The Tale of He-Ron - The Unstoppable (Patreon)

Prologue - The Halborians

In the old world of Narroz, life was ruled by those who were strong… or those who could manipulate the strong… and fool the weak… 

True strength is not knowing when to fight… but knowing your enemy better than he knows himself… and then fight him.

In a secluded part of the world of Narroz, was the lands known as Halbor. These lands were immense in size and span. The population of the rest of the Narroz could easily fit in the lands of Halbor and with plenty of room. 

One could live several lifetimes in the lands of Halbor and never see another living soul. 

This immense vast and endless land was home to a tribe of people, said to descend from the gods themselves. 

The Halborians. 

Only these stoic and strong men and women could call this immense land their home. They were semi nomadic. Building houses and huts was a seasonal thing. When time came to move to another place, they would pack what was needed and move to another place. 

They were democratic in their society, but they were led by a power couple. The leaders were called the Jahl and the Jahdi. These were in a sense like a chief. They made executive decisions about when to move and where to. 

Halborians had no thieves or murders in their way of life. They had a strong sense of unity and family. A clan was a family. And their incredible sense of justice and fairness secured that none were taking stuff from another absent permission.  

There were 3 major clans of Halborians. They had never been many in numbers, but they were not dwindling. In fact they were growing. 

In past the 3 clans had waged wars on each other, but that was now only in long lost nightmares, and in these days they only fought against invaders or marauders of their lands. 

Only a few were foolish enough to try and fight the Halborians in their own territory. They were not like normal humans. And certainly not like the populations of the lands in the Smouldixian regions to the southwest. 

Halborian’s possessed immense strength, and they had the will and abilities to use it. In battle, they were near unbeatable. Not fearless, but brave. Their skin was tough as organic granit. A gift bestowed after generations of their kin had swum in the iceberg-covered seas north of their lands. 

They were literally impervious to poisons and venoms. And they could live for several lifetimes. 

Children of the gods… truly. They were said to be protected by the lands they called home.

The legends said that the 3 Halborian clans all descended from the same godly mother. Halbara the all mother. One of the strongest and most worshipped goddesses in all the world. She was said to be the living embodiment of the Halbor lands. Thus being their namesake. She had 3 sons with her divine husband, but they decided to let them live and become the kings among men. 

To help them further their bloodline, the goddess gave each of her sons a wife from her brood sisters. 

One of her sons got the sister of the ocean. A dark skinned and dark haired goddess of endless beauty. Another got the sister of the fields, a gorgeous golden tanned blonde, with shining blue eyes. The third got the untameable redheaded sister of the mountains, pale skinned and as beautiful as the seasonal change. 

These 3 pairings gave birth to the rise of the 3 Halborian clans. But over time the 3 clans mixed so much that there was literally no difference between the ocean clan, the land clan and the mountain clan. 

All 3 clans had different tribes, and all tribes were a mix of all three bloodlines. 

Halborians were blind to their outer differences. Halborian’s only cared for the survival of their clans. The wars were a thing of their ancient past. A child’s disease for their culture. Now… matured and grown as they were… they could look back at such days with respect and gratitude. Those mistakes were made, so others could learn from them. 

They were a mix of agricultural and hunter gatherers. The tribes at the coast were often traders and fishermen. 

Mountain tribes also traded, but mostly hunted for a living. 

The Markland tribes were more diverse. They also housed the greater warriors of the clans. 

In the past some Halborians did leave the Halbor lands to settle in other places. But little was known about these settlers' fate in the Halbor lands. It was also ages ago, so it was hard to come by any true knowledge. Halborians rarely traveled outside of the lands they called their own. There was no need to. 

In their lands they had everything they needed. Food, water, shelter and most important. A sense of belonging. 

The Halborians did not build temples because to them, the true gods of the world was the land that they inhabited. And the best way to honor them, was to not mutilate or destroy them. But live off them. Take what they needed and let the rest go on and about. 

They had mines, but that was mainly to get some essential metals for some equipment they needed. 

They kept stumbling upon a completely useless metal in their mines. This metal was a nuisance to the Halborians. It wasn’t strong, it wasn’t capable, it wasn’t even useful for making cooking tools.

Why the allmother had cursed this land with such a useless material baffled the Halborians for ages. 

They found out that they could melt it easy enough. Melt it and form it. Sure it was pretty, but Halborians were blind to such beauty. They only took what they needed. What wasn’t needed they left alone. 

But a traveling oracle among them said this useless metal was to be stored away and kept for later use. Perhaps one day, the Halborians could find use for it. Soon after, the oracle vanished… never to be seen again.

The Halborians, ever distrusting of strangers, including this traveling oracle, were hesitant, but began to store the useless metal once they had melted it into a more manageable form. 

But the Halborians did not hide them in places easy to reach… no… The Halborians used the powerful magic of their lands to hide these hidden depositories of this useless metal… 

The metal they heard had a name that rang as useless as the metal itself. The oracle called the metal - Gold… 

Gold.

Was there ever a more useless thing in this world? You couldn’t eat it, get warm by it or even use it to catch food or harvest food. Worthless. The gods sure had been drunk when they came up with that stupid thing.

The Halborians mined it, but were annoyed when they had to. They melted it and stored it, and their secret deposits grew ever larger and ever more bountiful… 

A hidden treasure that only a Halborian would be able to find.

On the Great Plains of Halbor lands, roamed the mighty Clovehoof. A mighty beast. A distant relation of the cow, but unlike his smaller relations to the south, this massive beast tops at over 2 tons in weight, and is a mountain of muscle. His horns are as wide as a full grown man and they are a terrible sight, especially when the bull gets caught by his unstoppable rage and tramples everything in his path. 

Only the mighty wooly mammoth does this beast bow to and let passage. The mighty mammoths are the true rulers of the plains. And the Halborians only hunt those on rare occasions. But the tusks from the dead mammoths on the plains are often found and gathered, and used for different purposes. 

For either decorations or for building. 

It could sound like the Halbor lands are a wild paradise… but alas… one would be a fool to think so. 

The plains were home to some of the fiercest and most grotesque predators that hunted the immense herds of wild Clovehoof - also known as Halbuffalos - but also the wide variety of wild deers and antelopes who called the plains home.

……………………………..

One of the dangers came in the lone killer - the Sable Cat. A hunter the size of a lion but with fangs twice the length and a short stubby tail. This ferocious ambusher was a skirmish of many antelopes and wild hogs on the plains, but its cousin; the Scimitar Cats, were even worse.

      They were the same size and were only distinguished from the Sable Cat by their lack of elongated dark spots. 

They were a simpler coat, almost white pale brown, but their advantage was that they ran in prides. Just like lions did. These were known for sometimes attacking and slaying a lonely young mammoth. They were at the top of the food chain… almost…

Not only felines made the plains their hunting grounds. Canines roamed as well. 

The mighty dagger tusk direwolf was another dreaded pack hunter. Twice the size of a normal wolf and - as their name suggested - they were armed with two sets of long and razor sharp killer canines in their mouth. One set in the lower jaw, another in the upper jaw. These predators could run seemingly forever, and hunted effectively as a pack. 

     Some of these wolves could grow to the size of horses, and had… at times… been told in legends to allow Halborians to ride them.

They had a bone crushing bite and could often pick a carcass completely clean. 

If they were allowed to, by the plains bully boys. The wooly hyenas. These predators were the local trash men of the plains. What all other hunters left, these guys would eat with pleasure. Standing taller and bulkier than the spotted hyena of the south, these guys could chase off any lone killers when they showed up, and even the mighty direwolf knew better than to pick a fight with these grotesque creatures. Their bite could crush bone and even stones. They were thick skinned and the worst… they were vengeful creatures… killing one… would ensure its entire clan would come after you and chase you out of their territory… or even kill you. So when they showed up, it was usually the best move to just leave. 

One of the only meat eaters on the plains that wasn’t a pest to everyone were the 4 meters tall terror bird. These ferocious birds would mainly eat the nimble antelopes and deers that most other hunters thought not worth the effort. 

They were speedy killers and could often catch up with the nimble little things and kill them with their bone crushing beak. 

Depending on the size of the antelopes, the birds could sometimes swallow them whole. 

The reason these birds were less of a pest was because they were omnivorous. Meat was just one part of their diet. Their massive beaks could also eat the sturdy root fruits of the plains and they were also lovers of the northern apples that often grew in the wild.

And when the salmon ran up the rivers of the plains, the birds were among the first to get their fair share of the gifts from the ocean. And for their size, the birds didn’t really eat so much.  

A real pest and real monster of the plains however was the very rare hell hogs. Once a dominant predator, these creatures were fortunately a species on the verge of extinction. 

Hellhogs… disgusting creatures with huge mouths and long fangs - tusks really and a loud roar and a foul stench. These guys were also omnivorous, but where the terror birds could either scavenge for its meat or hunt for themselves, these beasts were bullies of the bullies. They would use their loud roar and crude stench to chase off even the hyenas off a fresh kill. 

It was thanks to the wooly hyenas that these hellhogs were on their last legs, because the hyena’s would locate the dens and burrows of the hellhogs and kill their little piglets and eat them.

The hellhogs were bad parents and left the young at home alone all day. And these days, they are few and far between. 

Only one predator was above all of these… and those were the Halborians. Huge men and women, with toned muscles, tough skin and bones coated in a nearly indestructible form of organic carbon, these humans were rarely if ever on any of the predators dinner menu. 

The Halborian’s feared like all humans do… but what set Halborian’s aside was the knowledge and acceptance of their own demise and downfall. 

“The old father spun the thread of your life a long time ago. He gave you the time you needed. You can hide in a hole or in a cave to keep death away if you want to… but you won't live one instant longer. Fear is just another enemy to be defeated and conquered.”

And thus the Halborians had invented the truest meaning of courage and bravery. 

It is not fearlessness that makes you a Halborian. It is the acceptance of fear, and the ability to overcome it, and face death. 

This sparked a massive respect for life and all things in general for the Halborians. 

Their society was a clear and no nonsense society. 

A woman of age had the right to demand a man. If a man stood forward to claim her, then he was hers and she his. 

But if two men claimed her and neither backed out, then they would have to fight over her. The winner would take her as his. 

If a woman was unhappy with her husband, she could claim she wanted another, and on and on it went. 

Women who bore children shared duties. A child was free to wean on another woman in the tribe, and all women shared motherly duties. All children were children of the tribe. There was no rank or caste in the Halborian society. 

If one fell sick - which was rare - the tribe would help out. When one was born or one died there was a celebration either way. 

All were expected to learn how to hunt and fight. These were considered crucial survival skills. 

Where to hide, how to cover your scent. How to avoid too much attention. Where to hit the target. And how to fend off unwanted company. 

Agriculture was not so easily taught, but to those who could let go of the nomadic life, they could build a permanent hut and grow plants for food. This they would trade with their nomadic brothers and sisters. 

Magic. 

Magic users were called shamans. And usually all tribes had at least one. These could be either men or women, and while all Halborians had a natural inclination towards magic, few were born with a natural understanding of magic. Only a handful had such a gift, and these were shamans. These were often found early in childhood and were prepared for their future role as shamans. 

Magic was considered the language of the gods. All could hear it, all could feel it and act it. A shaman served as protector of the old way. A keeper of the memories of sorts. 

Blacksmithing was considered an important task. A blacksmith was working on the metals that were found in the northern parts of the plains. Here the ore stuck on the cliffs and were used for everything, from weapons to tools.

But even more valuable was the sky iron that fell only in this part of the world. Massive meteors that hurled through the sky in a blazing fire. They stuck the earth and this ore was harvested and used for the legendary Halborian steel. This steel was stronger and lighter than any metal. 

It could be sharpened to such a blade that it would never need a whetstone, and could cut through bone like it was butter. 

No outsiders could wield such a weapon. And so, the Halborians used powerful magic to ensure that their great swords could never be used against themselves. Every sword was considered the soul of a Halborian, and thus guarded and treasured. Losing your sword was akin to losing your honor or your soul. And thus it needed to be retrieved by any means necessary. 

Halborians thus all bore a sword around. Another weapon of choice was a bearded axe, sometimes it was just faster than the long sword. 

Spears, while mostly used for hunting, were also a formidable weapon in the hands of a Halborian.

The same with Bow and Arrows. 

Shields were also a necessity, but these could be made from the sturdy Halbor oak, and covered with a Hyena’s hide to make it even more strong. 

Men and Women were taught equally to fight and hunt. 

None were overly dependable on others. 

The tribes of the Halborians were aided in their travels by the help of the mighty northern Equus - a strong and big cousin to the horse. Nearly twice the size of a normal horse, these massive giants had once been on the menu for the Halborians, but they had been tamed and were the sturdiest of mounts. Fearless and even protective of their riders. Even the great Scimitar cats were unwilling to go after this mighty horse. 

This was not the only beast that the Halborians had managed to tame. Many thousands of years ago, the tribes had formed a bond with the huge dire wolves and had managed to tame them. They had become dire dogs. While not quite as big as the wild wolves, they were still massive. Their huge teeth were slightly smaller, but their bite was even stronger than their wild relatives. Their hearing was sharper and their nose was unmatched. They were also way more intelligent and often could trick even the most cunning dire wolf.

A great partner for the Halborians. They were also often used to drag slays across the plains in the winter months. But they were mainly guards and partners on the hunt. They loved long and often a Halborian was given a pup as a child. The pup would then bond with the Halborian deeply and could even keep the child warm with their thick coat of fur. 

These dogs were loyal to the bone and would die before they would let anything happen to their human. 

Stories told of a Halborian dog that faced a Hellhog alone to let its young master escape to safety. But instead the two managed to slay the cursed fiend together. Solidifying the partnership between the Halborians and their dogs.

The wars of the past. 

The Halborians shortly waged war against their fellow tribes. But these were like the squabbles of brothers. After a short time out, they were once again the best of friends. Ever since those days there had been nothing but peace between the clans. The Halborians needed their strong sense of unity and justice, for later the Omandies came to conquer their land. The Omandies came from the south, and waged a war on the Halborian hill and mountain tribes to gain access to the fertile lands of Halbor. 

The Omandies were part of a new human empire that was expanding. Territories and allies alike… and as all empires… They made a ton of enemies. Including the Halborians who sat on huge tracts of uncovered and untamed lands. The Halborians allowed the Omandies a few victories, and as the Omandies tried to gain access and started building settlements… The curses began raining down over their empire, and especially back home in their capital city Oman things started to go bad quickly.

They were soon struck all over the empire, with famines, plague and vermin’s… the harvest across the entire empire failed for several years. The armies that once brought half the world to heel began to falter. Entire legions were lost to sickness, starvation and desertion. 

In a matter of years, the empire crumbled and the people were split up… 

As for the outposts in Halbor, they pretty much just… vanished. 

The Omandies who had lived there all meant an untimely end. The lands were united against them. The animals and the weather, it all seemed to fight them and push them out. 

What few Omandies survived were included in the tribes of the Halborians and absorbed into their clans. 

Years passed. Decades, centuries, even millennia.

Then another invasion. This time by the Malakites from the east. Where the Omandies only used foot soldiers to trot their enemies down, the Malakites also resorted to the use of powerful and dangerous magic. 

They too converted the lands of the Halborians. And they too fought and conquered. But unlike the Omandies, who were only interested in the lands and paid little attention to the nomadic tribes of the land, the Malakites were hugely into human sacrifice… They captured a few Halborians and brought them to their homeland in order to sacrifice them.  

From the moment they spilled the sacred blood of the Halborians on their sacrificial stones in their temples… they were doomed. 

The Omandies still have descendants who live today, under different names. And it took a few years to make their vast empire crumble but it happened in time… The Malakites were driven to extinction and that in a matter of days…

The sacrifice of the blood of Halbara was a crime that NONE of the gods could overlook.

Halbara was the allmother… the mother of ALL the gods. The Halborians were thus protected by all of the gods… and sacrificing a Halborian was an insult and a crime against all of the gods. The Malakites were stricken down with the Doom. The doom that claimed their entire capital and destroyed them as a people.

A giant ball of flame and death hit the very center of their majestic city… and destroyed it in the blink of an eye. 

Afterwards a rain of death and fire fell over all of their lands and killed every single Malakite alive… the people were as mentioned destroyed, down to the last individual. And the city, that once was the largest and most impressive monument to human engineering, was lost and gone… Only bumps on certain roads bring mention to the fact that once there was a big building there…  

The lands were soon overtaken by an endless jungle of tropical forests. To this day, those forests are treated as haunted… animals claim the forests as their home, but humans don’t willingly walk in those jungles… The place is dangerous…

The fall of the Omandies and the Malakites were enough for the rest of the world to stay clear of the Halborian lands. And thus, as time once passed again… the Halborians lived their lives in peace in their precious isolation. 

That is… until a new tyrant in a new union of lands… decided he wanted to include or submit the Halborians to his rule.

And who is this new tyrant? 

Another southern ruler, who has claimed the lands of a region commonly known as the Smouldixian. 

The Smouldixian are a mixed bunch. They worship plenty of gods, like the Omandies did, but they also use magic like the Malakites did. But unlike the Malakites, they do not practice human sacrifices. 

Instead they used magic in a different sense. They preferred to objectify the magic to control the environment around them. 

This was crafty… cowardly, but crafty and clever. 

The Smouldixians were actually a collection of kingdoms that had been united under one King - the High King. 

Not technically a true empire, but close enough. The Smouldixians had several gods that they worshipped - for several occasions. 

The currently crowned High King Jamos was a ruler, who demanded more… more land… more women… more… wealth… he was the personification of greed. And he had sent out his armies to pillage the lands of the Halborians. Bring slaves sure, but only with the weapons they had magically enchanted. Thus they could keep the ever watchful eyes of the gods blind to their actions. 

King Jamos had sent armies to the north… to pillage and plunder the lands of Halbor. That empty and vast treasure trove of goods was ripe for picking. And he wanted that big plump apple. Still a young king, he had all the ideas of grandeur that befalls unworthy rulers of men… but none dared defy the Smouldixian king. 

So… the armies made their way into the Halbor lands.

On the day our story begins, we find a Halborian settlement on the Halbor plains. The tribe consists of 64 strong warriors, and their equally strong wives. 

Halborian women are as strong as their mates - almost - but that still makes them stronger than 10 Smouldixian soldiers. 

The children of the tribe counted about 54 or so, and the number was growing. The tribe wasn’t big, but that was because only last winter had their tribe parted into two because they had become too many for a single tribe. A tribe numbering over 400 was too big. And when they reached that number, they were bound to split up and form new tribes. That had been done before, and would be done again. 

But alas, the peaceful life of the Halborians were disturbed… by the uncanny sound of a raiding cavalry that was riding their way down a hill towards them. 

The Halborians had early warning by their trusted guard dogs, and the men ran to their posts to get into formation. The women took the children and led them to the main hall. A big sturdy construction that would keep them all safe. The women - like their men - were all armed at all times. The Halborian Way. Their sword was their soul.

The men were the first line of defense. A few had run to their huge steeds and had begun to ride towards the raiding party. Others had unleashed their hounds and the huge dogs were running towards the charging cavalry. Now, you might think a dog is a little match to a horse… not the Halborian Hounds. They are ferocious beasts and one hound can easily bring down a horse from the Smouldixian lands. 

Once their jaws lock over something, they are NOT letting it go. And these hounds are loyal only to the Halborians. 

The raiding party only lost some of their momento as they charged the ranks of the Halborians. 

The fighting began. The Halborian managed to break up the cavalry and many of the men died in the ensuing battle. But the cavalry was only the first charge… Behind them was a huge group of foot soldiers that charged the Halborians. 

The battle was brutal. 

Steels clashed… blood sprayed… cries of pain and roars of anger… 

War had come… and the Halborians were fighting a small army… they were at least 5 to one… 

But this tribe was no ordinary tribe. These Halborians were of the Unstoppable clan. One of the oldest and most ferocious clans of the Halborians. If there was something akin to an elite among the Halborians, they were part of it. 

Their warriors were the strongest, fastest and most formidable. They were trained from the moment they could stand, and they were unbeatable in battle. 

The current chief of this tribe, Jonan the Drowned, was a pale Halborian, who they said, had once drowned and come back to life… Some said he had been granted immortality by the Ocean mother… Others said that not even the Ocean could stop a Halborian of the Unstoppable clan. 

He was paler than most, and he seemed even more pale, because of the war paint he always had on him… deep gray that crossed his body in patterns that resembled that of the Scimitar Cats of the plains.

But he was a massive man. 

While not larger than the average Halborian, he was still more than a head taller than the tallest Smouldixian. 

He was a fearless warrior. Intelligent and strong. And most of all… he had the power of the battle roar. 

Jonan used his mighty battle roar and startled all of his opponents who were close enough to hear him, making them jolt a moment, and thus giving his fellow warriors a window of attack. 

He felt someone on his back… he looked over his shoulder. There stood his mate. 

“ANA-DREA!!” He roared. “What are you doing!? Get inside!?”

“And miss this!? NEVER!!”

Ana-Drea was Jonan’s mate. A gorgeous looking and battle hardened Halborian woman who Jonan had to battle 4 of his clansmen to win. But Ana-Drea was worth it. She was as beautiful as she was deadly. 

She swung her sword against the Smouldixians who mistook her for an easy target, and sent them all to their gods… with open throats and open bellies. 

She fought fearlessly, as she knew her man had her back. And Jonan fought as closely to Ana-Drea as ever… as she was not only his mate… she was pregnant with his child… And she was due any day… 

But right now… they were fighting just to see another day… 

A Smouldixian who still rode a horse charged against them, and Jonan pulled his mate out of the way. 

She was safe, and he pulled a knife out of his belt, and with a precise and swift toss, landed the blade in the rider's back. 

Ana-Drea smiled. 

“You still have the eye of the mountain eagle, my love!” She said, and Jonan smirked. 

They continued fighting. And as the Smouldixians clearly were out matched they began to retreat… cowardly and running for the hills. 

The Halborians chased them for a short while, and their hounds even longer. The bone crushing jaws of their canine companions ended several of them with mighty efficiency. 

Jonan and Ana-Drea stood in the center of the battlefield, covered in blood and with their tribesmen all around them… all of them also breathing heavily from the fight. 

“Have we lost any?” Jonan asked Manan, a warrior who spat out a mouthful of blood. 

“Don’t know yet…” He said with a smile on his lips. “But I think the Smouldixians lost more than we did…”

“That’s to be expected…” Jonan said as he looked towards the hills from there the Smouldixians were escaping. 

“They fight like cowards… And they fight stupidly… without unity… One would think they had learned by now…”

There was a lot of laughter from the others, as they gathered to see who was lost… 

“Gahhhh!” Ana-Drea leaned forward and held her huge swollen belly. 

Jonan turned to look and other’s lifted their weapons and spun around to face a hidden enemy… but… there was no one… 

Jonan ran to his mate, and she was kneeling down… 

“ANA-DREA!” He yelled. “WHAT IS IT?”

“YOUR SON!” She screamed. “YOUR SON!… HE IS COMING… AND HE IS COMING NOW!”

Jonan blinked and looked sheepishly for a second… 

“Damn!” Manan said with a smile. “Now? Of all times… born on a battlefield… that boy is a true Halborian!”

An elderly Halborian woman ran towards them… it was Ena-Mel - the tribe's midwife and potion brewer. She was still beautiful. Halborian’s aged different than other humans. 

“Bend over, Ana-Drea!” She commanded. “This is your first one… and it seems we have little time! He has chosen to come now!”

Ana-Drea got on all fours breathing as she had been instructed to in these last few weeks. 

Jonan saw 2 other women come running to assist. Jonan walked back so as to not get in the way… usually he would be part of it, but they were in a special situation… 

Other women came with hot water and towels. 

Ana-Drea was cursing and breathing. 

“The child sure has a good sense of timing…” Ena-Mel said with a smile. “And you are already so wide… you have most likely been ready to give birth all day, Ana-Drea!”

Ana-Drea was not in the mood for such comments… so she just clenched her teeth around the wooden stick they had given her and growled and drooled over it. 

Just a few moments later… and the tribe had their newest member… Born on the battlefield…

Ana-Drea was holding her son… Her precious… A lovely baby boy… Perfectly shaped. 

Jonan came over, and looked at her and the little infant in her arms. The boy had screamed out to the world… a strong set of lungs was hidden in that small breast. 

“He is strong and healthy, my love,” Ana-Drea said. “And he is his fathers son… truly…”

Ana-Drea looked up at Jonan who smiled at her. He reached out and held the child in his own hands. 

“Little child,” Jonan said. “You are born into difficult times… but I should be very wrong if your birth isn’t an omen of a change in the ways of the world…”

Ana-Drea smiled as their eyes met. 

“Have you named him yet?” Manan said with a smile at the couple. 

“Ronan.” Ana-Drea said and looked at him, and then back at Jonan who held her son. 

“Ronan, as Jonan’s grandfather…”

“Ahhhh,” Manan said. “What a name… Ronan the Unstoppable! He is gonna be the second coming of He-Ron, that is for sure!”

The tribe gathered around the new member and began to cheer and yell in celebrations. A victory and the birth of a child… this was truly a day worth remembering. 

—————————————————

A party was held… a victory against their invaders, and a new member of the tribe. That was a cause worth celebrating, so they brought out the ale, and started roasting the clan's most prized hog. 

The celebration lasted all night. Ana-Drea was of course off to her bed to tend to her little son, and Jonan looked at her from the doorway to his hut. He had company from his friend Manan. 

“Congratulations, old friend.” He said with a smile. “A fine day… and your son is a nice addition to the celebrations.”

Jonan rolled his eyes. Manan always had a strange sense of humor. He took one of the horns filled with ale, and took a sip. 

Jonan looked from the party to his wife in her bed. 

A somber look came over his face. 

“Why the long expression, my friend?” Manan said with a careful tone. 

“You look less like a man who just had a son, and more like one who just lost one…”

Jonan smiled. 

“I am happy, truly… I just had hoped my children would not be born in… such troubling times.”

Manan looked a little annoyed. 

“At least you have a child now…” Manan took a sip of his drink. 

Jonan looked at him. They had been friends all their life. They were born the same year, and had suckled on the same tits growing up, but the day that Jonan won his wife in the Halborian fashion, was the day that something shifted in Manan. Manan had laid claim on Ana-Drea as she announced her wish to have a man. But Jonan had been stronger than him and he and Ana-Drea had a better relationship. So… no matter if he had won, Ana-Drea would most likely have discarded him.

But Ana-Drea was the most beautiful woman in all Halbor… at least to him… She had been worth the fight, and ten thousand more fights… she was a one of a kind.

Now that she had carried a child to Jonan… she was closer to him than ever. Now their blood was mixed. Their souls were completely intertwined. 

Jonan had stood up and walked into the bedroom where his wife was allowing their son to suckle her tit. His first ever meal in the new life. 

Jonan leaned in and she sensed him. She sorta shook herself out of the trance she had gotten into while looking at her precious cub. She looked up at her mate, who smiled at her. That enchanted smile you only see on a loving new fathers face.

Her eyes gazed down into the eyes that looked up at her with the clearest and most burning love… the child was clearly studying her face… already… he was imprinting on her… memorizing her face from all other faces…

Ana-Drea looked down into the eyes… that mirrored the man’s who stood next to her. 

“He has your eyes, my love…” She said with a warm voice. 

“He sure does.” Jonan said. “But he looks a little more like you, right now. Endlessly beautiful.”

Ana-Drea turned her head slowly and kissed his hand on her shoulder. 

“Just you wait till he becomes a man… and he will bear your liking… I can feel it.”

Jonan nodded. The mantle of fatherhood was calling… a strong and loud call, that echoed from the dawn of time.

————————————————————-

Halborians raise their kids in a very special way. 

All Halborian women, who have once carried a child always have milk in their breasts. Therefore all children in the tribe are welcome to dine at the breasts of any of the women in the tribe - like the mighty Scimitar Cats on the plains, mothers stick together, and they raise the cubs of the pride together. 

But women who have younger kids are often allowed to insist that at least one of their tits is only meant for their own cub. 

Ana-Drea was more protective of her son than other women in the tribe. If a child that wasn’t hers wanted to taste her breast milk, she had to be certain her own didn’t ever lack for any. 

But… as children do. Ronan grew fast and steady into a man. Ronan was proving himself to be his fathers son. Strong, fast and remarkable, even for a Halborian.

Jonan was stronger than average… the reason he was the Chief of his tribe, and had true prospects of becoming a Jarl of the clan one day. 

He had strong allies and he was loved by the tribe.

Only one in the tribe had… fallen out of favor with Jonan… and that was his own brood brother… Manan - his oldest friend. 

In the years after Ronan’s birth, Manan had still failed to win a woman in the tribe. Manan was neither the prettiest nor the biggest of his kin. He wasn’t even the smartest or the wisest. He lacked in so many places and he was even insufficient as a fighter. 

Halborian’s could if needed win a mate by fighting for her… but he hadn’t been able to win over a mate. He hadn’t even fathered any offspring. His mood and his demeanor hadn’t improved due to this… 

Over the years since Ronan’s birth he had even tried to win over Ana-Drea several times… calling Jonan to a duel, with Ana-Drea as the prize. 

Jonan had at first denied him, but Ana-Drea had confidently told him, even in the unlikely scenario that Manan were to win, Ana-Drea would NOT pick him over Jonan. 

But Jonan ended up fighting him in the end, and Manan had lost… every single time… humiliatingly enough… 

Manan’s behavior had turned more and more hostile towards the tribe, and for many many moons now, he had built his hut outside of the main huddle of huts the tribe put up whenever they made camp. 

Ana-Drea and Jonan had not as of yet had any more children. But there were signs that they were building up to it again. Ronan was an adult now… and they were ready to bring another Halborian to the world. 

Ronan had been raised among a brood of other Halborian’s his age. The boys and girls were all taught how to live and survive on the plains. They had even traveled to the mountains and the coast to learn the basics of surviving in those parts of their lands. In the case that they would pick another way of life. 

He was about ready to complete the final task, and rise into manhood. 

The next morning the tribe were to travel to the far northern plains where the sky steel falls… 

The Halborian steel. 

Halborian’s swords are more than just mere weapons… they are in a sense the soul of a Halborian. 

The entire process of making the sword, even finding the metal is a journey that will bind a Halborian to the sword with more than just magic… the threads of fate will bind the two together… stronger than ever.

The tribe broke up their settlement and began the weeks long journey to the northern plains where they would find the steel from the sky. These plains Ronan had visited several times in his life, but this time was different. 

The Northern Plains were very different in their vibes. Vast open fields of untouched land sure, but it was wetter here, and from the soil stuck huge sharp and pointy boulders that provided a shade. They were gigantic, some as tall as skyscrapers. There were no trees. None at all. 

On the southern plains there was at least a forest here and there. Mainly around a body of water or a river, but nope. No trees in the northern plains. That made the climate considerably colder. 

The tribe had found a gorge that was sheltered by a myriad of the many cliffs that stuck out of the soil. Here they put up their new camp.

Ronan helped his father put up their hut and when that was done, the tribe settled in by doing whatever they wanted.

Ronan was excited. His father was gonna go with him to find the steel the next day. 

But today was a rare day off. 

A woman came up to Ronan. Her name was Hela-Ana. 

“Hello Ronan,” She said with her kind voice. Ronan turned around. 

“Oh, hi there, Hela-Ana!” He said with a smile. Hela-Ana and he had gone around the hot porridge for a while… Ronan was an adult man now, so she was more affectionate with him now. 

Hela-Ana was a tall, strong and tanned Halborian. She was blonde. Even blonder than Ronan and his parents. She had a golden skin tone, possibly because her father had been from the Coastal tribe. She was a hot woman. From the same brood as Ron’s mom, but that was hardly surprising. That brood had brought out way more women than men. 

Ronan’s brood had more men… in fact, of the 24 kids that was born in his brood, only 4 were girls. This had been a topic of the tribal elders. They had all agreed that there would have to be a few of the young men who would have to claim an older wife… if they decided to. 

Hela-Ana was unclaimed, and she had been for a pretty long time. She had carried a child in the brood of Ronan, but she hadn’t been claimed by the father. He had been a member of one of the mountain tribes when they had visited. Hela-Ana had therefore not gotten a chance to locate him again or bring him on. Hela-Ana didn’t wanna go to the mountains or the coast. She was gonna stay in this tribe for the rest of her long life. 

But… she was not set on being alone in all that time. 

Ronan and his brood had all grown up tall and strong, and Hela-Ana had grown fond of Ronan. With the situation being that there were not enough women of Ronan’s age to go around, there would be some crossing over of broods here and there. That was Hela-Ana’s chance, and she took it. 

She had been cooing around Ronan for the last few months. Spending more time with him, training with him, sitting next to him at the fireplace. All the works. And it worked. Ronan had gotten more confident due to her attention, and they were now all touchy and feely. 

Ronan and Hela-Ana stood face to face and touched each other openly. Hela-Ana’s hands were going through his hair, and his arms were around her life, fondling the skirts of fabric that covered her plump butt. 

Hela-Ana and Ronan had that long look in their eyes that told everyone that could see them, that they were seeing something inside of their own minds. 

In the end, Hela-Ana and Ronan made a quick getaway when it became a little too obvious. 

Ana-Drea noticed and she turned to Jonan who was setting up the rest of the fireplace. 

“She has done it again,” Ana-Drea said with a slight scowl. 

“Who and What, my love?” Jonan said a little tired. It had been a long walk. 

“Hela-Ana… she has taken our son again!” Ana-Drea said. 

Jonan sighed. “Ana-Drea, you have to begin to realize that Hela-Ana is gonna be the mother of our grandchildren at some point… It’s not like she has kept it secret, and Ronan seems to truly like her.”

“Oh please…” Ana-Drea said with a growl. “She is way too old for him! She is MY age! She has a daughter at Ronan’s age! If she was anyway decent she would offer Ron her daughters thighs and not her own!”

“She has no power over her daughters thighs, my love, only her own.” Jonan said. “And while yes, she is your age, she is also fertile. And you have seen her daughter. She is both strong, beautiful and very intelligent. We would be lucky to have her make more of those with our Ronan.”

Ana-Drea rolled her eyes. He was right. The tribe needed more women. At present it was pretty 50/50, but only because the different broods were so… unbalanced. 

And… Ana-Drea didn’t want her son to leave the tribe… bonding with Hela-Ana would ensure he stayed around… 

“Fine…” Ana-Drea said. “I will tolerate her if he chooses her.”

Hela-Ana and Ronan had found a nice little cozy cavelette - not completely a cave, but it sheltered them enough. 

Ronan pulled in Hela-Ana to a hug with his hands on her butt, and he then began to kiss her. They had been kissing for months now… they were still well aware enough to keep it away from the tribe, as they weren’t really a couple… but it was a matter of days and hours now. 

Hela-Ana broke their kiss, but Ronan kept seeking her lips as if his life depended on it… she spoke over his lips.

“When you return… with your sword… I will declare I am ready to take a mate… and then… you will step forward… to claim me…”

“I know…” Ronan said. Still hungering for her lips. He was undoing his belt. 

“And then…” Hela-Ana continued. “We shall be… mmmh… husband… and wife… for all… mmmh, time… mmmhh…”

Ronan was free of his lower cloth and belts. He overpowered Hela-Ana, got her to lay down on her back and spread her legs wide open. He slided his cock up and down the lips of her pussy, before he rammed his cock into her soft pink flesh and began to fuck her. 

He growled. It had been days since he last had felt her warm and wet embrace. 

Ronan lifted his head, and he looked down on Hela-Ana. She was so beautiful. 

She was perhaps not the most beautiful woman that had ever lived, but to Ronan… she was at this very moment… the beginning and the end of everything. 

—————————————————————————

They started a fireplace in the cavelette and fucked right next to it. 

And as they fell asleep, they spooned each other. 

Ronan slept like a stone holding Hela-Ana in his arms. 

The next dawn, he felt someone kick his legs, and he woke up and turned to look. There was his father. He smiled a little cocky smile, and nodded for him to follow. Ronan grunted, but nodded. His father left. 

Ronan kissed Hela-Ana and placed the fur they had used for a duvet over her. She moaned a little, but kept sleeping. 

She would be here when he returned… and she would be his wife in just a few days. 

But for now, Ronan and his father rode off into the wild on the hunt for the Sky Steel… Ronan’s trusted hound Rucus followed them. 

The ride was long and with lots of nothing. At a point, Jonan rode next to his son. 

“So…” He said with a stern tone. “Hela-Ana is the woman you have chosen?”

Ronan nodded and looked at his father. 

“Thought as much.” Jonan said. “I don’t know if any other will claim her when you return… but as you have been doing it for well over a month, chances are she is already carrying your child, and all the tribe knows it by now… so… you might just win her without a fight.”

“I will fight the entire tribe to make her mine.” Ronan said in a cold but certain tone.

Jonan nodded. “Then she has chosen her mate wisely. Just remember… treat her kindly when she is yours. Unless… she asks you for something else…”

Ronan smiled and nodded. 

——————————————-

As they rode over the plains… The night was creeping in, on them, but as it was summertime the darkness would not fall truly this far north. So they kept going for a few more hours… until… they heard a massive and loud crack of thunder, but the sky above them was without a single cloud. 

Ronan and Jonan looked up, and saw a… a… an meteor that flew down from the sky, with a burning blue tail, and landed just a few kilometers away. 

The loud impact nearly tossed them off their horses, but they kept the animals still and Jonan looked at Ronan. 

“The Heavenly Father of us all has given you a great gift, my son!” He said with a smile. “The Sky Steel for your soul blade!”

They rode to the meteor, and found the big crater. In its center, was a boiling hot boulder that had a shining blue light around it… 

“We will make camp here, son…” Jonan said. “Let it cool down… Tomorrow we will bring it to the forge in the highlands. 

So they set up camp, and slept until morning. 

As morning came, they started the immense task to move the boulder. Any ordinary human would never have succeeded… not without the help of at least two mammoths… but a pair of Halborians were enough to get the thing out, and up onto a makeshift wagon. They pulled it for the entire day, until they came to the forge… the eternally burning oven that could melt the ore from the meteor. 

The fire was magical, and would ONLY light itself for a Halborian. 

They began the task… and father and son worked day and night on the oven and by the forge to melt the metal… When they had extracted the metal and compressed it to a bendable form, the smithing work began. 

With hammer and anvil, they formed the blade… and with runes of the ancients, Jonan carved the oldest of spells into the sword. He bound it to Ronan’s soul with the strong Halborian magic. The water of the lands cooled the blade, and the fires of the land formed it. 

The blade took shape of a great long sword… a sword worthy of a king. The steel had a gorgeous white shine, and… out of the runes carved onto the sides… was a shining blue glow… the blade… engulfed in magic and… burning with it’s own eternal flame inside of it. 

Jonan held up the sword when they had united the blade with it’s handle. He smiled at their work. It had taken them days… but Jonan had never in his life seen a finer sword… It was a reflection of his son's soul.  

Many years ago, Jonan’s father had taken him to these very plains to forge his own sword with him… and now… Jonan had done the same with his son… and he knew… that one day, Ronan would do the same with his son… or sons… 

“Never have I ever seen a finer blade.” Jonan said with pride. “Here son… hold it… it is yours…”

Ronan held the blade. And as he did… he felt it warm his hands… it spread out through his arms, up his shoulders… into his chest and down his back… his entire body was filled… with… something… he didn’t have any way to know what… but somehow he did know… it was something powerful… It was pure arcanic magic. The stuff of the Halborian legends, that was as true as she stars in the skies. 

“Do you feel it?” Jonan asked with a deep wonder. 

“Yes…” Ronan said with a deep sigh… he felt it… he sure felt it. He was still feeling it. 

“I feel it… I feel it in my entire body…”

“Good,” Jonan said. “That means the sword and you are now one.”

Jonan took the sword in his hands. 

“A Halborian’s sword is his soul.” He watched the blade glow with a faint but visible blue glow. 

“It will only truly obey you, and you will never find a more versatile weapon in your life. You will be able to sense its presence, all over the world… and even if you are worlds apart.”

Jonan swung the blade through the air to test its balance. It was perfect. 

“I have crafted many of our tribe's tools through the ages… but never before have I crafted something so sublime… No wonder that it has chosen you, my son.”

Ronan held the sword in his hands again, and swung it around. It had a certain weight and the way it moved was determined by this, and his strength. 

“You may now choose a woman for yourself, son.” Jonan said. “But, I think we already know that you have already chosen one…”

Ronan smiled and nodded. 

They slept the rest of the day, and started returning to the camp the next. 

They had hoped for a carefree and easy travel home… but Jonan had expected the gods to test the newly forged sword in some way. And… on cue… a group of Frost Trolls had caught the scent of their steeds and they had followed them and now… they ran into them. 

Frost Trolls were not Indigenous to the lands of Halbor. They were an invasive pestilens from the east. They could survive the brutal winters of the lands, and they had the brute strength and size to fend off most of the local predators. 

Thus… it was the Halborians who were their own natural enemy in these lands. 

Frost Trolls or Frost Giants as they were also called were huge… easily 4 times the size of a fully grown Halborian man. They had fangs sticking up from their lower jaw and they were bulky built. Heavy with muscle and small eyes that were filled with hatred. 

Their noses were snubbed upwards and their foreheads were very low. They were not the brightest bunch, but they could talk and what little intelligence they had they used to make riddles. Trolls loved the ancient old Riddle Game. They had this imaginary way of thinking that they were the most intelligent of creatures, because they often made Riddles that were hard to guess… under pressure. 

Ronan and Jonan approached the trolls that stood in a front against them. Jonan had whispered to Ronan to be ready for a fight. Ronan had cracked his neck. This was not his first run in with Trolls and it surely wouldn’t be his last. 

One particularly cruel looking troll stood forward and addressed Ronan and his father. 

“Down from those nags, manlings!…” He said with a tongue sliding over his lips. “Those will be our dinner…”

“And let's eat the manlings too…” Another one said smilingly. “They can be our deserts!”

Ronan and Jonan looked at each other. They got down from their horses and started walking towards the towering Frost Trolls. 

“I am sorry gents, but you are not welcome in these lands.” Jonan said. “And I am even more sorry to say, that you are about to have the worst day of your life…”

The trolls looked at each other and then they bursted laughing… a high uncontrolled and crude laughter. They were mocking the Halborians in front of them. They were barely a third of the size of the trolls. It was clear that they had never faced Halborians before now… 

Jonan drew his sword, and Ronan drew his, and they rushed towards their laughing enemy… 

—————————————————————

Ronan and Jonan returned to the tribe the next day. They were covered in dried blood and they stank like troll guts, but they were welcomed with open arms. The tribesmen fetched barrels of water and poured it over their two comrades and Ronan and Jonan soon took a long bath in warm water to scrub off what was left of their foes.

“The Trolls were a test son.” Jonan said. “There is always a test when a new sword is forged. If the sword is forged incorrectly or to an unworthy holder… the results of the test will determine the outcome…”

Jonan smiled at his son. 

“You passed it.” 

“You were with me.” Ronan said with a sour look. 

“It was not only your test,” Jonan said. “It was more than a test of maturity. It was a test of fatherhood.”

Jonan nodded to his son. 

“I think we both passed. But there is a final lesson for you, my son.”

Ronan looked at his father.

“Just like a true warrior knows, when NOT to use his sword… a real man knows when not to take a life… but when to spare one…”

Jonan and Ronan had barely gotten dressed and returned to the village, when suddenly a call had been made for a gathering. The entire tribe showed up. 

In the center of a circle stood Hela-Ana. She had her sword in her belt and she looked as fierce as ever. 

Ronan and Jonan pushed their way to see what was happening. Ronan saw Hela and she saw him. Finally she smiled a little and began to talk, loudly and clearly.

“I Hela-Ana… Daughter of Mona-Ana and Donan, want a husband!” 

Her voice echoed in the cold air around them. 

“Any man… who wishes to claim me… Step forward!”

A young lad, not much older than 5 years stood forward. The entire clan giggled. Hela-Ana herself stepped forward and kissed the lad on the forehead, before his mother came and tugged him back. 

Ronan smiled and stepped forward into the circle and there was a loud silence. Hela-Ana turned around and looked at her contender. Ronan smiled at her. She smiled back. 

There was a silence, and since none other had stepped forward, Hela-Ana was walking over towards Ronan… but then…

A loud thud in the ground behind Hela-Ana. 

Canaan… a Halborian man of great strength and statute stood forward as well. Hela-Ana glared daggers at him. Canaan was her former husband. 

Jonan walked past the crowd holding his sword, meaning he wasn’t entering the circle as a contender. He walked over to Canaan. 

“You are not allowed to enter the circle, Canaan…” Jonan said. Canaan was taller than him, by half a head. 

“You are the one that Hela-Ana left… you are not meant to be as one…”

“Hela-Ana is mine…” Canaan said with a growl. “She has carried my child to this world… she is united with me… and I will be dead before I see this puny seed stain of yours go away with my woman…”

“I am NOT your woman!” Hela-Ana hissed as she drew her sword. “And you will be headless before you harm, my Ronan!”

An elder woman stepped into the circle. 

“The traditions are clear…” She said in her crackling voice. Though old, she stood tall and strong and had a full woman’s body. Only her voice bore any resemblance of her old age. 

“Ronan and Canaan both claim the position as husband to Hela-Ana… they are to fight and the goddess will determine who is the rightful husband of her daughter.”

Canaan smiled a grim smile. Ronan frowned his eyebrows. 

He removed his cloak and Hela-Ana looked at him in terror. 

“Ronan, no… He will kill you…”

“That remains to be seen.”

Canaan removed his cloak and the two stepped towards each other. Both had their sword in hand and both were ready to fight. 

The circle around them grew larger, and the entire tribe were watching. Usually these fights were a wrestling match and were not meant to be to the death… but all the tribe knew of Canaan’s brutal nature. He was insufferable at best, and had been outcasted many times. But in these ages with the Smouldixians at their doorstep, he was a crucial ally to have on the inside. 

He was disliked by the entire tribe… but… he was still family… and he was still a member of their clan. 

Hela-Ana had only been with him for one season and it was ages ago. Her only daughter was fathered by him, but she disliked her father as much as the rest of the clan. 

Canaan pulled his sword after him… cutting a deep mark in the soil. 

Ronan cracked his neck. 

He and Canaan were about the same size. Ronan was younger… but Canaan wasn’t old. And he had way more experience. 

Canaan had the best odds.

Ronan knew… this was gonna end with one of them dead…

The best Ronan to bet on was, that Canaan, who had been known to drink too much of their home brew, had lost some of his skill to the drink. But that was a loooong bet. 

The elder woman who held the staff said loudly: Begin!

Canaan roared and stormed towards Ronan with his sword in hand. Ronan had yet to unsheathe his sword, but instead he dodged Canaan’s swings with his sword. Canaan’s sword was like himself. Huge and powerful, but also heavy and clumsy. The fact that Canaan could swing the sword like it was nothing was a true testament to his strength, and Ronan was truly impressed. 

Multiple series of swings made Canaan struggle to maintain his balance, and one particularly strong swing sent his sword flying down towards Ronan, who dodged again, and the blade sunk deep into the soil, giving Ronan a chance to kick the huge brute in the liver. Canaan lost hold of his weapon as he struggled to comfort his sore spot on his right side. He growled like an animal and ran back towards Ronan, who evaded his fists, until he got hold of his swords hilt and pulled it out and swung it wildly towards Ronan. 

Ronan dodged again and again, and he had still not drawn his weapon. Whenever Canaan made an opening, he hit him where he knew it would hurt. He kept targeting the liver, and he also made jabs at his throat. This made Canaan flinch every time. But as much as it stopped him in his tracks it clearly also made him more angry. But that was the point. To break his focus and instead make him reckless. 

Ronan jumped around the old sour drunk like a sparrow would an old boar. Their size difference was not that big, but it was enough to be noticed. Ronan was big even for his kin. But Canaan was massive. 

Like seeing Sablecat dance around a Hell Hog. 

It had started raining as they began to fight, and turned the dirt under their feet to mud.

Canaan roared once again, and swung his sword around clearly to cut anything in it’s path. Ronan dodged again, but had to give up a lot of turf. As did the tribe who had encircled them. The circle broke and Ronan and Canaan were now fighting all over the place. Ronan was dodging and Canaan was roaring and swinging. 

Ronan had to give him credit. He was a drunk and a bastard, but he was not a slack. He was still a valid warrior, but… he was out of his style, and he was fighting with pure ferocity and no skill. No pattern and no stability. 

Ron kept dancing around him, and they somehow got up to the top of the cliff behind the village. 

“Fight me you fucking coward!” Canaan yelled. He was getting more and more winded as they climbed the cliff. 

“Fight me! There is no honor in this!”

Ronan managed to plant a kick right at his jugular. This time, Canaan fell backwards and rolled down the muddy grounds. Cowered in mud and angrier than ever he stood and climbed. 

“You… You are not worthy of Hela-Ana…” He growled. “You broke out of the circle… you… have… forfeited her… I have won…”

“You forfeited her the moment you laid hands on her.” Ronan said. “I am not fighting you for her hand. I fighting you for you to see reason. She is mine. She has chosen me, and I her. You… are just denying your own reality.”

Canaan swung his sword again and missed Ronan again. 

“Maybe if you didn’t drink all the time, Hela-Ana would have stayed with you.” 

Ronan said. 

Canaan swung again. 

“Maybe if you weren’t a violent brute, she would have stayed with you.” 

Canaan swung a third time. 

“Maybe… if you weren’t you… Hela-Ana would have loved all about you… but she doesn’t…”

Canaan looked at Ronan with hurt in his eyes… there was something. Some of Ronan’s words… that had rung true in his ears. 

“She carried you a daughter, she was your support… she was everything she could be and more to you, but you tossed her aside, and treated her like garbage… and you still expected her to give you all her affection… that’s not how it works Canaan…”

Canaan swung his sword around but it had no chance of hitting anything. Canaan was falling to his knees over and over again. He was finally tired, and he was struggling in the mud. His own massive weight had finally become a burden. 

“You cannot force love the way you force metal to bend in the flames… You can cut down a tree for its timber, but you can only do that once, with one tree… But if you treat it and care for it all your life… it will give all that a tree can give. It’s fruits, it’s flowers, it’s beauty and it’s shade from the sun. But the tree will always be its own…”

Canaan was on his knees. His arms couldn’t even hold his sword anymore… Ronan stepped up next to him. 

“Let it go, Canaan…” Ronan said. “I won this battle before we even began.”

Canaan looked up at Ronan. 

“You… have no idea… how much… I loved her…”

“I am sure you did… you just loved her in a really poor manner…”

The sun was breaking out from the clouds and shone behind Canaan’s back at Ron. Canaan was covered in mud, and Ronan stood as shining and clean as when they began. He was drenched from the rain, but untouched. 

“Let it go, Canaan… for all of us… Hela-Ana and me… and the entire tribe… we don’t want to send you away… but if you don’t change… you will be forced to leave…”

Canaan seemed to consider it… it was clear that something was dawning behind that crude face. 

Ronan was standing, Canaan was on his knees, and he was clearly the loser. The tribe had followed them to the cliff, and the elder woman nodded. Ronan was victorious. 

But just as all seemed well and the sun broke out through the clouds, they heard a loud roar again, and Canaan ran towards Ronan with sword in hand. 

Ronan pulled out his own blade, but only to reflect the sunlight into Canaan’s eyes. Canaan shut his eyes tight, and as he did, Ronan punched him so hard he fell backwards and down the cliff… he slided on the mud all the way down into the huge pile of manure and shit from the animals they kept. 

The entire tribe laughed out loud and cheered for Ronan’s victory. 

Hela-Ana stepped forward, clearly relieved and also… happy beyond measure. 

Ronan looked into her eyes. He smiled from ear to ear. 

Jonan stepped forward. 

“Well… complete it.” He said. “We will handle Canaan. We are gonna send him off. We are done with his antics. But you still have something to fulfill.”

Hela and Ronan nodded. Hela turned her cheek to Ronan. 

He slapped her hard and unconscious - or Hela-Ana at least pretended to be - and then he grabbed her body and tossed her over his shoulder. The tribeswomen yelled and howled in celebration and the men clapped and cheered.

Ronan’s horse had been brought to them by one of the other tribesmen and Ronan ran to the horse and hurled Hela-Ana over it’s shoulders before he saddled up. He secured Hela-Ana by tying her up to the saddle and then he spurred the horse to run down the hill. 

The horse ran and ran until they reached a small gorge filled with little caves and cavelettes. 

Here Ronan untied his wife and pulled her down from the horse's back and onto his shoulder. He took a bag on the horse’s rump and then he carried her to a cave, and placed her on the ground. 

Now… seemingly… Hela-Ana woke up and smiled up at her husband. She didn’t say anything, but rolled onto her back like a smitten Scimitar cat.

Ronan got on top of her and with not a single word said, he penetrated her deeply and sealed their union. 

They kissed and made love for 3 whole days and nights, in the wombs of their goddess. The caves of Halboria. 

The bag was a gift from the tribe, filled with food and water for their union to be commenced. 

Hela-Ana and Ronan fucked for 3 days straight as expected. They were NOT expected back before the dawn of the 4th day. 

In these 3 days the clan would build them a hut in the village. This was custom among the Halborians. The hut would be a small one, a starter one, but still… a hut where a family of 2 could live, until they became a family of 3.

Canaan was exiled from the tribe. He was given food and water for the coming days, but he was no longer welcome in the tribe. At least for the next 15 years. This sounds like a lot, but to Halborians this is not that long. But if he hadn’t changed in those 15 years, then he was not gonna be welcomed back.  

——————————————————————-

Somewhere… further south… in the Central Kingdom of Mideiltona, the very heart of the Smouldixian Empire, sat the high king Jamos on his throne… a pompous monstrosity of a symbol to his presumed power. He ruled from his capital city Agorria. 

King Jamos… the high King of the Smouldixians. The Emperor of a sort. The gods had truly been cruel when they mocked the Central Kingdoms by making him their ruler. 

A cruel and unusually self centered man. He was not only King and Emperor, but he also claimed to be loved by the stars and a descendant of the sky father. A man born to rule in his fathers place. 

The central kingdoms were living through a golden age of prosperity, but there were holes in the beautiful picture. 

Their huge metropolises were festered with diseases and they were overpopulated. There were food shortages and no matter how many troops the Kings of the other kingdoms sent to the High King, he always demanded more. 

But the Jamos had promised his underlings parading as equal kings that once they had conquered Halboria at long last, their problems would be over. When Halbor was finally under their control they were golden. 

Jamos himself was struggling in other parts of his reign.

His Queen had yet to father him a son. She had carried him a daughter, but she was about as useless as the Queen herself. The King needed a son, and while Queen Ann was of good family she was not the King’s type, nor had she been his first choice for a Queen. He had hoped to marry the Queen of the Rock… a land to the north… bordering the lands of Halbor… but as she was… aging… he had set his eyes on her youngest and most beautiful daughter… but… the bitch Queen had denied him his right… and he had resolved to kidnapping the princess of the Rock… 

But this had been a poor decision. The Princess was as stubborn as the Queen of the Rock, and the King had decided to let her soften in the dead man swamp… a cursed land that he ruled over - with powerful and strong magic. 

The dead man swamp was filled to the brim with dangerous and monstrous creatures spewed forward from the nightmares of the gods in the first ages. 

These creatures were under the spell of King Jamos. They were the keepers of the Princess of the Rock. Only King Jamos could visit the Princess in her prison, and he did… as often as he could… and she had given him 3 gorgeous princesses… ten times more beautiful than the redheaded sprout the Queen had given him. 

He was not surprised, as the Princess of the Rock was one of the famous witches of the Rock. A line of people said to hail from the Halborians who left the enchanted lands of Halbor. 

The Rock was a high plateau stretching for thousands and thousands of miles. An ideal hunting ground.

The women of the Rock were ferocious hunters and unmatched Warriors. If only they had been under the King’s control then he would have enslaved the Halborians by now. But alas… it was a more difficult task than he would have ever dreamed. 

But he was gonna get it… 

“Halboria…” Jamos said to himself with that long faraway look in his eyes. “My… Halboria…” He said slowly, forming a smile over his thin lips. Under his feet was a map over the world… all of Narroz. The was standing on the narrow passageway that formed a land bridge from Halboria the Central kingdoms of the Smouldixian Empire. 

It was based on a huge peninsula that stuck out from a huge mass to the south. A land filled with nothing but jungle, Savannah and endless nothingness. Nothing but wild animals and endless terrors in the vast unknown. 

To the north… was Halboria… the enchanted lands. 

“The Easterlings will bow to anyone who holds the Halboria in a stranglehold.” Jamos said. 

“And we… will be that fist, gentlemen.”

Jamos addressed the council of his generals in his war cabinet. 

“Once Halboria is subjugated… we will have immortality within our grasp. Her endless resources will be ours to plunder and utilize. And then the east will crumble to our might.”

“Sir, Halboria is easily ten times the size of the empire… Securing such a landmass will require a military we do not possess.”

“We do not need the military to conquer the lands of Halboria.” Said Jamos with an annoyed smile. 

“Send the undesired from our cities. Tell them we are ready to help any settlers on the lands of Halboria. As long as they pay their fare share. The military there can abandon their old outposts and build new ones on the frontiers, and the civilians can move in on the old military outposts and make them into cities.”

“That process is already well underway, my King.” One of the generals said.

“We have confirmation of at least 10 new cities in the lower sector of Halboria.”

“Good,” Jamos said. “Then all is going according to plan.”

“Sadly… no… your majesty…” Another general said.

Jamos looked at him with a hard stare. 

“The reports indicate that… people who live there struggle in the times of winter. Halboria is not like our own lands. The winters are brutal and long and cold. And our type of crops are… well… they can’t survive in the climate.”

Jamos leaned in and looked at him. 

“The Halborians has survived in those lands for thousands of years…” Jamos said. 

“Are you really telling me, General Amesh… that those savages can thrive a place where we cannot?”

There was a silence again. 

“If our crops wither and die then they will have to survive on local crops. Halborians are farmers as well, and they can outlive the conditions, and so can we. Tell them to get the crops sown. I want at least 20 new settlements by the end of the year.”

The generals nodded. Knew it was pure madness… but… the kings orders… were the kings orders…

“And… what about… the Halborians?” A general asked. 

“What about them?” Jamos said looking annoyed at the general. 

“Well… It’s their land… and they are most likely… gonna resist.”

Jamos walked over to the general and looked him dead in the eyes. 

“If your wife resists you, when you are claiming what is rightfully yours… then you subjugate her until she obeys you like the dog she is…” Jamos said with all the hate glowing in his eyes. 

“The Halborians can resist as much as they want, it will not change anything. Their women will be slaves to our pleasure, and their men will feed our crops… That land is MY LAND!!!”

The king yelled the last part into the face of the general.

“Is that clear!?”

The general nodded. 

“Good… now get to work.”

———————————————————

Months passed. 7 months after Ronan claimed Hela-Ana as his wife.

Ronan’s tribe had once again moved. As winter was on the horizon, they moved further to the south in order to harvest their wild crops in their secret lands. 

Then they would travel north to the secret springs of the clan. Hot springs that would help them through the harshest of winter. 

That way they had survived for so many generations they couldn’t count it. 

It wasn’t necessary for their survival… it just made Winter that more enjoyable. 

But as for now, the crops had to be cut, and the harvest was as always bountiful. 

Ronan and Hela-Ana were still enjoying the honeymoon period of their new relationship. They were so all over each other all the time, that it infected the entire tribe. Countless of the tribes women were now cueing and cuddling up to their partners. It seemed this year's winter would be a steamy one. 

Hela-Ana and Ronan’s hut were never silent. They mated so often and so thoroughly that they had been asked to place their hut on the outskirts of the village. Not because they wanted to be discouraged from their lovemaking, but the others needed to sleep. 

Ronan and Hela-Ana took it with raised heads and just continued to do what they did best.  

On one particularly beautiful autumn morning Hela-Ana was harvesting crops at one end of the field. The plants stood 3 meters tall and were so close to each other that they shielded anyone from seeing her. 

She was cutting the corn-like crops off with a broad knife and placed them into a basket. 

She would fill her basket, carry it to the edge and stuff a larger basket. This basket would then be dragged to process on a cart. 

Hela-Ana made good work, but little did she know she was being watched. 

The observer was looking over her gorgeous body. How her slender curves formed and bent with her work. How her plump ass strutted whenever she made a movement. How her huge tits fell with gravity and lifted with her arms, and swung as her knife cut through the plants. 

She was so focused on her work, that when she was jumped she was completely helpless. 

“Gah!” She cried out loud, but a hand landed over her mouth, and she felt how she was lifted off the ground. She looked to the side, and saw… 

The piercing blue eyes of her husband. He was looking at her with his soul crushing gaze that told her… she was his… and he was hers…

Hela-Ana melted under his grasp and as he later took her like a wild animal in the field of crops she realized she was completely and utterly under this man's spell. She was on all fours. She dug her fingers deep into the fertile soil of their mother, and she cast a gaze up on her husband, the sky father. 

Her husband held a firm grasp on her long blonde hair and pulled hard backwards to make her back curve. She felt his massive manhood plow her open like the field of land she was a child of. 

She was feeling his manly steel carve her out, and she felt his free hand spank her soft buttocks. 

She thanked the Sky Father for giving her such a husband… She vowed to forever love him and cherish him. 

She grabbed the soil in her hands as she felt her husband close and getting ready to flood her innermost sanctum like the Sky Father did every spring as he covered mother Halbar’s lands in endless fresh water from the heavens, starting the spark all life as they knew it again. 

“Oh mother…” She whispered as Ronan fucked her even harder. “Let my husband's sons carry the strength of this, your finest son… let them be his mirrored images and let them let his daughters… inherit his dominating spirit so as they shall be uncompromising and unstoppable… Let them be plentiful and multiple… let them be the true heirs of this… your fine land!”

Hela-Ana knew her prayer had been heard. She got a vision of the high mother of all Halborians. She saw her as clear as you and I would see the moon on a cloud free night. Distant, yet so clear. In a twirl of darkness. 

She nodded at her… and the vision broke as Hela-Ana felt her insides being flooded with the hot sperm of her husband. Hela-Ana opened her eyes and gasped as she felt how she was filled to the brim… expanded? Oh sure… that was how she felt… 

Ronan pumped and pumped her full. Emptying his balls inside of her… and as he was done… he stood up… and just left her… as he had left his job just to come and leave his seed in her… Hela-Ana knew and understood… As he left her, she squatted and allowed the huge load of sperm to slide out of her and into the fertile soil of their all-mother. 

Hela-Ana smiled as she watched it slide out in huge sticky droves… She knew it was for the best… as she couldn’t be more knocked up than she already was… 

She knew… 

She hadn’t bled for the moon in three whole cycles now and she was already feeling how her breasts were beginning to swell… readying themselves for the time when Ronan’s child would be feasting from her bosom.

She was not surprised. Not at all. Ronan and she fucked several times every single day. 

Ronan demanded her, and she him. 

When she was finally emptied she shook her ass, stood up, and continued her work. 

Ronan continued to do his work. They were pressing the grasses for moisture… This was a tedious task, but one that would ensure they had emergency food for their steeds, should winter come with too much snow. 

In the end the job was done in a few weeks, and the clan began to get ready for traveling to their winter camp. 

Ronan and Hela-Ana were looking forward to spending the first winter together. 

When it came to Canaan… no one had heard from him. As expected. He was an exile, and if he knew what was best for him, he was not showing his face around the tribe the next 15 years. All the other tribes had been informed not to take him in. Exiles are not to live in any tribe.

No one missed him. 

Not even his daughter or mother. And if they didn’t miss him, then no one did. 

Ronan was packing some minor things in their hut. Stuff they wouldn’t need. They weren’t about to travel before at least a few more days, but on that day, all had to be ready to go. 

Hela-Ana was rolling around on the bed however. Lifting her butt and shaking it… she was once again in the mood. 

She was giggling and cuing… she made her buttocks clap very loudly. Finally she rolled onto her back and spread her legs and began to finger her pussy. 

She moaned and gasped loudly… made a lot of unnecessary smacking sounds with her mouth to annoy her husband…

   Ronan cursed under his lips, but he stood up and walked over to the bed to roll around with her, and somehow… completely expected… Ronan got on top of Hela-Ana with his cock all the way inside of her. 

She locked her legs behind his back and tightened her thighs around his flanks. Ronan looked at her, unable to move. 

She smiled a… competely… magical smile…

“You’re gonna be a father…” she said it so calmly and yet so clearly, that it was unbelievable. 

Ronan blinked. Then he smiled… 

“R-Really?”

She nodded. 

“I haven’t bled for 3 moons now… and this fourth moon is soon over… I am expecting…”

Ronan let out a relieved and joyous laugh. Hela-Ana laughed with him, and they continued their sexual act until they took a break and Ronan spooned Hela-Ana and caressed her belly. It was still flat. And it would remain that way for the next 4 months. Oh yes… funny fact about Halborians. A female Halborian carrying another Halborian is pregnant for 18 long months. Twice the normal time of a normal woman. 

“And I have fucked you like a beast these past few weeks…” Ronan said with a tinge of guilt, but Hela-Ana quickly gave him a kiss. 

“I didn’t tell ya to discourage ya from doing that anymore,” Hela-Ana said. “You just keep jumping me the way you have up until now… I told you, just because I wanted you to know…”

Ronan kissed her back, and they were slowly gearing up for the second round before bedtime. 

—————————————————————

Night was usually quiet in the village, but this night… would change everything. 

Ronan felt it… Something was wrong. 

He sat up in the bed. He sniffed the air… no… it wasn’t the fireplace… 

“Wha… what is it, love?” Hela-Ana said still very sleepy.

Ronan stood up and got dressed and grabbed his sword. His serious gaze awokened Hela-Ana and she grabbed her gear and her sword as well. 

It was a sign how strong the Halborian’s collective sense of danger was, that Ronan was not the only one out of his bed. He saw most of his fellow tribe members coming out of their huts. 

He saw his father and mother standing with swords in hand, and others again around them, looking to the edges of the village… There was a lose mist around them, but it was laying very low, so the visibility wasn’t too low. 

“Father…” Ronan said with a low voice. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know son… be on your guard…”

A loud shriek and the sound of horses… was unmistakable… But… it came… from all sides… 

Ronan’s watchful eyes looked to the edge of the hills around them… he saw it… shadows… darker than the dark night-coat of the sky father… 

“We are surrounded…” Ronan said as he looked all around. It was the truth… whomever or whatever they were… they were all around them… 

Then… a loud yell from all sides roared through the death silence of the night. 

And then, the thundering feeling of hundreds, thousands of hooves that trampled the ground… 

“CLOSE TOGETHER!!” Roared Jonan as one of their tribes men ran to the tower to blow the alarm horn. The horn gjalded through the night in an endless stream, but the cavalry charged into their village with ruthless efficiency. 

Ronan drew his sword and the blue blade shined through the night as it cut through one of the horses and it’s strider. 

“AMBUSH!” Jonan roared as he too got into the fight. 

The cavalry seemed like an endless flood that came into the village. 

Ronan swung his sword around and cut down one rider, two riders, ten, eleven, fifteen… how many were there??

He looked around and saw his clansmen fight an even tougher fight. Following the cavalry came the infantrymen… cleth in armor and with swords, spears and shields. 

They barely went Ron to his chest… they looked like children in armor… But they were in fact men…

Ronan swung his sword around, the blad easily deflected the puny iron swords. What didn't crack in a cloud of sparks, simply slid off his superior blade.

But they were so many. 

Ronan heard the loud noises of the fight. His clansmen held their own. Unan, a man of his age slew infantryman after another, and Mira-Dan a woman of Hela’s age was using her spear like a tempest. 

Jonan and Ana-Drea stood back to back and fought their many adversaries as a union. Ronan looked around. Where was Hela-Ana!?

He cut down those who pinned him to his place, and began to search for her. This was not easy… It was a sea… of blood… guts… and war…   

Ronan was shoved by a horse into a pile of rubbish… as he scrambled to come to his legs again, he took his sword and found his enemies running at him from the other side of the pile… 

He swung around and decapitated one, while cutting the other upon from skull to groin. 

His eyes were glowing blue, in the same color as his sword. 

“HELA!” He yelled out loud. Cutting another man down, and then another. 

“HELA WHERE ARE YOU!?”

Another dozen came for him and he began to fight them… he was at what was once the very heart of their peaceful little village… but right now… it was the heart of the battle. 

He was once again showed to the ground and felt a blade over his back. He choked a cry of pain through his teeth and spun around to gut the bastard who did it. But he needed not, he was already headless. 

    Bonan had saved him. Bonan was Ron’s age and was fighting like hell. He helped Ron getting to his legs. 

“Head in the fight Ronan!” He said, and charged a bundle of the enemy's soldiers. But Ronan… he had to find Hela-Ana. 

Ronan cut his way through the enemy, but it was like fighting a monster… every time he cut one down, ten others appeared… 

The cavalry returned and trampled several of Ron’s clansmen down. Including Bonan who was overtaken by the infantry shortly after… they plunged their spears into his back… Cowardly bastards… None of them would ever have had a chance against him in a fair fight. 

Ronan charged at them, and with a roar and one single swing, all seven of them lost their heads… 

Ronan had a feeling and looked to the right. A horse barged right into him and sent him flying. 

Dizzy and disoriented he got up, and felt how a blade cut through his leg. He grabbed the hand of the wielder, and tossed him… he landed… screaming and dead on the ground 30 meters away… he pulled the blade from his flesh and returned to the fight, determined to find his wife. 

He saw into the now burning village how the many colors of his clansmen’s swords danced in the frenzy of war… a blade he knew all too well danced around and gutted several enemy soldiers. It was her… Hela-Ana… but she was getting overrun… He ran over the battlefield to get to her… but… as if he was held back… he… he couldn’t reach her… the blood in the mud clung to his feet… 

“HELA!!!” He yelled… He saw it… he saw before it happened… and he saw it… in slow motion… as one spear… two spears… three long spears penetrated his wife from all angles… and he saw how the blade fell from her hand, and… how it’s precious white light… faded out… from it’s pure curved blade…

“HELAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Ronan’s battle cry shocked the entire scene and he carved a way through the enemies and when he finally was near enough to get her… he looked to the right again… the cavalry came and rode right into him… and once again… sent him flying… and as he landed… he was trampled by thundering hooves. 

Jonan saw where his son was being trampled and he ran towards him. He was still fighting. He and Ana-Drea had been separated but they were still in the fight… however hopeless it seemed. A rogue spear flew through the night, and impaled Jonan's chest on the left side. 

There was a sudden stop in the battle. Jonan looked at the spear sticking out from his body. The pain… was unthinkable… but his adrenaline was too high for him to even register it. 

He swung his sword and cut off the hilt and kept fighting. He roared like a wild beast and swung both his sword and his axe around. He gutted every single enemy in front of him. None could stand against him… 

Another spear… This time… the right side. He stopped… for a second… and then he cracked the spear with one hand and kept fighting. 

A third spear into his belly and finally… he paused… for good… 

Jonan… Jonan the Unstoppable… was stopped… Gasping for air… and bleeding all over… he looked around… his men… his brave brothers and sisters… were falling all around him… was his wife among them… or was she still of this world…

A strange sense of silence and noise came over him… as if… the pains of this world were… just a dream…

A voice said something… 

“Over here… my king…”

Jonan looked up… He saw a horse… a fine lesser breed of the southern lands… completely black and dressed in golden armor… useless armor… made to look superior… but stupid… 

A person on the horse looked down upon him… 

“Careful my king, he is still breathing…”

The King seemed to heed none of the caution and dismounted in front of Jonan. 

On his knees… Jonan barely had to look up to face the king… A Smouldixian man… Jonan stared at him with all the malice he could muster. 

“So… you are the famous, Unstoppable clan…” The king said a cold, mocking tone… “Maybe the name was a mistake… or what do you say… Jonan, son of Conan…”

Jonan could taste nothing but blood in his mouth… he formed a smile. 

“And who are you…?” He snarled. “Are you the mother of these children that you call men…?”

The King took offense… as all small men do. 

He slapped Jonan… but the huge man didn’t even blink. 

“I am High King Jamos, savage… And I am your conqueror!” 

“King Jamos…” Jonan said with his bloody smile… “You have sealed the fate of your people…”

“My people are to rule the world, savage… your old ways have ended… Times change…”

“Same song… sung by different men…” Jonan said. “The Omandies still sing the songs of how they were driven out of Halboria…”

Jonan turned his head mockingly.

“The Malakites sing no songs… For they are all gone…”

Jamos smiled broader.

“Ahhh… The old wives tales of the godly vengeance of the Halborians…” Jamos said. “We have gods too… and we control them and their powers… a shame you won't be around to see it, savage…”

The king pulled out a beautiful knife. And prepared to slit the throat of the Halborian in front of him. 

As the blade reached the throat of Jonan they heard the war cry of a Halborian battle maid from above. Ana-Drea was flying down with her spear and with immense precision she cut out the knife from the kings hand, and it fell to the ground. She swung her spear and had his bodyguards not jumped into his place, the king would have been dead… instead he lost a man… 

Ana-Drea stood surrounded by men in no time, as the King’s wound was bound up. 

“My mate will not be ended by a useless piss-stain such as you, Smouldixian!” She hissed like a Sable-Cat and she was more ferocious than a clan of Direwolves.

The king pushed his healers aside as their job was done. He looked with hate at the Halborian woman. 

“I do not care what it takes… get that bitch with us to Agorria…” He snarled with venom in every word. 

“I am gonna use that body until her mind gives out…”

Ana-Drea was overrun by the King’s men. They feared their king more than her spear. She stood lonely and was taken, bound and pulled from the scene… 

One who had seen it all… was Ronan… he was motionless… he saw as his mother was dragged along bound in solid ropes and chains… his Fathers motionless body was left were he knelt and Ronan looked over at the place where his wife had fallen… he lifted his hand towards her… reaching for her… still… forever… out of his grasp… 

Darkness crawled over him as he saw men plunder the village… a few dared to touch their weapons, but those who did, met untimely ends… none but Halborians could touch their weapons. One disintegrated as soon as he held the handle of a sword. Another was roasted by lighting and imploded… then they learned… not to touch…

Ronan kept reaching for Hela-Ana… a smouldixian man brushed against his hand.

“Wow… this one is still alive…”

“Leave him… he doesn’t have long to go… Take what you can carry…”

Darkness finally took Ronan… and he flew out of pain and time… When he woke up, it felt like centuries had passed… but it was only a few hours… 

The rain… the rain had awoken him… He crawled out of the mud and towards the place of his fallen wife… he saw her body… broken and battered… speared and bloody… her right hand… that had held her sword was holding her belly… a sad smile on her face… he cradled her in his arms and his tears flew over her. 

He called out to the sky father above him to awaken him from this nightmare… to tell him that this was all but a bad dream… that he was sleeping next to her in their hut, and this was just his fears that made him dream this… this horror… but all the pain that he felt all over his body told him the truth… he had lost her… He looked upon her beautiful face again… it was as if she was sleeping. But Ronan knew… never again would she wake up… never again would she look at him… with those teasing eyes… Promising all sorts of mischief…

He got to his legs, and carried her in his arms… as he passed the corpse of his father, he heard a sound come from the man… Ronan looked in shock… Jonan was still breathing… Ronan gently put Hela down and ran to his father. 

“Father! FATHER!” Ronan grabbed his fathers shoulders. 

“Can you hear me!?”

Jonan opened his eyes… he saw his son in front of him… though he clearly struggled. 

“Ronan…” He said smilingly… “You live… We are truly… Unstoppable…”

Ronan looked at his fathers wounds… they were grave… no man could live through this without healing… 

“Father stay still… I’ll see if the Elders have any potion left…”

Jonan grabbed his son by the shoulder and kept him in place.

“The allmother… only gave me… a moment… my son…” He said… Ronan blinked… What was he talking about.

“Listen my son… our line is strong… our land is strong… you… are loved… by so many… you… are… the Unstoppable… The last… Unstoppable… Be well… my son…”

Jonan smiled and then… his head sunk and his arm lost what little strength he had left… before he passed…

Ronan broke down slowly… in front of the man who had taught him everything… and yet… there was so much more to learn…

Ronan pushed his head against his fathers head… the rain fell on them both… 

“Why… allmother why…” Ronan said through his tears… “Why this cruel and unjust… fate… for we who wish only to live in peace…?”

Ronan felt how the terror and pain claimed him and he bursted out crying… alone… truly alone… the only survivor… his tribe… his family… 

The following days were nothing but pain… 

As a mockering of his loss the rain finally broke, and clear blue skies shined down from the autumn sky. 

The tribe has fallen… 

Ronan alone had to build the pyres of his kin’s traditions. He used the huts as kindling… as tradition claimed. He cut down trees to build the pyres… this was a task meant to hurt the one who survives… the pain… was to help them process their grief… 

He painted all of their bodies in the symbols of their ancestors with the pigment they had left behind. He placed their weapons in their hands… the magic that had bound steel and wielder together in an eternal bond was broken… and the magic was ready to leave for all time… As he lit the fires under his tribe the swords broke and shattered like silver glass, and turned to sand…

He lit the fire under his father and his beloved Hela last… He gave them both a kiss… wishing more than anything… that he had joined them…

He stood and watched the flames engulf the people he loved… he ignored his hunger… he ignored his pain… for nothing could temper the coldness in his heart… 

As dawn came… the fires had done their job… the tribe… was ashes now… Ronan spent the day collecting the ashes of his people. He would spread it across the land that they had all been a part of. The Sky Father’s rain would let them soak into the soil and become part of the lands again… 

The ashes of his father and Hela he collected and poured around a young tree. And this tree he protected with the most powerful magic known to his kin. No blade would ever cut down this tree…

On the hill where their clan had fought and lost… he raised several stones weighing several hundred tons each. 

Only a Halborian could complete this feat alone. His divine strength made it possible, but it was never easy. He carved the names of all the dead on the stone. He even carved the symbol of his tribe here… 

The Unstoppables…

No longer… 

Now there was only one… Unstoppable… 

Ronan gathered what little he had left… His sword… his fathers axe… He had learned the magic in the steel also obeyed him as he cut down extra timber for the pyres. 

There were a few potions and some rations that could come in handy. 

He packed a bag and… began the horrible journey… alone… A last look back at the Rock formation… his eyes filled with tears as he left it all behind… the Unstoppable clan was no more… And he… Ronan… was no more…

All that had once been Ronan, son of Jonan and Ana-Drea was dead… He had no idea what had happened to his mother… he hadn’t found her among the dead… he had seen several of the women were missing… what cruel fate the gods had planned for them he did not know… Perhaps it was best not knowing. 

A maddening thought crossed Ronan’s mind as he was leaving the hill… He who was once Ronan…

He who was Ronan…

He… who was Ron…

He… was… Ron… 

He…Ron…

He-Ron…

He-Ron… the Unstoppable…

The last of his tribe…