Dogs of War

[Uhtred Wardruna]

Dogs of War​

A crack of thunder rang in Uhtred's ears. In the heart of a caldera, or at least what had the aesthetic makings-of one, a series of bulwark hulls and durasteel frames, all welded together into a single, bastardized entity. By all accounts, this thing should have looked like a mess. But as he sat in a bar on a deck, or at least what was once-a deck, he had to appreciate the visage of powerful waves striking in futility against the immovable titanium hulls that made up Shipwreck Island. It was a first for him, to see someone turn a technological graveyard into a place of commerce and entertainment.

It had been some time ago, but Uhtred had heard of this place before. In fact, he'd meant to visit it long ago. Life had a way of keeping him busy, but he was glad to have finally made it. And the circumstances couldn't have been better, either. Uhtred was here, not for pleasure, but for business. He had debated long on his course of action, had drifted from indecision to apathy to resolution and back again, twice over. And with things being the way they were back on Ando Prime, there was an opportunity that wouldn't present itself again, so time was of the essence. But if he were to admit that he was fully comfortable... well, Sáldœm knew that'd taste a lie.

Clan Orosii. They were a vicious lot, even by Deucalian standards. While not traitors or deniers of their heritage, their actions over generations had led to them being somewhat unwelcome by the other clans. When the White Wolves eventually split from Deucalian society, half of them fell under the control of Clan Orosii, who rebranded their warriors as freelance mercenaries called 'the Warhounds'. Of course now, Clan Orosii made up a portion of the Warhounds, not their entirety, but they were still the leaders and found at almost every level of the organization. But like all Deucalian clans, time hadn't been overly kind to them. By now, the Warhounds were almost on the brink of becoming more like pirates than warriors, but for what it was worth, the Jarl of Clan Orosii has been managing to keep his people and his mercenaries on the path more honorable than less.

And it was that Jarl that Uhtred was awaiting now. Uhtred didn't know what he looked like, didn't knew his name... hell, he didn't even know if the Jarl was a man or a woman, a Human or a Cathar or a Trandoshan or whatever else. Were they face to face, he never have known it. But if there was anything to his offer, anything at all that the Jarl found tempting, even if just at the superficial level... then perhaps today would be the first day of change. Real-change. The GREY Shade was the first, and frankly, cheapest tavern Uhtred happened across upon arrival, and was the place where he'd set up his meeting. Still sitting at the table and staring out the window that looked out at the hurricane raging outside, Uhtred simply sat and waited for a patron that he was determined would come.

@Ecclessey

 

[The Storyteller]

The automatic doors into the bar slid open and revealed a pair of stereotypical Deucalian warriors. Both wore skin-hugging clothing that was obviously designed to be worn underneath some kind of armor, yet neither appeared to have any sleeves and instead proudly showed their muscular arms covered with black tattoos of rabid fighting dogs.

Neither were they armed as they walked right up to Uthred from within his blindspot. The view out of the window was beautiful, yet not nearly as awe-inspiring as the physique of the eight foot Deucalian male as he stepped into view. "Uthred Wardruna?" he growled as way of speaking from behind a large black beard that was braided a dozen times. His head was shaved smooth, suggesting he cared more for his looks than he wanted to admit.

Next to him, but out of view from Uthred if he didn't turn to put the man in the center of his vision, was a raven-haired female standing six foot something with intelligent green eyes. She made no move to talk to Uthred and merely seemed to measure him up, something the male didn't seem interested in doing. He knew that Uthred wouldn't be worth the time of day.

@Korvo

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

One could always count on the voice of another, the beckoning of one's name, to snap them back to the present, back to reality. From his vantage point at the table, Uhtred never saw the massive man approach, but couldn't help but see the entire visage as he came into view. His build was enormous, even by their own people's standards. His beard was braided, suggesting he possessed a level of standing... that, or he just liked the way it looked. Given his crisp appearance, Uhtred would have wagered that either case had a strong enough basis.

Uhtred himself was prepared to address the burly man, but paused at catching sight from the corner of his eye a woman standing behind him. Like her counterpart, she was easily distinguished as a fellow Deucalian, but her manner couldn't have been any more different. Midnight-dark hair complimented her eyes, and where her counterpart spoke in a booming voice, she was silent and simply stared. Uhtred kept his eyes on her for a moment in time, slowly narrowing one of his eyes as if meeting her inquisitive gaze. Uhtred had a thought that there was more to what was happening here, but while still looking at the woman, replied.

"To some", Uhtred said, eventually turning to look back to the man, "To you."

Turning his neck slightly so as to crack it in relaxation, Uhtred stood upright so as to address the other two.

"And you then, Ættin Orosii?", Uhtred said, making eye contact with both figures. "Thank you for meeting with me. As I said in my message to you, I've come to you with an offer. And as you are here... I assume you've come to listen."

Uhtred gestured to the table that was now behind him. There were several empty chairs around, so there was certainly room for three people to sit. Besides, this place served his favorite brands of ale. That alone made it worth the sit.

@Ecclessey

 

[The Storyteller]

The large man sat down in front of Uthred, resting his giant fists on the table. "Don't waste time," he said disdainfully. He clearly got where he was through sheer use of brawn, a natural talent towards violence and being quick to anger. If Uthred wanted this clan's support and most likely ever leave this bar with his skull intact, then there was something to be said about not being smart to Hurod. But where Hurod at least recognized that his clan came here to listen to Uthred's plan, the female walked over to the glass and while within earshot from the conversation, chose to admire the view instead.

"I am Hurod, Warlord of Clan Orosii-" the man said in rough voice, "-you expect me to listen without and ale in my hand?"

Uthred would have to weigh his action carefully or be at risk of being eaten by hounds. Even the muscles in Hurod's thick neck seemed eager to rip the smaller man in two. Meanwhile the woman remained idle at the window.

@Korvo

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

"Wouldn't dream of it", Uhtred said, grinning even as Hurod's tone implied disinterest. Although expecting the other to join, the female Deucalian seemingly kept her distance. Things like these were usually deliberate, but it was of little purpose for Uhtred to muse on it at the moment.

Hurod was his name. Uhtred had never heard of him, but then he hadn't expected to. Clan Wardruna was somewhat removed from mainstream Deucalian society as of recently, and Clan Orosii was in a similar position, if more so. But all was to believed, Hurod Orosii was both a Jarl and-a Warlord. An impressive accomplishment, and all the better for his plan in the end. And then like clockwork came the demand for ale. "I've got something even better", Uhtred said, after he'd simply nodded slightly and smiled. The young Deucalian then looked away, glancing off to his left side.

"Dohetka, nei cay tee ahban", Uhtred said, catching the attention of a Twi'lek barmaid nearby who then scurried to their table. Huttese wasn't his best language, but the woman only understood that or Bocce, the latter language Uhtred didn't even know at all., but he could speak it passably-enough. Besides, he'd chosen this bar for a reason; it was one of the few locations that imported Styrkur; Deucalian mead.

Within moments, the Twi'lek waitress brought her tray over and placed two tall mugs of the creamy, hazel-colored beverages, with the strong but caressing aromas just slightly forcing open the sinuses. "You've said to not waste your time, and so I won't", Uhtred said, pulling his mug to him mouth and gulping down three large swigs before returning the mug to the table. "I want Clan Orosii at my side when I attack Ando Prime."

Uhtred didn't care to mince words, he hadn't the patience for it, and neither would Hurod, he'd imagine. Instead, he let his words hang in the air for a moment, leaning back into his seat before continuing. "I'm sure you've heard about the war-rest that had been declared on Ando Prime? Right now, the House of Odin and the House of Radegast are in a... white peace, you could say. There's no open hostilities, but it is known to all that this is only a respite until the next blood-letting. If they would have it their way, both sides would rather see our people go extinct than to see the other as ruler. I don't know if our people can survive another three centuries of civil war, but what I do-know, is that I can cut the legs off of them both and end it all before it begins again."

Uhtred had a plan, one he wouldn't let be stopped even by Sáldœm himself. Some parts of it were already in motion, some weren't. But every piece of the plan had to come together. The question now was only what it would take to see Clan Orosii raise their axes and join Uhtred's plot of rebellion.

@Ecclessey

 

[The Storyteller]

As he listened, Hurod seemed to lose his confidence. Clearly he wasn't aware of the finer details of such a white-peace or the coming and goings on Ando Prime. Perhaps here, Uthred would already notice that as he was talking he wasn't addressing the true Jarl of the Orosii. Hurod was a powerful warrior and could easily break the backs of a Mandalorian in full Beskar'gam, but he wasn't made for long-term thinking. That had never been his destiny.

As Uthred finished, the bear of a man shifted in his seat and turned his head towards the woman. "..Jarl?"

The raven-haired woman seemed to shake her head at the window for a good moment before she spoke. "Long ago-" her voice was sharp and while it wasn't cold it wasn't warm either, for it was calculated and her words were clearly the result of some thought. "-there was Cabba Orosii, who wanted to unite our people and be King of all Deucalians."

She turned now and her eyes lingered on the fact that there were only two mugs on the table, one of Uthred's mistakes so far. "He died somewhere in a manner we've long forgotten." She smiled now, but only with her eyes, suggesting that the only emotion she felt towards Uthred Wardruna was that of pity. "I see in you another Cabba; a big dreamer, but nothing to back it up."

Suddenly Hurod laughed softly. He, ofcourse, had noticed Uthred's physical inferiority to himself. "He's a lamb trying to play wolf!" the bearish-man laughed and then emptied his mug in one go. "We are done here, right Maven?"

"No-" the grin on Hurod's face disappeared instantly. What was she seeing in this Uthred that he wasn't? "-Uthred doesn't just want to be a wolf, Hurod-" she explained to the impulsive warlord, "-he wants to be the Lord of Wolves."

Hurod turned back towards Uthred, his eyes trying to take measure of the smaller man again. He had become a Warlord due to his infallible boarding techniques and was the warrior the entire clan followed into battle and yet none of it would be possible without Maven's blessing.

@Korvo

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

Uhtred's gaze shifted from Hurod the moment he called to the raven-haired woman, and as she started speaking. No mere bodyguard would have ever disrespected her own Jarl in such a way. He couldn't have known for certain, but things were as Uhtred began suspecting; he was addressing a mouthpiece. A spokesman. To some, this would be disservice, but Uhtred knew he hadn't the right to really expect anything different. They probably didn't even know who he was, much less if he was deserving of a direct audience.

Uhtred had never heard of this 'Cabba'. Of course, this was a man from another clan, so that wasn't all too surprising. What was-surprising was that even those of Clan Orosii didn't know the details of how he had perished. Deucalians honored their worthy dead, just as Sáldœm did. If he left this world for the next with his own people not knowing precisely how... there were few reasons for such a case. Neither the Jarl nor her aide said it, but Uhtred could rapidly piece together what was likely the reason; he was a bersark.

Uhtred's eyes sharpened as he looked back to Warlord Hurod, who'd called him a 'lamb'. His grip tightened almost numbingly around the handle of his mug in a silent rage, but Uhtred betrayed nothing on his face or in his eyes. Among Deucalians, there was a phrase; "Úlfurinn annt ekki skoðanir sauðfjár"... 'the wolf cares not for the opinions of sheep'. No doubt a slight at his youth, Hurod had insulted Uhtred and didn't even award him the curse of being called a sheep... he called him a lamb. Inhaling deeply, Uhtred turned his attention from Hurod to Maven as she spoke again.

Uhtred didn't speak immediately. He watched Maven, staring her in the eyes as if attempting to speak to her without words, until he finally did.

"I do", he said, bringing his right arm up so as to rest his elbow on the table. "But I imagine that unlike your ancestor, I am not doing this alone."

That was a gamble in ignorance for Uhtred. If their ancestor, Cabba, was indeed a bersark like he suspected, then there was no way other Deucalians would have worked with him. That in turn meant he would have been working alone, or with some outside faction, which for their people would have amounted to the same thing. There was also the fact that if he were in any way successful, other clans would have known his name, bersark or not. To Uhtred, the bold statement was worth the risk.

"I've already begun an arrangement with Ættin`Rhorlak, have a contact within Ættin`Uriksbane, and have another meeting with Ættin`Blood-Hair, not to mention my own people, Ættin`Wardruna", Uhtred said, turning to glance at Hurod, but playing it off as simply turning to take another swig of his mead, before turning to face Maven once again.

"This is`going to happen, Jarl Maven. But, I want Ættin`Orosii to be a part of it. My people chose`to leave, yours were exiled. Not only am I offering you a way to restore Ættin`Orosii's reputation, I'm offering you the blood-price; vengeance to those that cast you out in the first place, and doing so through honorable battle."

@Ecclessey

 

[The Storyteller]

Maven was silent for a moment, but then a slight smile escaped her lips. "Our people have been dying for over five centuries," she said, clearly leading up to a point. "You're telling me you will cut off the legs from under two warring parties and march in with your own collection of clans?" She grimaced now and used her hands to do part of the talking, something that seemed to confuse Hurod. "You? You're like a pup howling in the night expecting all packs will just follow."

Hurod grinned, again. "But he has a contact and a promise of a meeting just like this one," the hulk of a man said joyfully while shaking his head in disapproval. It was clear now that Uthred had again said the wrong things and lacked the insight to show proper leadership where he showed reckless entitlement instead. Maven wasn't impressed, "You have but a dream, just like Cabba, and nothing else."

Maven wasn't going to address the insult of him stating that he was better than them because their clan got exiled long ago and his did not. The Orosii had fought for credits for so long the sting of exile had always been just a memory of generations past. They raided and took the blood-price, at least, but this Uthred had not yet made the case that he, too, took the blood-price from anyone but his own people. "Perhaps if you had proven yourself, things would be different." She, ofcourse, meant that if Uthred was actually an experienced raider and a proven warrior, otherwise known as a Battle-Master. Until then, Uthred would have to content to fall in line and do as was told.

It was here that Hurod got a bit too excited with a thought that popped up inside his head. "Join the Stormblade Bloodfest." Maven's head immediately turned to the warlord, "What will that proof?" She shot at him, clearly unhappy that he would suggest such a thing without her express approval beforehand. Here was the classic Deucalian problem at play. The recklessness of brawn somehow always forgot to take the brains under advisement. Like Uthred, who had jumped the gun on demanding allegiance from anyone, Hurod had given him the one chance to salvage his ambitious dream. "All Warlords are there-" Hurod defiantly said to Maven, "-it's where we separate the reavers from the battle-masters." There was nothing Maven could do to oppose this offer, for politically a Warlord was often a Jarl's superior. To argue with him now, in front of the reaver, would bring her embarrassment.


@Korvo

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

Uhtred kept himself from sighing. It wasn't unexpected. In fact, if anything, it was the opposite. Even so, there was still a facet of disappointment. But then, there always was when it came to things like this. To know the way out, to be so sure of it, and yet to be doubted. Surprisingly to him, it seemed that the only one willing to lend his proposal an open ear was the doubting warlord, Hurod.

"Jarl Maven, I know I don't have your trust. I know I'm not deserving of it, I know I've done nothing to have earned it", Uhtred said, leaning forward to face her, inhaling sharply. "So don't trust me. Do not give me anything I've not earned from you, and instead let me earn it."

Uhtred then turned immediately Hurod. "Warlord Hurod, you spoke of the Stormblade Bloodfest. This is the one that will soon take place on Besberra, is it not?" Gladiatorial tournaments were a common-enough outlet for warrior peoples. In fact, Imperial Hutta was full of them.

"You don't know me. So let me show you who I am, and what I am. Let me fight and show you my worth", Uhtred said, turning back to face Maven. "And then, at the end, you decide for yourself if all I have is a dream... or if it's something more."

This time, Uhtred did not look toward Hurod, but kept his eyes to Maven. The natural impulse was to focus his attention to the Warlord, but Uhtred wanted more than that. He wanted Maven to believe, to see him, measure his worth, and find in him nothing of want. He wanted to prove himself to her.

@Ecclessey

 

[The Storyteller]

Maven still wasn't sold and Hurod still wouldn't pledge his axe, that of a warlord, to follow and die for a mere reaver. For tonight it seemed Uthred was unable to accomplish that for which he had come; to have them pledge their support to his cause. Still, Uthred had one last shot.. one sliver of hope that lasted on him winning the Stormblade Bloodfest. "You cannot just win-" she said, unimpressed by the man's gaze on her. "-you have to hunt for it without losing your mind." It was often a Deucalian's fate to be a great warrior, but fall victim to the lust for battle. Maven was one of the rare few who kept their composure, but it made it extremely difficult to impress her. She hadn't become a Jarl and the leader of an infamous mercenary clan if she went around pledging loyalty to every pretender.

Hurod was more simple-minded and nodded his head in approval. "You either die or you don't," he grinned again, "and there's honor in both." Perhaps if he truly impressed the warlords then Maven might get overruled by the more reckless Hurod. Perhaps, winning would earn Uthred the warriors of clan Orosii in his inevitable battle to become the Lord of Wolves. But so far, the chance of him succeeding where Cabba had failed was exactly non-existent.

@Korvo

/end thread