The Fall of Beliy Gorod

This is a back-story for my current D&D character, a half-giant dungeon crasher/psionic warrior. Before you proceed, allow me to make a quick introduction: The grey-eyed, blond beauty in question is named Helga. She is usually 6'4", 200 lbs of muscle incased in metal, and carries a disturbingly large hammer. In her spare time, she likes to SMASH, pulverise, and obliterate. Helga is also an accomplished artist, specialised in skilfully converting her foes into abstract wall paintings. The bold strokes of crimson accentuated by shards of bone make for truly inspiring murals. Isn't she the paragon of sex-appeal? The story itself is a blend of scattered references to Norse mythology, broken Russian, and nods to awesome British sci-fi. Well, go ahead, read on...  

“I am Helga of the Vaeringjar, bearer of the slain. I swear fealty to my people, for they are the very blood that courses through my veins. Without it, I am no one. I pledge my heart to Mighty Thor, for he is the keeper of my soul, and he guards my heart form the blade so that Vaeringjar blood may run strong. Without Him, I am nothing.”

Once more I speak the sacred words of the Oath before retiring, just as I have every night since I was old enough to speak. Among my people, words are not mere distractions, wasted breath, to be throw about carelessly or without reason. They define the very essence of an individual, depicting her wisdom, her honour, her reasons for being... The Vaerinjar recognise the power of words, and the hallowed Oath is particularly potent. Its power eases my the tumult in my mind and brings me rest, even here. This ungodly land of metal is not exactly conductive to a good night's sleep, especially when one is surrounded by strangers who seem overly fond of their own voices. Still, I suppose there is a beginning to every tale, no matter how mad.

Beliy Gorod was home. It was a city of deceptively fragile elegance, domed cathedrals, and proud palaces. All these sparkling gems were safely incased within the austere shell of heavily fortified walls. Beyond the barricades loomed the mountain range of Kamennoi Pojies, so named because it formed a stone belt, surrounding the city on three sides. To the north, the land gave way to the turbulent waters and shifting ice of the Krasnoje Sea. We, the Vaeringjar, may have staked claim to this land, but we have always shared the rule of it with winter. More often than not, our world was clad in a thick blanket of snow. But such is the whim of the Gods, and my people drew strength from the cold winds as just as they did from the heat and fury of battle. This was the home I have sworn to protect.

I am a daughter-kin descendent of the Asynjur, giantesses who are wedded to the Gods. It is my duty to serve my brethren as a bearer of the slain. I seek out the sons who have fallen in battle and return them to the motherland. I deliver their souls into the ranks of Thor’s armies, so that they may fight once more for the glory of the Gods and earn their eternal rest. Through the rigourous training dictated by custom, my mind and body were sculpted into a tool of the Gods, the Blood and the Land, a warrior worthy of her name. This was my fate since birth, to speak the Oath each night on bloodied knees while my head threatened to cave inwards from the mental strain. And each night, no amount of pain could surpass the pride I felt when I spoke the words.

A fierce wind woke me at dawn on my thirtieth day of birth, the year marking childhood’s end. Like each year on this day, I made the solitary journey to the mountains to praise the Aspects of the Gods. Legend claimed that these great winged serpents, Drakons as they are called in the old Vaeringjar tongue, dwelt upon the highest peaks of the stone belt. None dared to venture so high into the Gods’ domain, least their breath be taken away for such impudence. Those infringing upon the Drakon Aspects died a coward’s death, drowning in the very air that they befouled with their lowly presence. However, trained and devoted servants were permitted to meditate a respectful distance below Drakonic territory, as suitable to their stations. Sometimes the Gods in Aspect Form would bless their most worthy followers by allowing themselves to be observed in all their glory, golden scales bathed in Thor’s own lightning as they danced among the storm clouds. That time, the Drakons did not extend their blessings.

Instead I witnessed the realisation of a long-buried prophecy, one that even the most ardent believers dismissed as nothing more than a tale to frighten children. For the first time in my life, I was helpless against the icy clutches of terror. In the time of my father's great-sire, a sage by the name of Artur ot Klarek rose to prominence. His wisdom reached the ears of erudite Templars, warriors, and common folk alike. As a direct son of the Asynjur, he had the gift of foresight and saw into the years beyond with frightful accuracy. He lived the life of thought and book, earning the honoured death of a scholar at a venerable age. As he lay on his death bead, and his kin prayed for his safe journey, he gave his last prediction. But no amount of wisdom or foresight can grant a full-proof defence against senility. The horrified raves of a dying old mad must have been easy to dismiss...

That day, I watched Sire Artur ot Klarek’s words come to pass. The Vaerinjar fell, not to an enemy blade in battle, but to the ever-hungry Over Mind. A a vortex born on the black wings of crows descended on Beliy Gorod. Thor’s voice was overwhelmed by the ghostly scream of the abomination. The mountains added their own crackling gasps to the cacophony as ageless rock was torn asunder. Before me was a cyclone of snow, stone, and brightly coloured fragments. Stunned, I watched the specks of red, green, and gold in their mad dance for a few moments before I recognised them. These were remains of the proud domes that crowned the temples, mere shards reflecting the last sunlight that touched my beloved city.

My people were gone, swallowed by the darkness that was quickly closing in - the edge would reach me within seconds. I tightened my grip on my great hammer. The presence of my battle-hardened companion gave me a focus point as I forced the panic from my mind. It is still my duty to serve my brethren as a bearer of the slain. I will seek out all Vaeringjar who have fallen on this day and return them to the motherland. I will deliver every one of their souls into the ranks of Thor’s armies, so that they may fight once more and earn their rest. I raised my voice in defiance, drowning out the abomination’s shrill keen. Chanting the Oath, I leaped.

This may seem contrived to the casual observer, and some faithless scum have loudly accused me of fabrication after the fact. These unwise individuals have found themselves between a hard place, and an equally rugged, speeding Vaerinjar warrior. It is my hope that, when (if) they regained consciousness and extracted themselves from the imbecile-shaped cavity in the wall, the transgressors could take a moment to ponder about the nature of faith. A daughter-kin of the Asynjur does not pledge unless she is unwavering in her devotion to her patron God. I have spoken the words, and I lived by them. I have leapt into the winds of darkness...

And was awakened by a prodding, golden reptilian muzzle. I dared not move for fear that doing so would offend the Drakonic Aspect. Surely, I have joined Thor’s army, and this great being was measuring the worth of my past deeds to determine my place within the ranks. I lowered my eyes in reverence, awaiting judgement. Instead, the Drakon concentrated on repeatedly licking my face. I thought it was... somewhat unusual, and instantly berated myself for the blasphemy. It is not the place of mortals to question the ways, or methods of the Gods. When the Drakon’s interest, and tongue, drifted to the inside of my ear, I respectfully allowed him better access and focused my mind to suppress the urge to laugh and trash about. My mental ability was being tested, and failure was not an option.

“Hey buddy, what have you got there?”
A man’s voice interrupted my demonstration of will-power, but have not yet received permission to move.

“Ewwww! Don’t lick him! You don’t know where he’s been.”
He paused, and I felt an energy wash over me, something vaguely reminiscent of the mind powers bestowed upon children of Asynjur, yet different in every respect.
“Sir? Hello, there?” A foot prodded me. “Si...eugh... la...lady? Really, really BIG lady? Are you alive?”
That was a very interesting question, although quite an uncharacteristic one coming from a God. Either way, it seemed like an invitation to speak.

“Alive? I am not quite sure. I thought not, but now...”

As it turned out, I was indeed still alive, although I felt far from fantastic. The little man was named Jin, a chaperon and companion to the Drakon who found me. The Drakon in question was young, a kid making his awkward first steps into the world. Still, he was a God deserving of my deepest reverence. I executed a deep bow from the waist, touching the ground with one hand, the highest form of respect a warrior could give. After all it is hardly appropriate to meet a God on one’s knees, like a grovelling peasant. Thus positioned, I offered the greeting deemed appropriate by the lore of old.

“I live and die by your will, Lord Master Drakon, Aspect of the Gods”
With barely restrained amusement, the young Aspect informed me that he preferred the appellation “Master Dragon.” Naturally, it is not my place to question the preferences or meddle in the affairs of... Dragons. Words may hold power, but the will of the Gods transcends all. In this strange land where mortal senses cannot be trusted, they lead me to an Aspect Child. That day, I humbly offered the Dragon and, by extension, his guardian my pledge of protection. Since then we have travelled this crazed world, fought glorious battles, faced countless perils, and stoically endured a few minor annoyances. As we ventured deeper, we left each maze awash in the blood of our foes, we snared evildoers in their own deadly traps, and we may or may not have used their entrails as ornaments on one occasion, but I digress...

Through it all, I have never doubted that the Gods were guiding my steps, but today the signs along my path shine brightly enough to be spotted by the blind. A few months ago, our journey stalled in this realm of metal grass. It is an empty husk of a land, both home and prison to bored, blabbing, self-important magi. They spend their days idle, carving out ostentatious dwellings within the facade of primitive huts. The local entertainment among wizards consists of cheating at chess. The resident band of clerics prefers to place bets on how many times gullible new-comers will step in and out of the huts before inevitably exclaiming: “It’s bigger on the inside.” The last, rather mundane, fellow was so traumatised by his experience that it took an hour of magically enhanced convincing to extract him from behind a sofa.

Imagine my relief when today’s new-comers arrived, and the sign I have been waiting for happily ran up to greet the locals. He introduced himself as a Dragon named Loki. Among the Vaeringjar, Loki is well known as the shape-shifter God. He is the undisputed ruler over uncertainty, tricks, and mischief. Now here he stood before me in Aspect form. While mischief was not my usual inclination, it was the only likely exit from this boorish plane. The souls of my brethren were still adrift somewhere beyond this metal grass. I kept my knowledge of Master Loki’s devine nature to myself, remembering the old tales about his penchant for concealment. I simply addressed him as “Master Dragon” and made a mental note to pummel a certain disrespectful magus at the first opportunity. How dare he not grant the God’s request for a game of chess? Did he fear to pit his traitorous tricks against the Master, or was he an ignorant simpleton? It mattered little, for I never got a chance to enlighten him. Loki requested a perch on my shoulder, refused to be lifted, and swiftly climbed the hinges of my armour. So we set off, Master Dragon the Younger, his human, and I. We cast our fate in with the strangers and began our search for a way out.