TheGammon
01-28-2016, 01:49 PM
This is the first time I've really tried to write anything aside form essays and I immensely enjoyed writing it and I was wondering what you thought? I'm not the most literate person so the structure of my sentences is a bit dire so any tips or corrections would be a great help as I basically wrote down my thoughts as they popped into my head.
The spinning lights of the stars out of the scratched porthole danced before Ragnar’s eyes as the space ship he found himself on span out of control. This was coupled with the primordial noise of metal tearing as though it were only parchment and not in fact the thick protective steel that kept the cold vacuum of the ether at bay. The groans of the metal around him strangely reminded Ragnar of the Jarls Name Day celebrations back on his home world, Vinland. The dim red pulsating glow of light from the brass wall mounted alarm indicators reflecting upon the thick glass of the port hole looked just like the old sky burst rockets exploding with a shower of coloured sparks in the air above the stately halls when the Queen birthed the very prince who captained this ship, this Ragnar knew, was nothing as sweet and entertaining as that. This he’d realised some hours ago was how a man like he died, not in burst of glory storming an Empire treasure ship with a single shot Beam pistol in one hand and the family axe in the other, but tired and alone. Ragnar was after all just a criminal as much he and his kin would like to think otherwise and not even a particularly good one judging by the current predicament he’d found himself in so why should he expect to enter the halls of Valhalla. No he thought to himself this is the way he should die just listening to the gentle hiss of venting atmosphere and reminiscing the events leading up to this very moment.
Chapter One
“Well that’s just ****”
Neither Ragnar nor any other boys under Fandriks tutelage could understand why they couldn’t join the other men in the summer raids. It was a tradition that ran back thousands of years to a time when Nordic long ships sat upon the sea and before they took to the skies and flew light years across the ether under the power of their solar sails fighting and colonizing their way through the galaxy.
“We’re older than Vainirs lot and they’re going to fight!” Warren screeched in that annoying voice of his, Ragnar had never liked the tiny rat faced man, he always thought that worm was likelier to stab a man in the back than share any potential future plunder, but that was a problem for another day he supposed.
“shut your mouth Warren Harfson or your teeth will be the next thing to come spilling out of it” Growled Fandrik the grizzled old warrior who’d fought a thousand battles and sustained probably about the same amount of injures as that. “Those boys will be moping decks and venting **** pails out of the cargo ships, you’re all much better here and much less likely to wind up dead because some fool but an Ion shell in a gun backwards and yes I’m talking about you Ragnar. If that hadn’t been a training shell earlier on you’d be vaporised along with half the battle deck”
“I’d rather that than be stuck here another year” Ragnar declared puffing out his chest slightly as though that would somehow prove just how manly he was to Fandrik. “We’ve never been off world and when it’s not raining on Vinland it’s snowing; I want to see a desert or a jungle”
“You stupid ****s would die within the hour in either of those places” Fandrik warned “I’ve seen Rock Scorpions larger than Jarl Edgins bloody longship but I’d take on that with just a wooden spoon than dare wander the silent poisonous horrors of the jungle”
Fandrik wasn’t a man you would cross lightly and you especially wouldn’t call him a liar, at least not to his face. The man was all muscle and most of that muscle was covered in scars and despite his age he was still a formidable warrior. He started to lose his hair a few years ago and decided to shave it all off except for his grey beard which reached down to his belly. Since this happened he was fond of saying his chin hair grew so quick in a race to touch the floor that his head gave up entirely and the hair just dropped out in disgust.
But before anyone else could complain further the dining horn rang across the village of Brekkeld singling the beginning of the farewell feast in the Jarls hall a top the small crag in the centre of the only home Ragnar had known his entire life. The village was in the southern tip of the only continent on the planet of Vinland, almost all of the people in this land lived as far south as they could manage due to the inhospitable climate of the north where it snowed all year round and mighty creatures such as wargs and Níðhöggr’s make survival all but impossible.
Ragnar and the others in his group, totalling roughly a dozen other boys, made the usual walk towards the Hall of Jarl Edgin the local lord and the man they would swear fealty to on their eighteenth name day next year. The others all grumbled about what gruel they would be served as none of them had won any glorious battles or done anything of any note but Ragnar didn’t care he just wanted to get dry and warm for once. Having been made an orphan at a young age, his mother died of winter sickness early into a his childhood and his father dying in some far away battle against the Empire of Albion a few years later, Ragnar had very little prospects and had to rely on charity for the very furs on his back and the ones he had on today in particular were tattered and full of holes. As He walked through the Halls doors Ragnar took a moment just to let the dry warmth of the stuffed room full of already rowdy people engulf him. Jarl Edgin had already begun his speech so the he made his way to the first table finding himself next to Fandrik on his left and a stranger to his right, new comers weren’t common in these parts but Fandrik nodded at the man as some sign of recognition so it was safe to assume he had something to do with the upcoming raids.
“The king’s treaty with the caravans of the New Brenham remains steadfast” Jarl Edgins voice boomed across the hall “we have been tasked with the honour of plundering the shipping lanes surrounding the Typhon system”
This news was met by hushed mutterings and sideways looks across the hall, no real plunder was to be found in this section of the ether all the local people of area merely grew or crafted what was need to make ends meet.
“These trading lanes are under the protection of the Albion Empire and any threat will be met with a sizable force” Jarl Edgin continued regardless of the obvious disappoint his announcement had caused. “And this is precisely why we must we shall attack with all the ferocity of a Warg hunting its prey”
The grin upon the Jarls face spoke volumes more than his actual words, Jarl Edgin was a colossal man who dwarfed most men in height and width, his face and head was covered in a long tangled mess of red hair and it was hard to tell where his hear and beard began. It was rare to read any kind of emotion on his old gnarled face; his skin had reminded Ragnar of bark on a northern pine tree. So consequently even this tiny smile meant something had the Jarl very pleased indeed.
“As you may have noticed we have guests in my hall this evening from the lands of Jarl Yarkkin, he and his clan will be joining us on this venture as well as a small flotilla of long ships under the command of Prince Rolk; with their ships combined with ours we will directly battle the Empire and all the patrol vessels they send to stop us.”
At the mention of his name a second man sat to the right of Jarl Edgin stood briefly and bowed his head, his slick backed black hair and his short single braided beard didn’t seem to move. Jarl Yarkkin was the complete opposite of Edgin in almost every respect whilst even the most courteous person man could describe Jarl Edgin only as a monstrous barbarian Jarl Yarkkin wouldn’t have looked out of place in a grand Albion ball room rubbing shoulders with the gentry of the whole empire. He didn’t even wear furs he was dressed in a slick black doublet with his clans crest upon his breast his coat of arms being two crossed Beam Rifles over a cracked skull.
“we’ll be joining the Princes ships in orbit in three days and setting off a day after that, now as I said before we’re going to be directly fighting the empire so we will need every hand on deck and for that reason I shall be taking along Valken, Fandrik and Urist Crow eye along with their training crews to be gun runners and deck hands, the rest of you will get your assignments on the morrow”
And with that he raised a hand towards the kitchens signalling the beginning of the feast, Ragnar paid no attention to the suddenly appeared bowls of steaming food and horns of ale before him he was still too stunned having realised that he had what he wanted. Like his father before him he was to sail the stars to become rich and famous beyond his wildest dreams.
A shadow leaned over him and Ragnar had only just this second appreciated quite how massive Fandrik truly was.
“looks like you got your wish boy, I can’t say I’m too pleased but so long as you’re only armed with a mop we should all survive relatively intact” Fandrik said through gritted teeth, He didn’t look too pleased Ragnar agreed to himself but it wasn’t just that he saw in the old warriors face, if he hadn’t heard all the stories of his tremendous deeds in battle then he’d have said that Fandrik looked afraid.
Ragnar was becoming more and more aware of the smell coming from the still burning remains of Fandriks corpse slumped in the corner of the room, his Beam Rifle still clutched in his hand and the motor on the chainsaw bayonet still trying to whirl despite being so clogged up in fresh red visceral gore. Fandrik’s last order to Ragnar was to hold the Magazine that stored all the Ion Shells for the guns on this deck from the Imperial Marines boarding the ship and so far all that duty involved was watching Fandrik shoot the first invader the moment he entered the room and then impaling the second with the chain Bayonet on the end of his rifle, Unfortunately this is a slow and messy way to kill a man and the dying marine had enough time to pull out a compact Beam Pistol and shoot Fandrik clean through the chest with the beam making a dull thump against the bulkhead behind him. Ragnar felt guilty for not coming to his aid but the fight lasted seconds and the sudden appearance of these Marines clad in thick smooth red void suits that had bulbous visors that reminded him of an insects eyes threw him off guard and all he could do was watch, It made sense now that The Royal Albion Marines were often called lobsters he supposed. Ragnar could hear the muffled sound of voices and the zap of beam rifles nearby and whoever they were they appeared to be heading towards him, with a painful gasp he reached down to pick up his previously discarded Beam pistol and awkwardly fumbled in his pocket for a fresh power cell to reload, everthing had been made more difficult since he’d wounded his shoulder in the first salvo of Ion cannon fire. Absurdly he was quite irritated that someone would interrupt what he had accepted as his slow quiet death in this room. Although at least this way he could make up for Fandriks death he mused as finally clicked the power cell in place and with that the indicator on the handle flashed green, with a weary sigh Ragnar pointed the pistol in the direction of the door and waited.
Chapter 2
The spinning lights of the stars out of the scratched porthole danced before Ragnar’s eyes as the space ship he found himself on span out of control. This was coupled with the primordial noise of metal tearing as though it were only parchment and not in fact the thick protective steel that kept the cold vacuum of the ether at bay. The groans of the metal around him strangely reminded Ragnar of the Jarls Name Day celebrations back on his home world, Vinland. The dim red pulsating glow of light from the brass wall mounted alarm indicators reflecting upon the thick glass of the port hole looked just like the old sky burst rockets exploding with a shower of coloured sparks in the air above the stately halls when the Queen birthed the very prince who captained this ship, this Ragnar knew, was nothing as sweet and entertaining as that. This he’d realised some hours ago was how a man like he died, not in burst of glory storming an Empire treasure ship with a single shot Beam pistol in one hand and the family axe in the other, but tired and alone. Ragnar was after all just a criminal as much he and his kin would like to think otherwise and not even a particularly good one judging by the current predicament he’d found himself in so why should he expect to enter the halls of Valhalla. No he thought to himself this is the way he should die just listening to the gentle hiss of venting atmosphere and reminiscing the events leading up to this very moment.
Chapter One
“Well that’s just ****”
Neither Ragnar nor any other boys under Fandriks tutelage could understand why they couldn’t join the other men in the summer raids. It was a tradition that ran back thousands of years to a time when Nordic long ships sat upon the sea and before they took to the skies and flew light years across the ether under the power of their solar sails fighting and colonizing their way through the galaxy.
“We’re older than Vainirs lot and they’re going to fight!” Warren screeched in that annoying voice of his, Ragnar had never liked the tiny rat faced man, he always thought that worm was likelier to stab a man in the back than share any potential future plunder, but that was a problem for another day he supposed.
“shut your mouth Warren Harfson or your teeth will be the next thing to come spilling out of it” Growled Fandrik the grizzled old warrior who’d fought a thousand battles and sustained probably about the same amount of injures as that. “Those boys will be moping decks and venting **** pails out of the cargo ships, you’re all much better here and much less likely to wind up dead because some fool but an Ion shell in a gun backwards and yes I’m talking about you Ragnar. If that hadn’t been a training shell earlier on you’d be vaporised along with half the battle deck”
“I’d rather that than be stuck here another year” Ragnar declared puffing out his chest slightly as though that would somehow prove just how manly he was to Fandrik. “We’ve never been off world and when it’s not raining on Vinland it’s snowing; I want to see a desert or a jungle”
“You stupid ****s would die within the hour in either of those places” Fandrik warned “I’ve seen Rock Scorpions larger than Jarl Edgins bloody longship but I’d take on that with just a wooden spoon than dare wander the silent poisonous horrors of the jungle”
Fandrik wasn’t a man you would cross lightly and you especially wouldn’t call him a liar, at least not to his face. The man was all muscle and most of that muscle was covered in scars and despite his age he was still a formidable warrior. He started to lose his hair a few years ago and decided to shave it all off except for his grey beard which reached down to his belly. Since this happened he was fond of saying his chin hair grew so quick in a race to touch the floor that his head gave up entirely and the hair just dropped out in disgust.
But before anyone else could complain further the dining horn rang across the village of Brekkeld singling the beginning of the farewell feast in the Jarls hall a top the small crag in the centre of the only home Ragnar had known his entire life. The village was in the southern tip of the only continent on the planet of Vinland, almost all of the people in this land lived as far south as they could manage due to the inhospitable climate of the north where it snowed all year round and mighty creatures such as wargs and Níðhöggr’s make survival all but impossible.
Ragnar and the others in his group, totalling roughly a dozen other boys, made the usual walk towards the Hall of Jarl Edgin the local lord and the man they would swear fealty to on their eighteenth name day next year. The others all grumbled about what gruel they would be served as none of them had won any glorious battles or done anything of any note but Ragnar didn’t care he just wanted to get dry and warm for once. Having been made an orphan at a young age, his mother died of winter sickness early into a his childhood and his father dying in some far away battle against the Empire of Albion a few years later, Ragnar had very little prospects and had to rely on charity for the very furs on his back and the ones he had on today in particular were tattered and full of holes. As He walked through the Halls doors Ragnar took a moment just to let the dry warmth of the stuffed room full of already rowdy people engulf him. Jarl Edgin had already begun his speech so the he made his way to the first table finding himself next to Fandrik on his left and a stranger to his right, new comers weren’t common in these parts but Fandrik nodded at the man as some sign of recognition so it was safe to assume he had something to do with the upcoming raids.
“The king’s treaty with the caravans of the New Brenham remains steadfast” Jarl Edgins voice boomed across the hall “we have been tasked with the honour of plundering the shipping lanes surrounding the Typhon system”
This news was met by hushed mutterings and sideways looks across the hall, no real plunder was to be found in this section of the ether all the local people of area merely grew or crafted what was need to make ends meet.
“These trading lanes are under the protection of the Albion Empire and any threat will be met with a sizable force” Jarl Edgin continued regardless of the obvious disappoint his announcement had caused. “And this is precisely why we must we shall attack with all the ferocity of a Warg hunting its prey”
The grin upon the Jarls face spoke volumes more than his actual words, Jarl Edgin was a colossal man who dwarfed most men in height and width, his face and head was covered in a long tangled mess of red hair and it was hard to tell where his hear and beard began. It was rare to read any kind of emotion on his old gnarled face; his skin had reminded Ragnar of bark on a northern pine tree. So consequently even this tiny smile meant something had the Jarl very pleased indeed.
“As you may have noticed we have guests in my hall this evening from the lands of Jarl Yarkkin, he and his clan will be joining us on this venture as well as a small flotilla of long ships under the command of Prince Rolk; with their ships combined with ours we will directly battle the Empire and all the patrol vessels they send to stop us.”
At the mention of his name a second man sat to the right of Jarl Edgin stood briefly and bowed his head, his slick backed black hair and his short single braided beard didn’t seem to move. Jarl Yarkkin was the complete opposite of Edgin in almost every respect whilst even the most courteous person man could describe Jarl Edgin only as a monstrous barbarian Jarl Yarkkin wouldn’t have looked out of place in a grand Albion ball room rubbing shoulders with the gentry of the whole empire. He didn’t even wear furs he was dressed in a slick black doublet with his clans crest upon his breast his coat of arms being two crossed Beam Rifles over a cracked skull.
“we’ll be joining the Princes ships in orbit in three days and setting off a day after that, now as I said before we’re going to be directly fighting the empire so we will need every hand on deck and for that reason I shall be taking along Valken, Fandrik and Urist Crow eye along with their training crews to be gun runners and deck hands, the rest of you will get your assignments on the morrow”
And with that he raised a hand towards the kitchens signalling the beginning of the feast, Ragnar paid no attention to the suddenly appeared bowls of steaming food and horns of ale before him he was still too stunned having realised that he had what he wanted. Like his father before him he was to sail the stars to become rich and famous beyond his wildest dreams.
A shadow leaned over him and Ragnar had only just this second appreciated quite how massive Fandrik truly was.
“looks like you got your wish boy, I can’t say I’m too pleased but so long as you’re only armed with a mop we should all survive relatively intact” Fandrik said through gritted teeth, He didn’t look too pleased Ragnar agreed to himself but it wasn’t just that he saw in the old warriors face, if he hadn’t heard all the stories of his tremendous deeds in battle then he’d have said that Fandrik looked afraid.
Ragnar was becoming more and more aware of the smell coming from the still burning remains of Fandriks corpse slumped in the corner of the room, his Beam Rifle still clutched in his hand and the motor on the chainsaw bayonet still trying to whirl despite being so clogged up in fresh red visceral gore. Fandrik’s last order to Ragnar was to hold the Magazine that stored all the Ion Shells for the guns on this deck from the Imperial Marines boarding the ship and so far all that duty involved was watching Fandrik shoot the first invader the moment he entered the room and then impaling the second with the chain Bayonet on the end of his rifle, Unfortunately this is a slow and messy way to kill a man and the dying marine had enough time to pull out a compact Beam Pistol and shoot Fandrik clean through the chest with the beam making a dull thump against the bulkhead behind him. Ragnar felt guilty for not coming to his aid but the fight lasted seconds and the sudden appearance of these Marines clad in thick smooth red void suits that had bulbous visors that reminded him of an insects eyes threw him off guard and all he could do was watch, It made sense now that The Royal Albion Marines were often called lobsters he supposed. Ragnar could hear the muffled sound of voices and the zap of beam rifles nearby and whoever they were they appeared to be heading towards him, with a painful gasp he reached down to pick up his previously discarded Beam pistol and awkwardly fumbled in his pocket for a fresh power cell to reload, everthing had been made more difficult since he’d wounded his shoulder in the first salvo of Ion cannon fire. Absurdly he was quite irritated that someone would interrupt what he had accepted as his slow quiet death in this room. Although at least this way he could make up for Fandriks death he mused as finally clicked the power cell in place and with that the indicator on the handle flashed green, with a weary sigh Ragnar pointed the pistol in the direction of the door and waited.
Chapter 2