"Archers, loose!"
The men behind him who had moments before drawn their bow and aimed at the top of the hill released their arrows. A cloud of deadly blades soared into the sky, blocking out the sunlight over the Brecks for a brief moment. Then they plummeted toward the ground, and typically the men who stood in their path would die.
However the Brecks were experienced in the art of warfare. From one loud command, every warrior knelt down to the ground and lifted their large shields over their head. Forming a large shell that protected their vital organs from the sharp points of the falling arrows.
Some men screamed when an arrow punctured their flesh, however the number of men who actually fell from the assault was few. Björn smiled demonically, nodding to Knut who raised his arm up in the air. Slamming his arm down to his side again, the archers behind the front line released another round of arrows.
This silent order was one of Björn's most lethal maneuver. So many armies failed to pay attention to the second round of arrows in the sky as it was such an unorthodox move. Typical warfare consisted of arrows being let loose when the opponent could watch. Or at least, you could hear the command given. Knut would order the second wave to be released, and it was expected that the troops would release a third wave on command just moments after.
The opposing armies had failed multiple times to realize that there was not one wave, but three. Some would stand and rally after the first wave, lowering the protective shields to bellow out an obscenity only to fall to the ground with an arrow imbedded in their skull. Others predicted the second and even the third release, however with each man that was dealt a blow, the more openings there became.
Björn thought typical warfare was nonsense. War was war, it meant bloodshed and it did not need to be fair. The Brecks did not think like he was though, and they did exactly what he expected them to do. They dropped their shields and stood up, breaking the lengths of arrows from their shields and screaming threats at his army.
Smiling, Björn watched as the Brecks were taken by surprise. Arrows rained down on them like freezing rain, striking their skin painfully. Some only received minor wounds, others were dealt a fatal blow. Their large army had been reduced by perhaps a quarter of their original strength.
One of the Brecks ran forward, and with his approach his surviving allies rushed down the hill with him. The man had a shaved head, long blonde beard and his body was covered in ritualistic markings that permanently stained his flesh.
He threw his heavy axe as hard as he could manage, smug when it cracked the wood of one of Björn's soldier's shields. The shield holder dropped the lumber with a grumble, looking more displeased than surprised by the bruit warriors throw. "Warriors of Roldheim!" the man shouted. "We have come to slaughter your men, butcher your elderly, fuck your women and take your treasures!"
Björn rolled his eyes, speaking in a hushed tone to Knut. "They all say that."
He laughed, "Aye that they do."
The tattooed man continued. "Surrender now and you will have a swift death! Fight, and you all shall die in agony!"
There was a sudden laughter that came from Björn's army, the men knew that the Brecks stood no chance. The men within this army were all hand selected by Björn and his elite soldiers, they all received specialized training and their skills were far from subpar.
Their talents with weapons were lethal, and when they combined their swords with their shield brothers: they could not be defeated in battle. They had proven this several times over.
"The Brecks cannot lose! You cannot defeat us!" There was a loud cheer from the Breck army, the fools were incredibly confident and incredibly dumb. "It does not matter how many of us fall, we shall be victorious!"
Björn groaned, "I grow tired of listening to him already."
"Aye, me too." Knut chuckled, the man's wrinkled and aged face scowling.
"Shall we?" Björn asked, stretching his arms across his bare chest.
"Aye sir."
Björn's body shuddered, his limbs trembling and his skin rippling like something was crawling beneath it. Silver colored scales sprouted from his flesh and his deep blue eyes suddenly resembled a snakes. He growled, feeling his body transforming into his most preferred form.
In an explosion of magical energy, Björn's tanned skin was replaced with smooth glistening scales. His draconic form was massive, with a pair of wide wings that had a glistening membrane with absolutely no flaws. His weight fell forward on his wings, his hind legs shifting side to side where ivory talons dug into the soil.
Björn's body shimmered like a fresh snowfall, untouched by any creature. His lengthy neck stretched out past the front line of his army, dorsal spikes the color of bone protruding from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail. At the end of his tail flared a wide fan like organ, one that was stiff and sharp.
He narrowed his snake-like eyes, curling his scaled lips over his pearly row of fangs. The duo of sharp horns on his head littered with his tattered clothing.
The rumbling snarl that radiated from his throat was chilling, a deep and threatening growl turned hiss. He was a viper ready to strike.
Knut stepped closer and pulled the shredded material from his horns, watching as the six other beasts in their army shifted forms. Their bodies erupted into a dragon that were now called wyverns by man, a dragon that walked on their wings and hind legs. Their true names given to them by the gods, a dragon, wyvern, ormr.
The men's forms were now of colorful scaled beasts, glistening scales of reds, browns and copper, greens, and the colors of stone or earth. Their forms were nowhere near as large as Björn's. Yet they were no less intimidating to the gaze of man.
Watching the Breck's stumble in surprise and fear, he smiled. Pleased by their fear, he took a step forward.
"Army of Brecks…" Björn said, his deep voice emitting a serpent hiss. "Congratulations, you are in the presence of Edinburgh's most elite army. My army."
The once fearsome tattooed man almost pissed himself, stumbling away from Björn as he moved closer. "M-m-monster! It's a monster!" some of the men shrieked. These men must never have encountered one of his species, or thought of them as only legend. Only a few men braced themselves, Bjorn's army watching as the enemy pulled on their comrades armor and barking orders to maintain their ranks. For every ten men that seemed to want to retreat back to their ships, a few more ordered them to remain in place.
It had been a long while since Bjorn had witnessed man tremble in such fear of his kind, his homeland growing accustomed to their presence. For more than twenty years they'd finally been able to live side by side. That was not to say that there were no longer man or dragon who despised one another, and that foul words were never shared between them, but I had decreased in numbers or occurrences.
The six dragons behind Björn launched themselves from the ground, soared into the sky, circling above the two armies. The sound their wings made as they hovered above them was deafening, resembling the howling sound of wind pushing through a narrow cavern. Possibly even closer to the sound of sharp nails being drug down a glass window. It made their ears ring and throb, pain shooting into their skulls like a dagger. It was the sound that used to make townsfolk tremble in fear, but now, now it was the sound that his army marched to. His warriors, for their enemies, they were death.
Björn moved his wings forward and took a long, methodical step at a time. He inched closer, hissing and growling with each movement. His massive body climbed the steep hill that the men were retreating from. The warriors of Breck now backed away from Björn and his army, even the ones with a strong back bone were taking slow steps away from his approach. Over the clatter of armor and weapons clanging against each other, over men yelling, the sounds of the crashing waves against wooden ships and against the rocks, there were still a few men who expressed hope. Still a few men who thought, who dared to believe, that they had a chance.
They would not leave here alive. Björn bared his fangs once more at the man with all the tattoos, a hiss sliding from deep within his throat.
"Warriors of Breck." he growled. "You are here to be slaughtered. You are here to hand over your treasure. You cannot defeat myself and my army." Knut stepped away from the long length of Bjorn's neck, the silver scales raising, standing erect from his thick hide and a glowing heat emanating from beneath his flesh. Deep in his throat. Behind his silver scales, flickers of blue and violet burned within his chest. Bjorn's serpent tongue flicked past his lips, and as he spoke, with each word a spark of flame snuck past his lips. "You. Will. All. Die."
A burst of heat and a gush of blue flame erupted from beyond Bjorn's fangs. The flames licking at the grass in front of his men, dancing across the open field like a spirit dancing in the wind. His men cheered, the yelled and hollered, and then they charged.