled chasm below, they were beginning to tire.
A troll-man bit down on Sten's arm, foot-long teeth breaking iron-hard flesh and drawing blood to the surface. The wound burned, the troll-man's spit enhancing the pain three-fold, but it was nothing compared to the exhaustion seeping into his bones.
With a great surge of orthstirr, Sten snapped the thing's teeth and threw it over the ledge. "These things just don't quit!" His jaw clenched as he ducked yet another's claw swipe before catching it in the armpit with his sword. "Where in all the realms do they keep coming from?!"
"Trollnests deep underground, where creatures far more dangerous than trolls reside," Steinarr said with a growl, his fingers digging deep into rubbery insides before swiftly exposing them to the afternoon sun. The creature gurgled as its life blood pooled in a puddle at its feet. "That, or the Meinvaldfjord is making them custom for us."
Sten flicked a hand at a horde of troll-men charging forward with mindless fervor. Crimson orthstirr flashed bright — like sparks in the forge — and a fan of dagger blades sprayed from his palm. They carved through troll flesh like scythes through grain and cut them down just as effectively.
The effort, though, was just a little too much.
Sten fell to a knee, breath running ragged as he sucked down mouthful after mouthful of air. He wheezed out to his father, but he needed not, for Steinarr was already moving to cover his fallen son.
At that moment, the biggest wave of troll-men yet poured down the ridge. Dozens upon dozen charged in unison. Their howls bounced off the canyon's walls, filling the air with an earsplitting cacophony.
How were they supposed to stand in the face of this onslaught? The answer was as simple as the question; they weren't.
Sten's thoughts turned to Minna, to Drifa, to the unborn child waiting in the womb. Hopefully, they'd be able to manage in his absence. They had Halla, she'd be able to provide for them, especially once she got married to that boy of hers.
Sten breathed deep and made peace with the death approaching on troll-born wings.
Crowfeeder left the scabbard.
Seventy-three heads hit the ground.
Crowfeeder returned to the scabbard.
It happened that quickly. One moment the troll-men were alive, the next they weren't. As simple as that.
"Come on, this is no place to rest." Steinarr's face was streaked with sweat, his hair wet against his scalp as he helped his son to his feet. He chuckled, a light wheeze to his voice. "Gods, I'm out of shape."
"If that's you out of shape," Sten coughed, leaning on his sword, "then I'm not sure I want to see you in shape."
"Good thinking like that will guarantee you a long and happy life."
0~0~0
AN: And there we have it, the last interlude of this set. I had fun writing this one, though I did need to re-write it a couple of times, on account of sometimes revealing more than I should or, well, putting things in (like a hypothetical fight between Steinarr and the Jarl) that just really didn't need to be in it.
What sort of interludes would you like to see next? Besides the ones that were already available to choose, of course.
