On Trial...

Well, this be another Valkyrien story... I seem to be doing a lot of them lately. Mostly cause Gorm and Vixen and Illuss are awesome... Anyway, Intellectual property of me. Warnings of graphic violence, bad language, Gorm being a very bad person (again)...

Here I am, sitting before a court of the law. Or at least, what folk these days call a court of law. Spineless wretches. In my day, the judging of the law was an act for any mans council, and every man was expected to give it. These days, one must study years, and work more years, till the fire in ones veins is gone, before they will let one pass judgement on another. Those who administer the law know little of the lives of those it is their duty to sentence, even when such are normal folk with a normal span. I, who have lived for many such spans should be judged only by those who have seen my days, and know my past, but alas it is not to be.
To my eyes, and those of Illuss and of Vixen, my 'crime' was no such thing. Vaul and Elf and Lir too, understand, knowing why what I did was done. They may even know some of why it was me that did it, and why I chose to. But those who sit on that high bench, well, they reek of disdain, and of disgust, and not a little fear. And they don't even know what I am yet. All they know is the merest fraction of what I have done. But perhaps I am fortunate. Valkyrien has stood beside me, for I have long been of value to them. And they know that if they let a warrior of the redder kindreds be brought low unaided, none of the bloodied ones will stand by them. So there is a contingent of the top brass present. I know a few of them by sight. There is of course, a Valkyrie. And one of the Nephilim, that rarest of breeds. The third they sent was an indian looking chappy, a Kalkin, that peculiar form of demigod and defender. They sat at the back, on the left hand side of the court. Just behind me, seperated by a low wall that would not give them a seconds pause, are my sworn blood-kin, Lir, Vaul, Elf, Illuss, and Vixen. Illuss suits the suit he wears as though he was born to it. Damned aristocrat. You don't find any of my sort like that. If we be born with a silver spoon in our mouth, we spit it out bloody quick. Damn stuff burns. But I ramble. The others, to be fair, don't sit particularly uncomfortably. And Vixen looks rather cute in hers. If I get out of this intact, I may need to inform her of this fact. None of my relatives are present, but then, that was expected. I don't even know where most of them are. And many of them are too feral to sit kindly amongst men anyway.
Arrayed against me, seated on the other side of the courtroom are a veritable horde of people. The Humans Rights groups are well represented. If only we dared to reveal ourselves and demand rights suited to us. So also are various groups promoting 'equality' for minoritys. Apparently, killing everyone equally is discrimination or something. No feminists, for which I am grateful. That sort tend to make Vixen fly off the handle. And then someone says something I take as threatening to her, and I fly off the handle. And then blood begins to flow and Illuss flies off the handle. Things tend to degenerate after that. Ah, finally we be starting. Apparently I'm supposed to stand or something, as the judges come in. Hel with that. I'll no give respect to a pack of pups who haven't seen my seasons between them, and who think to bind me for doing what I will to those its my part to slay anyway. And, naturally, their lapdogs think to take issue. Twill take more than orders, and now cuffs to move me. I've known worse. Hel, back in India, where I first met the Kalkin behind me, I took a flogging nigh on every week. Not a model soldier back then, me...
And now, apparently I can sit back down. Handy that, seeing as I never stood. Well, it seems the proceedings start with the prosecution making a speech. In my day, those who had been wronged, or their next of kin had to stand against the accuser. Anyway, they be prattling on about crimes against humanity. As if humanity were an entity to be sinned against. And then they mention Brutality. I'm a soldier, a warrior. I have been for over a thousand years. Brutality is steeped into my bone, as deep as the violence. Now they go on about how I butchered my foes. Of course I did. They stood against me, and the Norseman knows full well just how fear can fight for a man, if it hovers at his back. Correction. They go on about how those assembled will see all this. The two score of guests on my right cheer, whilst the eight behind me sit quiet. Eight and I. I claim no counsel, though I am told it be my right. Eight and I, Nine, a holy number. My turn to speak. I stand. "There was a time, when those who judged a man where those who had shared his bread and his salt, who had gone through what he had. There was a time, when a man faced those he had wronged in the Thing, not those who felt he had wronged others. Very well. Let those with no connection to those who it is claimed I have wronged stand in their place. I have done naught wrong." I sit. They ask my plea. "I Plight My Troth But Before The Althing." I state simply. They don't seem to understand. A request is made for a translation. Speaking loudly and slowly, enunciating each word carefully, as to the stupid, or the child, "I make no plea as to the truth of the matter bar before the Thing." a seconds pause, and then I continue. "This is no Thing."
It seems tis for those who prosecute me to call their witnesses first. Fair enough, they have none. I know they approached my Sword-Siblings, my Jomsvikin, but they had no luck. And every other at the scene was slain. I have the opportunity to call character witnesses. Folk to talk of my peacefulness, and my kindness, and my being of a good person. I have none. I am a mercenary. I have been since the brother of the Bloodaxe came to Norway and began to drive out the Elder Gods. My soul is death, and misery, my joy the blood and the slaying. Well. In the main, at least. I daresay there are those, who for the sake of oath to me would give glowing recommendations. I'll not make them forswear themselves. Evidence next. Pictures taken after the battle. The bodies I left lying, missing their shield hands, or with their hearts torn from their chests. The foes dangling from the meathooks and the chains and the ropes already dangling from the rafters. Never mind that those same things had been used on those they deemed foes. Or wished to make an example of. Or even simply desired to toy with. I'm not the only one able to take pleasure in pain. Never mind that they had tormented scores of the locals over the years they had been there, to the death often enough. To the crippling for life, more often than not. Never mind that I had only strung up nine, and that I hastened their passing. True, that hastening had been required of me, but later for that. I can smell the approval from Vixen. The acceptance from the rest of those who have fought beside me, bar from Lir. From him I smell but puzzlement. As for the leaders seated at the back, they have long since learned to hide their feelings in smell, but I know, know for a fact that Gunnhild will approve. She is Valkyrie enough for that. I hear the doors open as she steps outside, claiming a need to consult with her superiors. Help may come, even if it is decided that I am guilty as sin. Which, to be fair, they will probably reckon I am. I remain silent as their experts drone on about what they can tell from the pictures. I snort a bit when they claim that the hands were crudely hacked off with a combat knife. Hel no. I used my teeth. It seemed appropriate. Nine Hands, and Nine Hearts, and Nine Hanged, I tally as they count my slain. Three full Aett.
And then comes the kicker. Video from the battle. From a helmet cam, on one of the support troopers. It witnesses me stringing up my first victim. His resistance as I rush him, driving him back, in full fury. His attempt to shoot me, missing as he jerks the trigger too hastily. His pleas as I tear the rifle from his hands. And through it all, my low chanting, the many names of the Allfather. The noose slides over his neck, and I yank down on the other end of the rope, drawing him up off the ground. My clipping the carabiner attached to the rope for that very purpose to the floor, holding him suspended. My reaching up to take his left eye. Fortuneatly the claw remained hidden, by the angle. My thrust of a bayonet into his side, and my roar of "Wodin" before I move on to the next room. The film stops. Now the Nephilim leaves to consult. We have a traitor amongst us somewhere. "What do you say to that?" I am asked. My response is simple. "It was too long in coming." They stare at me in horror. "What? Do you when last the Aldafader had a proper sacrifice? Haakon Haraldson, Fairhair, not Hadrada, outlawed it in Norway not long after taking the throne. Shortly after the death of Bloodaxe. Those who still followed the old ways in sooth had to make their gifts in secret. My last was..." A pause as I think "Vietnam I think. Some two score years ago." They stare at me, everyone, bar those who came to stand by me. "Human Sacrifice?" Many of them gasp. Again I am questioned. "Twenty Seven dead, as sacrifices to your god? Slain slowly and in pain?" I laugh. Its a terrible sound to those who oppose me. "Lord Of Lies, No. Nine Hanged, for the Hanged God, one for each day he hung on the tree. Nine Hands for the One-Handed One, To acknowledge his willing gift. And Nine Hearts delivered up to the board of Ymir, that he be sated and hold off his onslaught for somewhat longer. " They gape. I know Vixen is grinning behind me, grinning like a mad thing. Blind Hod, my lips curve up in a grin. It had been too long since I last gave those gifts I owed.
Those chosen to sit in judgement remove themselves to consider a verdict. It isn't long before they come forth with a decision. I just know they are going to find against me, and I tense to take as many of them with me as I can, when a messenger runs in. He hands an envelope to the first amongst those who judge me. He opens it, and reads, and passes it along his colleagues. Then, his voice quaking in anger and a lack of understanding, speaks. "It is the finding, of the International Criminal Court, and this council, that the Accused, called Gorm, is found NOT guilty of all charges. By the authority of the Chairman thereof. This court is adjourned." See, it seems that Gunnhild was taken by my proferring sacrifices to the old gods, and the Nephilim, Mikayl, was incensed by treachery. They made a few calls. Called in favours. And got my arse out of a sling. And lo and behold, me and mine have been tasked with locating our traitor. And have further been ordered to interrogate and dissappear him.