Wulf the Eternal Warrior

Menkapf, the high soldier of the kingdom of Kemet, ran back to his ruler. Bereft of his command, he was not sanguine about his prospects; but, what choice did he have? His command, which included all of the King’s highest ranking soldiers, had been decimated. Only he was left, and had returned with his strange message to his king- “Leave us alone!”

As he stood before his ruler, sitting on his high, golden throne, with the tusks of elephants set upon the back, he felt quite vulnerable. Amidst the pomp of the court, with fan-wielding slaves waving ostrich plumes above the throne of his ruler, his message seemed ridiculous. ‘Leave us alone,’ from a tribe of primitive folk! He shivered in fear of the results of his pronouncement.

After he had intoned it to the King of Kemet, the mighty Den, he quaked in terror. King Den, his dark limbs quivering in anger, half-stood from his golden throne. “You dare-“ he intoned, his face a mask of anger.

Behind him, his wife, Amara, grasped up a spear, its bronze tip gleaming in the lamplight.

“My king,” implored Menkapt, “I have been your faithful servant! These primitive people, who know nothing of the light of Inubis and the divine, have dared to attack the holy warriors of Kemet, and slain all but myself, whom they sent back with the message. I have no hand in it, indeed I have fought them, but found myself…”

This last imprecation was cut off, as Amara, her beautiful face grimacing in anger, threw her spear through the breast of Menkapt, who fell, wide-eyed- clutching at his chest whereon the spear blossomed with a crimson root. His legs twitched momentarily, and then he lay still on the marbled floor, a pool of blood spreading about him.

“Why, oh my wife, have you done such a thing? I wanted more information; for, how could a backwards tribe have taken all of my men?” He looked at her angrily, his kohl-outlined eyes blazing with a not altogether sane light.

Amara shook her head in disgust. In her youth in a far northern land, the men had been warriors, not limp sheep before invaders. Her husband, the ruler of Kemet, this Den, was nothing like her father, or his father had been- warriors all, mighty fighters, who slew any who came invading into their land, and did it personally, not by proxy!

These current rulers, why they spent the majority of their days choosing their clothing, their makeup in the gods’ name, rather than setting their troops in order to intercept the many invaders and interlopers into the kingdom of the gods, their sacred Kemet!

And her husband, the powerful King Den that might spawn a dynasty in Kemet if he would only listen to her counsel, just looked at her slack-jawed and impotent. She shook her head in disgust, his makeup outlined face making him look to her as a clown- not so were the men of her native tribe, from the far north across the sea. She had been allianced to the nation of Kemet as a nation-building tool; not for her were these limp-limbed courtiers.

Her father, the formidable Agathokles, had betrothed her to this rising state of Kemet. He had been the ruler of a virile tribe, a tribe of men that were not to be trifled with! And their women were their counterparts in every way, not like this degenerate race she had been wed to, with a ruler that wore dark shadows of makeup about his eyes, and ordered his troops to perform each action of warfare that he was too afraid to venture.

“His mother would fight better than him!” she muttered with malice, adding in addendum- “Bitchface!” She was obviously not a typical worshipful wife of the land of Kemet.

The courtiers about the throne room had risen to their feet, alarmed at all of this. Scented fops for the most part, the dozen men about the room aped the dress and manner of their king, with short kirtles of silk draped about their loins, and high sandals that laced far up their calves.

There was one, however, a certain Amosis, who had resembled a bird of prey in his lean visage. His dark slanting eyes had watched with interest the slaying of the general Menkapf, as he gripped his staff of office that was shaped as a twining, green serpent. Amara looked at him with distaste, and after pulling her spear from the slain general’s breast, hefted it once in his direction.

Amosis lifted his staff, slightly, and the bright red of the serpent’s eyes glowed briefly, shining twin dots of crimson on the queen’s breast. He smiled as she quickly lowered her spearpoint, and sullenly walked back to her throne beside her husband. Then, he walked before the twin thrones, and bowed ironically.

“My valiant king, and his most loyal wife,” said the high priest of the kingdom with a note of derision in his voice. “You did right to slay this coward of a general”,- he spurned the lying corpse with a contemptuous gesture, “who brought shame upon the people and rulers of Kemet, beloved of the gods and their great Serpent Kos!”

As Amara watched, the skin twitched on the back of her neck, for it appeared that the serpent staff of the priest writhed as he spoke. “If you would deign it, my valiant king Den, I would be happy to rid our land of this white barbarian scum personally, along with oh, perhaps a dozen warriors or so. I will combine it with a search mission for the site of the grand tomb I have been discussing with you; a huge mound of cut stone, in which to inter the royal party upon their, um, demise some time in the far future.” He looked directly at the queen as he spoke, who was also of a white race. The king seemed more inclined to be looking at his reflection in a silver mirror, just across from the throne.

Adjusting his rouge with a practiced, small hand, King Den made a simpering smile, and then spoke. “Amosis, I know you want to build huge edifices for us in our death, and I do not disagree with you, but first things first my priest. Kill the pale barbarians, and bring me their heads. After that, you are free to build your Palace to house my royal family upon my death!”

“I shall, my king, leave this very night. And when you pass to the afterlife with the gods, I will make sure that your family are there with you…”

He was supposedly still talking with the king, but his slanted dark eyes had never left the wide blue eyes of the queen, who could not look away from his red-eyed serpent staff.

The Wulf’s Den

The tribe of the Allemani had traveled far south from their homelands, searching for new lands. The ice sheets had pushed southwards, driving them from the far north, ever southwards.

This new land of Kemet, or Egypt as it was called further north, was a warm and fertile place, with plenty of vacant land with much game and fertile fields. Most importantly, the people here had chosen to jam themselves into huge cities of perhaps several thousands, hiding behind walls. This, in the minds of Wulf and the Allemani tribe meant that the miles and miles of land that no one lived upon was free for the taking. And so, take it they did!

Each night, they held council of the tribe, as they had always done. Wulf was highest regarded, but he had no more say than anyone else, man or woman, about the council fire. All could speak about any issue, and then they would vote on the decision.

Wulf was a ‘great speaker’, meaning that he represented many tribesmen when he spoke. Chara was the name of the women with golden hair and green eyes noted by the general Menkampf as he was being released by the tribe, and she was also a ‘great speaker’. She was speaking now, her green eyes reflecting brightly in the light of the campfire flames.

“This is an evil land,” she said avidly. “The general should have been slain, not let go to warn his people!” she spat, looking angrily at Wulf, who looked back placidly, drinking wine from a skin.

He replied, “We must not become evil ourselves, killing helpless prisoners, even though from an evil people. Besides,” he smiled with strong white teeth, “cannot one of us best any three of these midgets?” he said, flexing his huge arm.

“We can’t fight fair with evil!” answered Chara, reasonably.

Another man stood, much older than Wulf, who was in his early 20’s, and Chara, perhaps ten years his senior. This man, silver haired although still powerfully built, was an elder of the tribe, perhaps in his 60’s, but far from his dotage- and also a ‘great speaker’ of long duration. Firelight glinted off his white hair, as his blue eyes gleamed.

“Chara has spoken sense, Wulf.” he said. “Age and time have shown me that there is indeed evil, and usually it is in these new lands of civilization, where nature itself is left outside the walls of their cities! We would do best to steer clear, to leave this dark land of stunted folk, and find a place further to the north, deep in nature and free of decadence.” He sat, and all were silent.

Wulf nodded, and all stared into the fire’s depths in contemplation. Within the fire, Wulf seemed to see the forms of their wanderings, away from the ice and snow, and further and further southwards, until the thought of snow itself seemed far away. ‘Perhaps old Askander is right,’ he thought, recalling the many ever-increasing town sizes as they went further downwards into the southlands, along with the increasing levels of wickedness as they strove to give each town a wide berth.

Chara stood, her lean arms implored towards Wulf in particular. “We are creatures of nature, and creatures of the north!” she said. “Let us leave this place, while we can.”

After a moment, Wulf nodded. He stood, and spread wide his mighty arms. “Askander and Chara have spoken wisdom. I say we leave on the dawn, heading northwards. What say you all?”

The campfire erupted with a chorus of “Ayes!”, and then more wineskins were produced before bed. Four men did not participate however, since they were designated for watch duty that night.

The entire tribe went early to their tents that night, since they planned on leaving early the next morning. Only those four watchmen were left awake in camp, spread on the four sides of the clearing. ‘Clearing’ seemed a strange word, however, thought one of the men, named Gunda. He scratched his tousled blond head, enjoying the cooler night air. A clearing assumed cutting trees and brush- in this strange land of endless sun and heat, there were very few trees to clear!

Gunda was one who would be glad to be leaving, to be heading northwards once again. This sandy land was not for folk such as they, was his thought. Then, he heard a faint creaking, as of leather harness rubbing as the owner moved.

Going into a crouch, he hid behind a nearby tent wall, grasping his copper sword by the hilt. He let out a low whistle, as of a night bird to warn the other guards as had been prearranged, and drew his sword.

A solitary man, a priest by the look of him, entered the scene. Thin, and with the face of a hawk, he was coppery dark as were all men of this land, with wickedly slanting eyes. He carried a serpent staff, but no weapons whatsoever. Gunda relaxed, sheathing his sword. “What do you here?” he demanded, walking towards the priest.

The priest smiled tauntingly, and tossed a small ball towards him, which Gunda reflexively caught in his hand. Looking down, he saw it was a green stone, rather beautiful he thought. Perhaps his wife would like it as a present-

But at that moment, it uncoiled, and revealed itself to be an asp! A green snake that sank its venomous fangs deep within the flesh of his palm. He tried to cry out, but the poison had already taken effect, as he sank slowly to the ground, dead.

Now the other three watchmen had run to the scene after having heard the whistle, and they saw the priest, and their dead comrade, seemingly untouched by a weapon. They had their swords drawn, and one let out a shout of alarm, rousing the tribe.

The priest watched, unperturbed, as the men ran towards him. From behind him, twelve soldiers of Kemet appeared, hide-and-bronze shields held before them, spears in their grasp. They formed into a line before the priest, who nodded his head slowly, smiling wickedly in enjoyment.

Allemani men and women of the tribe came bolting out of their tents, holding swords and spears, ready to repel the invaders. Foremost among them was Wulf, towering over all on the scene, racing across the clearing with his sword ready, long reddish mane gleaming in the moonlight.

“Come and meet my pet,” said the priest, and the soldiers before him moved to the side as a disciplined unit. From behind them, a huge barrel of a shape emerged, scales shining as it reared up on horrific reptilian coils- a giant snake, and it moved into the clearing with a horrendous sliding and hissing.

The serpent lashed about with its huge trunk, sweeping men and women off of their feet, breaking limbs. Men stabbed at it with their spears and hacked with their copper swords, but to little effect- the creature had scales of adamantine hardness. For this was Kos, one of the gods of Kemet. His yellow reptile eyes shone with evil human-like intelligence, and also with venomous hatred towards the invaders.

As Wulf watched, the snake lifted a tribesman up with his jaws, and crushed his skull high above as the body writhed. Then, dropping the crushed carcass, it reached for another- for his friend Heron! Before the snake could grab him, however, Wulf leaped, landing right on the monster’s scaly back.

Kos rose up, with a horrendous, scaly hiss, lifting the barbarian high up in the air on his arching back. Wolf’s hacking copper sword was near useless against the creature, gashing the scaly scales, but hardly penetrating, despite the strength of the blows.

Tossing his sword aside, he pulled his bronze poniard from its sheath instead, and stabbed over and over again, right into the vitals of the creature beneath! The snake screamed, not just a hiss but a scream, and bent backwards to grasp Wulf within its horrific jaws.

For the first time, the priest lost some of his calm assuredness. He stepped forward, lifting his serpent staff, the eyes of which were beginning to glow bright red.

Other tribesmen had taken Wulf’s lead, and were stabbing at the creature with bronze, rather than hacking with the softer copper swords. The creature was weakening, but its vitality was such that the tribe would all be killed long before they killed it.

Amosis knew he could not allow this to continue- not to one of his very gods! His lifted staff started to shoot twin beams of red from the serpent eyes upon it- each beam bringing death where it struck. They were like magical beams of heat, that would burn right through whatever limb of a tribesperson that it struck.

The snake dropped Heron, who joined in on stabbing that reptilian tail with his own bronze dagger! For the Allemani had long since upgraded their weaponry in their wanderings, and although swords were not yet perfected in bronze, smaller weapons such as knives and spear tips were. They were a very practical people.

Men and women were falling to the sorcerous staff of the priest, who at last was not looking so self-satisfied. Somehow, these primitives were fighting back! He redoubled his efforts, and ordered his men to join in the battle. This did not go well, however, as the maddened snake could hardly tell friend from foe, and lashed its tail about as viciously towards these soldiers just as much as everyone else.

Turning its head about at last, the huge head of the Kos snake lunged in desperation at the large man riding its back that had begun the stabbing torture- Wulf. Chara saw what was happening from below, and shouted to him, before tossing him an extra-long, bronze-tipped spear.

Wulf had begun chanting the death song of his people, since he knew he could not survive this ordeal. He only longed to die dealing death to this monster- the god of that priest of Kemet. He dropped his poniard, and caught the thrown spear of Chara in his fist. As the huge reptilian head lunged back at him, he commended his soul to Wotan, and threw it directly into the gaping maw that waited to take his life.

Death of a God

The force of the spear thrown by Wulf was vast as it sped towards the gaping jaws opened to take his life. But it was the very force of that rapidly moving head itself that proved the snake’s undoing.

The bright red-gold spear tip went right into the throat of the monster, who reflexively bit down and snapped the spear handle into splinters. But the metal tip plunged deep into the soft throat of Kos the serpent god of Kemet, beloved pet of Amosis the sorcerous priest.

The snake screamed, a hissing roar unlike anything ever heard in nature, and everyone froze in horror. Everyone, that is, except Wulf, who was thrown from the scaled barrel of the snake’s back and across the entire campsite. Given his velocity, the only thing that saved the northern barbarian was the fact that he flew straight into the side of a large tent, which collapsed while partially blunting the blow of his being hurled so violently.

Even so, only the sheer musculature of the large northerner saved him from a broken back, and he staggered slowly to his feet, knowing he was bruised badly over most of his body. Before him, he watched the dying lashings of the huge snake, screaming and thrashing, crushing and smashing tents and people alike in its death throes.

Also watching, on the other side of the clearing, was the priest. With an inhuman sibilant scream not that dissimilar to the sounds issuing from the dying snake, he locked his diabolical gaze on that of Wulf, and raised his staff. The red eyes on the serpent thereon glowed brightly, and the twin beams lanced out towards the northman.

Wulf threw himself to the side, just as the beams burst the crushed tent behind him into bright flames. The scarlet beams of light came again, and again, and only the steel-trap quickness of the man of the north was enough to barely save him, time and again.

Others were not so lucky, however. Wulf’s friend Heron was pierced by one set of beams meant for the barbarian, and he fell dead, smoking holes through his chest and heart. Other tribespeople fell as well, both men and women, pierced with flaming holes from the magic staff of Amosis.

Askander, his white hair streaming behind him, threw himself bodily at the wizard-priest, knocking him to the ground. The staff fell as well, and the old warrior picked it up, preparing to stab the sorcerer through the heart with his own magical staff-

Askander screamed, in agony and shock- the serpent on the staff had come to life, uncoiling itself, and striking with its fangs into his body, over and over! The venom killed him almost instantly, and the red-eyed serpent coiled once again into a wooden staff, which the priest bent over and retrieved.

The priest’s face was ghastly to see, the great snake Kos, his very god, was now barely moving. All of his men were dead, as were many of the tribespeople. The tents were crushed, the campsite in wreckage, and now it was just him and that northern barbarian, the destroyer of his god… He lifted his staff once more, training it on Wulf, who was running at him across the clearing, a berserker intent on slaying this destroyer of his people, and his friends. The eyes of the serpent gleamed with crimson light-

And Chara threw herself between the two, her sword in one hand, spear in the other. She threw the spear, which sped towards the wizard, causing him to leap aside while aiming his staff. The spear barely missed the priest, cutting through the fabric of his long gown as it passed beneath his arm, but the beams of destruction meant for Wulf instead struck directly into Chara’s breast. She fell to the earth, smoking holes through her body.

Wulf lifted her body, tears falling from his face as he mourned his tribe, his friends, and this woman who he knew had sacrificed herself for him. She put her arms about his neck, and smiled up at him, wanly. “Find our tribe a new homeland, my lord,” she said weakly. She died.

The priest was watching, a gloating smile on his wicked face. “I think that death would be too merciful for you just yet, northman,” he said. “We will discuss your fate later, at my leisure, back at the palace!” He glanced over at Kos, who let out his death rattle, and tears fell down the wizard’s face as well, probably the first tears of sorrow he had ever shed. They left a black train down across his wicked face.

“You shall pay, and pay dearly!” he hissed. And a yellow twin bolt shot from the eyes of his staff, toppling Wulf to the ground, unconscious.