Ulvarg E-Book

Ivan Potgieter

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 224

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Follow an aged warrior named, Ulvarg, as he sets out on a quest to find his family while suffering from a deadly curse, which also allows him to shapeshift into a werewolf. The truth soon becomes more deadly as his travels continue, forcing him to struggle with his past, while being haunted by the choices he struggles to stray from. 

Leseprobe

Ivan Potgieter

Ulvarg

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG80331 Munich

Chapter 1 : Desolation

Chapter 1 : Desolation

Deep, thick snow cracked beneath Ulvarg’s dragging legs. Mystified horror circled around his every breath. It was freezing and dark, worse than any world he ever roamed. There were no sign of life around him, not a single heartbeat aside from his own. With a body aching of intense pain and complaining limbs, Ulvarg, was yet once more stuck in a situation where his actions to save others meant nothing, despite the immense effort he underwent. Attentively he searched for his missing lover within the white void of snow. She had to be here somewhere, all of them were sucked into this world when the collapse happened. He was unsure if Anvil, his lover and betrothed would still be healthy after the incidents. There was nothing in his sight, just a long road of snow around him, leveling the ground, neither were there any wind to give comfort to his aged beard.

 “Where are you, Andvil!?” He desperately whispered to himself.

The snowy field stretched for miles without an end, in the centre of it all, Yggdrasil, the tree of the realms. A large bulky tree almost like a weeping willow, silver-like trunk with a far stretch to each branch. The sky was hollow with the floating-mystic leafs circling this wonder. He hopelessly gazed through the branches of the titanic tree, which held nine branches, splitting through the ever darker heavens above. To have expected the consequences of his actions would cause such drastic conclusion, were inevitable to the least.  

  “Andvil!?” He called, but felt the pain of his wound still heavy in his chest. To have been betrayed by his own, costed the lives of many. He never had love for humans or anyone other than himself and his pack. Those who died made a pact, a bond, a friendship with the enemy, a pact he made himself with his blood brother and Ulvarg could not make peace with his realization that he was once the leader too, now turned a father. His brother and the snake who whispered ideas into his brothers ears, would desire one thing from this slaughter and silly treasure hunts, godhood. Thousands of victims laid in woe by the hand of the leader of the ruthless wolf’s brother, known as the Silver-Ulf, Ognar. He was in control of merciless marauders who pillaged and slaughtered whoever they desired, with his second in command being the instigator to each pillage, called Torsten, The Demon Wolf. With one hand he felt the severity of his wound, a deep cut across his stomach. It did not seem to heal as it should, neither did the freezing atmosphere suspend the blood from running endlessly. His body would take a few moments after a fight to mend itself, for some reason the mending process struggled. A deep sigh was all he could give for slight comfort, hoping that it was only temporary and not the curse any longer, followed by a thick cloud of frostbitten breath. His steps struggled to reach Ygdrassil, no matter the length he went in trying.

  “This is all your fault…” Ulvarg mumbled as he thought about everything, feeling an intense pain within his chest and coughing a few times.

  “How could you have done this…?” Ulvarg furiously spat while grinding his teeth. He removed his hand from the wound and took a moment to breathe. The curse which was set on him when he was but a child, began to take a negative effect, although it did not seem to serious at the moment.

  “To think, we would have achieved so much, if you would only listen, now I am stuck inside gods know where… What were you thinking, Brother? Why were you so desperate to find Alfheim when I fell ill?” Ulvarg’s inhuman senses did not fade at least. It was the curse he so desperately tried to lift that aided him in standing up after brutal battles. A curse Fenrir casts on those desperately in search of power, turning all men into bone crushing demons, lycanthropy, at the cost of something they value dearly. Some abused this ability as a weapon, Ulvarg was just as guilty as the next, shape-shifting at will to desolate those opposing him. He did not embrace that strength however, neither did he ever want to. As a punishment for disrupting the sanctuary of the Wolf-God, Ulvarg was set to change when he least desired and lose control of his mind. Those who where unlucky, soon found themselves running midst the bright moon, slaughtered in their wake by the very man who they trust. Something was approaching him in the distance, he closed his eyes slightly to see what was able to camouflage itself in the coated snow, in place like this, a void of never ending trails.

  “Who is there?!” Ulvarg demanded, feeling unease growing with each crunchy step the being made on the snowy trail. With a moments notice, he quickly shifted into a battle stance when he noticed that the thing approaching did not seem human. His armor was thick with the same bear’s pelt he hunted when he was but a little boy, torn and damaged from the countless battles he faced, the most recent being inside Laufi, the city of immorality and right after on a strange farm where he prevented his brother in killing the one responsible for this catastrophe he is in. It was there where Ulvarg had to challenge his brother and those who despised him. He shook his legs to throw off the piling snow, his leggings made from the toughest bull hide he could find on his journey when travelling with his best friend, Igor, with thick fur boots made from a fox with a wooden sole underneath. He reached for his broken hilt-bent axe sheathed behind his back, which hid behind a thick wooden shield with a banner of a wolf hunting. The blue and red dye on the cracked shield dripped off from the countless nights they traversed in stormy weathers. Both items still steamed warmly with the blood of his brothers. Ulvarg tried to convince himself that he did the right thing, feeling no need to apologize to the Gods for breaking a sacred oath, they have done nothing for him in his life. The vague being in the distance came closer.

  “Do not take another step, Demon!” Ulvarg warned. He positioned his weapon and shield in a slashing pose, the shield being in front and his axe being retracted for a strike. The being became more clear, step by step, revealing to Ulvarg its apparition-like nature. It was amazed at this lost puppy who seem to crave a fight. The Apparition’s hollow gaze saw a strong man with a thick-wild beard of an elder warrior, late thirty winters of age, with a soul burning with hatred.

  “Those eyes…” The apparition’s voice echoed heavily, splitting open the snow between each other, removing the snow to reveal more darkness underneath.

  “W-what is this?” Ulvarg panicked, staring in awe at the flickering stars by his feet, dropping his weapon. The Apparition lifted its arm and then flicked its fingers, forcing the void floor to be flooded with snow, Ulvarg snapped back to reality and ran as fast as he could to find solid ground before he would perish into the void. The snow around him vanished quicker than what he could run, emptying to keep him on a small patch of solid ground, action was the only solution left for Ulvarg when he realized that he had nowhere to run. There was still a small rusted dagger inside his boot, it was not much and he still refused to turn into a werewolf. He promised Andvil and Igor that he would only use his strength if his life was in danger.

  “Very well then, Demon! If this is what you wish, then we fight!” He grabbed the dagger and turned to face the apparition, only to be left in a trembling state, for this specter was right in front of him the moment he lost eye contact. A tree of a spirit, so thin and tall that he could match the length of a large longboat. In the distance the apparition’s size was expected to be human-like. The apparition struck it’s long hand through Ulvarg’s chest, piercing through his heart and raising him to observe him closer. Ulvarg cringed and screamed from the pain, struggling to push his body out this painful endeavor.

  “Shhhh-Shhh Silence, now.” The apparition’s voice echoed, causing the snow around to spiral into a whirlwind, using its other hand to shut the mouth of this bright-ember eyed wolf. Ulvarg’s eyes did not deceive him, being face to face with a specter having no eyes and only a large mouth which seemed to bear the teeth of a shark, horrified his soul.  

  “Child of Fenrir.” The Apparition moved Ulvarg’s head in his hand. Ulvarg’s eyes began to flicker, trying his utmost best to break free, praying for his curse to kick in so he can become a werewolf..

  “Come now, you are not worthy to face me. Neither is it your destiny. You are simply the means of creating a pathway for another. ” Ulvarg’s consciousness slowly faded in the branched reach of the Apparition. The Apparition took away the hand silencing Ulvarg, raising its head to the current tear of the realm leading to the deep marshes of Midgard. Ulvarg’s body refused to cringe, unable endure the pain for a single cry.

The current realm tore open above a well funded goat farm, owned by a rich dwarf named Skjall. The apparition held Ulvarg above the realm, gently using the free hand to push Ulvarg’s body out of his piercing branches.

  “Ask for forgiveness, then return once you have laid your brother to rest. Your curse will be the death of you, make your peace.” Ulvarg was cast back into his own world, falling through a thick cloud. The air was warm against his skin for the few moments he had before falling unconscious.

  “The Forsaken will be ready when the time arrives. A battle unlike any will be fought above the summit of Stormgard. All these corpses you choose to leave behind will haunt you in your last moments, Child Of Fenrir.” Lightning struck heavily through the clouds while the Apparition spoke, hiding the tear from the world beneath to prevent another godly rampage.

A young girl at the farm milked a goat, humming a limerick to herself. The sudden rumbling caught her attention. Her eyes stared with amazement at the sky, in her mind she thought that it was a sign of the gods, a sign that rain would grace the cursed summer. Until she spotted a figure falling from the heavens, almost human with just a little more red water around. She rushed away from the goats in search of her father. It was another situation where bodied rained from the heaven.

 “Father!!”

“Now I know what you are thinking, what is going on here? Well, it is much more complicated than that. I was a part of a group of mercenaries turned bandits. We slaughtered countless people to show our dominance and hatred towards the Gods. My brother and I were orphans who were abandoned by our parents, all for the will to have power. We used to have big dreams of becoming strong warriors one day, to save those people who needed us. But, as you know now, things have gone to shit. This world is cruel and unworthy of saving. I am falling from the sky, talking to my self while hoping someone would listen. Hmph, The woman I love, as you know is Andvil, she is with child. My brother turned into a megalomaniac who wished to become a god. In other circumstances I would have accepted that, but I left our group when Andvil told me she was with child. I want to have a future where I can raise my son in being better than me. My best friend Igor and I came into a desolated city called Laufi, where Torsten kidnapped my wife and tried to convince us to aid them in finding Alfheim through this tear you witnessed.”

“What is it, child?” Skjall rushed out of his barn to see what the commotion is about, his boots covered in fresh dung.

“How did it happen? Well, as you can guess, there was a fight where Torsten vowed to kill me. He especially hates Igor, everyone hates Igor. We were planning on entering Alfheim when I finnally gave in to the reason why they needed me, to find an elf which can grant a person one wish, mine was to lift my curse placed on me. If you wonder why, it is because some nights I would wake up coughing blood after I transformed, sometimes it would happen during the day, but it was killing me. My brother was not worried, he had the same illness, his wish is to gain more riches than even the richest of men. How we know about Alfheim? In truth, I don’t know, but my brother did.”

  The girl pointed to Ulvarg’s fall, immediately gaining a response from her father. He thought that Thor might be having another argument, but there was a man cast out of the heavens, again, hopefully for the last time.

“Don’t get me wrong. My life is a mess, truly a mess. I take what I want and kill what I want. I was shunned everywhere I went, not to mention the fact that my wife nags about my moral decisions. Sometimes I can be good, it is difficult, when my heart allows me to see what is further than just myself. Now I am cast out because of my brother’s mistake, and I need to find him and put him to rest. Andvil was right, he is a demon which has to be stopped, so that makes me the good guy I think. What am I doing with my life? I need to change, I will have a son soon… Why are these things so complicated. Why am I talking to myself? Wait… Who is this forsaken? This is all a bad dream… that’s it, when I wake up then I will be inside my own bed, in that small cosy house I began building.”

Skjall and his daughter could do nothing but watch as Ulvarg’s body slammed into the ground.

 “Get the wagon ready!” Skjall commanded rushing into the barn.

“What in the Gods’ names is going on?” He frustratingly questioned, searching for the leash of his steed.

Chapter 2: Awakening

Chapter 2 : Awakening

“Can’t these cunts stop falling from the sky? It is fucking annoying me” The sturdy dwarf mumbled and ran to his pony on the other side of the barn, hiding between piled haystacks in between a narrow opening towards the meadow. The leash was hidden underneath the equipment he used inside the barn, still inactive and my out of repair condition. Skjall hopped onto the pony as soon as he saddled up, gave two firm kicks to the rear and rushed through his herd of goats past the meadow opening.

“Heyaah!” Skjall shouted and gave a firm kick. Each passing goat received a kick from Skjall with a loud insulting roar. To the goats, it meant nothing, just another day with a strange dwarf who loves to shout or be insane. The goats which herded a fair distance from Skjall ate peacefully and watched confusingly as this little man charged towards something.

“Steady, Bloodrunner!” Skjall pulled the mane and leash slightly with one hand and tapped his trusty steed on the neck with the other to slow down. When he arrived at the body, he was left dazzled, unsure how he should feel. Despite the incredible height which this man fell, the body was still in tact, this man still breathing, and he was covered in blood, yet having no seriously broken bones. There was a large hole in the chest of this man, so large that no one should survive a wound as harsh as this, but this man did not seem to share the fate of those who have been so unlucky. His wound slowly mended itself back together, muscles shifting from one side to the next, closing the gap with a disgusting muscle merge. Deep inside the wound, Skjall could see a small beating heart, a small growing organ, which almost looked identically to the heart of a small wolf pup.

  “By the Gods…” Skjall hopped off to inspect this man up close, attentively observing the wound.

  “This is his heart?” Skjall questioned, placing his thick fingers into the wound to inspect and then turning to his farm.

  “Bring the wagon! This lad is still alive! What in Odin’s name are you? I have seen men falling from the sky before, but what exactly are you? Another wolf?” Skjall questioned confusingly, attempting to pick up the stranger, barely managing to throw his upper body onto his back as he held Ulvarg’s arms firmly in front of him.

  “Hold on lad. You might not like this, but I will be dragging your broken ass somewhere where we can fix you up… Bloodrunner, here boy.” Skjall clicked his tongue twice after speaking and dragged poor Ulvarg through the grazing field, his feet heavily dragging mud and spots of grass with him. The herd bleated loudly at the strange red trail being left behind.

“So, you fell out of the sky? And for some reason, you are alive and by the looks of it, not even a human… That must mean you are like the others…” Skjall mumbled to himself as he tried to find an explanation. Ulvarg slipped out of Skjall’s grip, but quickly got thrown back up as they went on.

Bloodrunner ran to the goats herding around them, grazing peacefully as if nothing happened.

“Strange things just keeps on happening over and over. First it was a strong warrior who fell out of the sky, breaking every bone in his body and mumbled some shite about the curse of the gods, now you arrive. Hmph, I can not wait to hear what stories you have to talk about. It has been almost six winters since the last man fell from the sky.” Skjall chuckled, feeling relieved when he saw the wagon finally approaching him. The daughter of Skjall brought her older brother to help. They first had to lure a young dairy bull to the wagon, setting the wagon up so it can be pulled and guiding the bull next to their father so they can load the man. Skjall pushed with all his might upwards to give Ulvarg to the children who rushed at the side of the wagon. They huffed and cringed while pulling the bloody body atop the wagon until Ulvarg fell in.

  “Take him to your mother! Do not just stare, get! Have I not taught you to do as I say!?” Skjall strictly ordered and clapped his hands, disgusted by the blood left behind. The children rushed down the wagon, leading the bull back to the farm. Skjall wiped the sweat from his forehead when they left, praying that this man would not be another one of Olaf’s victims.

He turned his eyes towards the sky, seeing only a glimpse of a bright light fading between the clouds. For a moment he thought that it might be the sun,but when he turned his head east, the sun brightly blinded his eyes. He shook his head, clicking his tongue three times to call Bloodrunner, shrugging off the notion of the supernatural haunting his every step. The sturdy mount of the dwarf sauntered towards him, flicking its head up and down to acknowledge the call. Skjall’s hands stroked his long-flaming red rose beard in quest for answer to this matter at hand. The sky man seemed to wear torn armour. The pelts sowed into the cuirass of the sky man are most common between those who enjoy hunting or pillaging, although there are many who lives in peace with others in populated areas wearing the same apparel. A troubling question stuck in his mind, did he have to help this man? He did not feel too enthusiastic to assist another crazed man. Skjall shrugged his shoulders in a careless manner after giving it some thought, on his farm was a strong security system which he bought from his uncle’s sister’s brother’s nephew’s son and the system were five rock golems which all had a special trait of the elements to fight with in different situations. Like dwarfs always say, ‘There is nothing better than having an ale with the family’, except if he was in command of a magical ring to call forth his defenders.

  “Come boy.” Skjall mounted his steed, stroking it gently and then kicking it two times on the rear two walk back home. He peacefully stared at his land, deciding if he should plant any fruits this season or vegetables. The farm’s ever expanding debt did not bother him in the slightest, his allies were too powerful and his money sacred. Upon reaching the house, he took out his pipe from within his fine made leather coat. The pipe slid smoothly through his fingers, pinching it with two fingers and removing the pipe from the black soft fur within. He placed it into his mouth, fiddling at the end of the goat-horned pipe to feel if there was still some tobacco left inside, then placing his hand back into the other side of his coat to remove another object.

A flawless diamond engraved with runes to control any godly energy, which was a relic which only he was in possession of. He snarled and spat out some mucus in his throat before holding the diamond directly over the bowl of the pipe, turning his head in the direction of the sun to help his dried tobacco ignite. There was a method he used to abuse every time he bought tobacco from the nearest town. He would take the wet tobacco leaves and pluck fresh fruits or plants which had a great flavour from his rich farm, throw the plants, fruits or anything else into a sturdy pot, allow the items to boil for flavour extraction and then take the flavour it left behind. Afterwards he would take a flat pan and mix the wet tobacco leafs with the flavour, allowing it to soak for a day or two, then removing the leafs and placing them into a separate bowl, cooking further in the sun until it dried out. This summer he made blueberry flavoured tobacco, it was not to bad, but not too good as well.

All it took was a few puffs and then the pipe gave a sensual taste of a fine dried berry flavor. The kids continued their work at the farm while the mother attended the wagon.

Skjall adored his wife, smiling as she graced his vision with radiance. Her blue eyes, short strong body, bleached out yellow hair just made him feel like he could do things to her at that very moment. He smiled while approaching her, observing how she fiddled around with healing herbs which was covered in a piece of cloth. Her hands moved swift like a steed, flawlessly when mixing the herbs in a mortal and pestle.

  “Oh, Love. What would we ever be able to do without you?” Skjall jested, removing the pipe from his mouth. His wife smiled, turning her attention to Skjall.

  “If I can guess, then I would say you can not do anything.” His wife responded, giggling at Skjall. He gave her a menacing look with a disturbing smile. She awkwardly smiled back, refusing to trust his behavior.

  “What do you want now?” She questioned, knowing well that Skjall was being aroused by her.

  “Nothing, I just adore what I am seeing before my eyes, a beautiful, strong woman who makes my beard tickle.” Skjall smiled widely, speaking with a deep charming voice and then placing the pipe back in his mouth.

  “So, are you going to sit on your high horse and let me do everything, or will you help me before your itchy beard numbs your head?” She asked jestingly, taking the fine mixed herbs and placing it in another bowl with some water.

  “Yes, Rine. I think I will sit, and watch, and wonder. To witness such beauty is rare.” Skjall charmingly answered, leaning slightly forward. Rine chuckled, frowning at Skjall and then mixing the herbs with the water until it formed a dark green sludge.

  “Wonder about?” Rine questioned, immediately receiving a sinister wink and grin from Skjall.

  “Oh, you know exactly how to make a man want his woman.” Skjall winked winked again, flicking his eyebrows.

  “By the Gods, you are a disturbed dwarf, but help me fix up this lad and maybe you can show me later what you mean.” Rine smiled seductively, luring Skjall from his trusty Bloodrunner to assist her. The children, Elof who was eleven and Urin who was ten stared conspicuously with a disgusted stare at their parents. For some reason their parents always had a way to see each other in a hormone disturbed way.

“They are mental.” Urin mumbled while pulling her face in a strange way, turning her attention back to milking the goats.

“Mhm. I wonder what father wants to show mum.” Elof curiously wondered, pulling his mouth the way he usually does when battling with a brown stomach bear, shrugging his head and leading the bull back to its pen. The day quickly passed and so did some days after that. Skjall and Rine built Ulvarg a small shed just outside the farmhouse, next to the barn, covering him with many fur coats and hay to keep him warm as was resting. There was not enough room for him to live in the farmhouse, but inside this shaggy, medium sized shed with some holes for vermin to crawl through, he would be rather comfortable. On the fourth night, Skjall went back to see if this man finally awoken from his slumber. They were running out of herbs to look after themselves for when something would happen. Skjall whistled loudly placing the ring summoning the golems over his middle finger.

it was a peaceful summer night, the toads croaked, crickets stridulating, owls hooting. The goats where sleeping safely inside their pen with their three cows, one bull and two steeds. He noticed something different from the shed, the light moved around inside. He remembered leaving a torch and flint close to the window.