Naked Aggression - Part 1

Part 1

With a gasp of surprise the giantess stopped in her tracks. She had been walking through an alpine forest for the past few days, intent upon finding her fellow warriors. A terrible storm had nearly capsized the longship during the journey and some of the warriors were swept overboard. She leapt into the rolling seas to save them but got separated from the ship. The storm washed her up on the shore about a week’s travel south of Freisland and she found the wreck of the longship on the rocky shore but no sign of the warriors. She had only her axe, hammer, and a few minor personal effects but made do with what she had and established a camp.

Over the next few days Yngra realized where she was, the Southern mainland, and went out to find her men. She met a local fisherman and heard him tell of a tribe of Celts who had stolen several cattle from a nearby Carl’s home. The Celts had cravenly slain several Viking women and children in this area, or dragged them off for some horrific sacrifice by the druids. For the past two days Yngra knew she was getting close and was eager for the opportunity to make the Celts suffer the ultimate price for daring to attack a Viking’s home. Every day that she traveled was a day in which her anger and fury grew greater and greater. She could feel her berserker fury increasing and soon it would overtake her. When she entered this state of mind she gave her body over completely to her gods and became the living instrument of their terrible wrath.

As her breathing became quicker and her heart raced, she heard it once again. The clang of metal against metal and the shouts of many men.

It was unmistakable now…it was the sound of battle. Yngra clutched her huge double-bladed battle-axe and ran through the forest, leaping over huge fallen trees, weaving and wending her way through the maze of evergreens, and ducking under the branches. She was oblivious to everything but her goal. Her huge breasts bounced and wobbled wildly as she navigated through the woods at a breakneck pace. Despite her great size she was extremely agile and darted this way and that, avoiding all obstacles in her way.

“Freisgar, you shall have a feast this day!” Yngra hissed between clenched teeth as the sounds of battle grew louder. She could hear voices shouting in Celtic up ahead but not a word of the Nordic tongue. She expected a battle was occurring between the Celts and some unwary Viking warriors but if it were true then it did not sound like the Vikings were still alive.

Yngra paused for only an instant to scan the cloudy sky. Nothing. At times Freisgar might become impatient and lead her to her enemies but this day he was either elsewhere or just lagging behind, as he is known to do.

As Yngra resumed running towards the sounds of combat she broke out of the trees and suddenly found herself on the edge of a great flat grassy plain, the wind howling like a banshee. Before her were two armies of Celts numbering close to two hundred warriors each, by her estimation. They were facing off and the obvious cause of the confrontation was the prize of the Viking’s cattle and the severed heads of the Viking women and children. Yngra was too late to save the captured Vikings, but she could avenge their deaths and make the Celts pay mightily.

The Celts of one army were painted blue and had their hair pulled back into a topknot. The other Celtic army had white swirls painted on their chests and numerous smaller designs, which Yngra could not easily see. They were all naked and carried shields and spears, swords, axes, or clubs. As Yngra ran towards the warring tribes she felt the battle-madness overtake her, as it had done so many times past when she faced numerous or powerful foes. Everything around her seemed to slow down to a crawl and her vision was clouded with a reddish haze. She could see nothing but her enemies.

By the time the warring Celts realized what was even happening she was already upon them. The enmity between the two tribes was quickly forgotten as the situation completely changed. Naked and covered in sweat, Yngra waded into her foes swinging her axe from side to side in great powerful arcs. She felt the sting of arrows impact against her flesh but they could not pierce her skin.

The sheer numbers of the Celts gave them a huge advantage against most foes and amongst the Celtic droves was the legendary Bran Cuiwildh, and his men, perhaps the greatest swordsmen in the world and on the other side was Arawn Luigdhuin, grand-master of the axe.

As Yngra continued hacking her way through the mass of Celts she screamed a long and loud battle-cry that pierced the air like thunder and even the men on the other side of the field could hear it plainly over the sounds of battle. The giantess exulted in the wild chaos of heated battles such as this and reveled in the storm of war. Yngra hurled herself into the bulk of her enemies with reckless abandon, chopping this way and that.

The Celts fell before her like chaff before a scythe. Their weapons, no matter how sharp, bounced harmlessly off her skin. Yngra’s body was an instrument of unstoppable destruction as she clove her way through the Celtic foes. The Celts tried to leap upon her and drag her down with their sheer numbers but she only shook them off and stomped upon their skulls, crushing them like overripe melons as she pressed inexorably on. The pride of the Celtic warriors were as children before a wolf. No skill of arms could overcome the ominous oncoming death machine of this massively muscled raging giantess as she cut down men like mere saplings.

The Celts fought on, more from desperation and vicious spite, than from courage. In point of fact, they could not run…their druidic masters had seen to that with dark elder magics.

Yngra spotted the form of Bran, issuing orders to his men and Arawn closing in from the side. With a chilling shriek as her challenge, Yngra closed upon the elite warriors of both men. The Celtic warriors wavered for a second but then charged forth and the battle was begun anew.

Yngra swung her axe in mighty sweeping arcs and the red spray of blood and gore erupted like geysers from the painted bodies of the Celts. Arms, legs, hands, heads, everything that came within range of the terrible axe of the wrathful giantess was severed. Yngra let loose another loud war cry as she destroyed the best the Celts had to offer, and destroyed them without the slightest difficulty.

The remaining hundred or so Celts rallied around their war-chiefs and launched a new assault upon the giantess. Yngra was more than eager for them to try their luck once again and she lunged into them with the same zeal as before. She was little more than a wild animal at this point and acted upon her killer instinct and hatred for her ancestral foes. The result was thoroughly devastating. Yngra mowed down the Celts like they were nothing in order to get to their leaders.

She faced Bran first and, although he may have been one of the greatest and deadliest swordsmen in the world, he faced no opponent before quite like the one before him now. Bran landed many cuts upon Yngra and managed to draw blood from his dozen or so stabs and slices, but despite his hardest swings and thrusts, he was incapable of delivering any sort of serious blow. Yngra eventually landed a massive swing with her axe and split the greatest swordsman of the Celts in twain. With a loud shout of exuberance, Yngra yanked her axe out of Bran’s twitching corpse and faced Arawn.

Her skill with an axe was no match for Arawn’s and the Celt made her swings look clumsy and slow by comparison. Also, Arawn had the strength of ten trolls and managed to put Yngra on the defensive a number of times in the battle. As one of his swings hit home, Yngra grunted as the axe collided with her abdomen. Arawn stared dumbfounded when he saw that his mightiest swing had only left a large bruise in the giantess’s muscled stomach. There was no blood, no disembowlement, no instant death. It would soon be the last thing Arawn would ever see as Yngra gave a loud bellow of anger and swung her axe with all her strength. Arawn gave a shout of surprise when he blocked her blow only to have his axe shattered by Yngra’s own. The giantess’s axe came down and bit deep into Arawn’s shoulder and did not stop until it reached his navel. With a stunned look on his face and a gurgle of fear and pain, Arawn, grand-master of the axe, fell to the ground, never to rise again.

Looking out over the battlefield, the only sound to be heard was the whistling Northern winds. Bodies lie scattered everywhere…alone or in huge heaps. Unaware of how much time had passed, the sky was getting dark and Yngra began to reclaim her senses. She felt the battle-fury leave her and before it did she let out a loud cry of triumph, raising her bloody axe to the heavens and placing her right foot upon the defeated body of a nearby Celt. If there were any survivors they were nowhere to be found and unlikely to ever return to this hellish field in their lifetimes.

Suddenly from out of the cloudy gray sky came the bellow of some primordial beast. Yngra moved back, now feeling the exhaustion from her exertions, and watched the heavens. The sound of huge wings could now be heard as a great dark shadow spread across the field. From out of the low clouds a massive reptilian beast descended upon the battlefield, his giant tattered wings kicking up a wind like a gale.

Yngra whispered one word as she backed away to the edge of the forest. “Freisgar.”

The ground trembled momentarily as the tremendous Fire Wyrm landed upon the blood-soaked turf. His dark green scales bespoke countless battles and Yngra stood transfixed. She had witnessed old Freisgar several times before this but there was something about the old dragon, which intrigued her. Typically dragons were predatory, but as they age and live past their better years, most become scavengers.

Yngra marveled at the ancient beast as he slowly raised his huge reptilian head and sniffed the air. He must have been an incredible foe in his time, virtually invincible and causing havoc everywhere he went. Yngra now saw that his left back leg was crippled, his maw was snaggletoothed and missing several teeth, several of his scales were missing, and his long tail looked like he could barely move it. Embedded in his right shoulder was the rusting hilt of Jarl Olvig’s sword.

Yngra remembered hearing the old story some years ago of an expedition, led by Olvig and his shield-men, into the mountain cave of Freisgar to slay him and find his hidden treasure hoard. One of Olvig’s men escaped from the battle and told of Olvig fighting well and causing the Fire Wyrm to actually retreat into his lair, but Olvig’s gambit was swiftly ended when Freisgar got the advantage and devoured him…but not before Olvig buried his sword to the hilt in the great beast’s shoulder. The men scattered and ran, but only one lived to tell the tale and none challenged Freisgar in his lair ever after that.

Yngra was startled when she saw the dragon looking directly at her with his rheumy old eyes and his nostrils finally picked up her scent. He didn’t seem to have much hearing and his infirm body was slow and clumsy but Yngra knew that even a dragon as old and tired as this still had one weapon that would put an end to even the stoutest warrior. Although their bodies eventually succumb to the rigors of advanced age, like any other living thing, their fire breath only becomes hotter. A Wyrm as old as Freisgar can breathe a gout of flame hotter than anything in this world and the next. Even so, Freisgar would not be able to keep breathing fire for long and that is why he avoids battles such as this one, for eventually he would be defeated if there were too many warriors arrayed all about him.

Freisgar snorted and ignored Yngra as he began devouring the fresh meat scattered all around him. He sometimes followed warriors to the battlefield and would wait until the fighting was over before swooping in to snatch a meal or two. This was a veritable feast, however, and the old dragon greedily gobbled down the fallen warriors as his wary host looked on.

As the dragon devoured his meal, Yngra decided to move on. She bathed in an icy river and headed South towards the lands of “civilization.” Strange foreign lands ruled by people with strange ways. She seldom enjoyed their company and often avoided them outright, but it might be advantageous to see if the raiding expedition went there. If they did not, then at the very least, perhaps she could gain news about them from the local inhabitants. She knew of some timeless magical tavern that was created by some ancient god or goddess to provide food and rest to those seeking adventure. It was called the Broken Axe, and Yngra smiled as she thought of Arawn’s last battle. Perhaps it was appropriately named and it was her destiny to travel there…whatever the case, Yngra knew that her best chance of finding answers or help would lie within that particular tavern.

Days turned to weeks as Yngra hiked through the wilderness towards the southern lands; her only companion was her thoughts. She expected she would be ill-received by the people of the southern cities and their warriors would undoubtedly attempt to subject her to their laws. Yngra only stroked her battle-axe, thought of the battle with the Celts, and kept on walking…wondering how long it would be until Freisgar found her and fed once more.

As she traveled, Yngra’s raging sex drive was beyond belief and she needed real SEX. Yngra grew hornier with each passing day and even the weak fools of the “civilized” lands were beginning to sound good to her. When Yngra finally arrived at the gates of the city she was met with gasps of surprise as the local inhabitants seemed shocked and appalled by her nudity. Yngra took little notice and continued on her way. As the giantess turned a corner she noticed a large inn and could not deny her thirst for beer any more than her craving for sex. She gazed briefly at the weathered old sign, the paint slightly faded on the oaken board. She knew the tongues of many lands, including this one, but that sign was unmistakable even to the most illiterate sword-swinger. It was a naked woman from the waist up, fish from the waist down. She was smiling, leaning back, and raising a foamy tankard. All around her were pretty multi-colored seashells.

“The Inn of the Siren’s Repose, eh?” Yngra smirked. “Well, let’s just see what kind of beer they serve…”

Continued in Part 2