Battle for Supremacy

by The Mad Scot

Upon the Death of Wolfgang…

The castle of Kronborg, located in the heart of Denmark is quiet now. Only yesterday the ramparts and baileys of the massive fortress were filled with the clash of arms, the cries of battle, and then the inevitable weeping and groaning that follows calamity. Deep beneath the stone and mortar is a series of crypts all radiating outward from a single massive tomb that houses the sarcophagus of Holger the Dane. There, standing before the broken seals and ruined lid, is the leader of the clans, The Mad Scot. He ponders in silence and is cautiously interrupted by his able lieutenant Glynn.

“My Lord, I have the report in full now,” the soldier announces.

“Glynn, do you see this?” The Scot points to the great stone box before him and continues. “The legends say that in the greatest hour of need Holger will rise up and defend the people of Denmark. Sometime during the battle, someone in desperation sought to pry the seals and pull Holger from his sleep and force him to fight. Alas, the paladin’s bones would not be roused.”

The Scot turns and leans against a lesser coffin shaking his head slowly. “It is not war that makes men mad, Glynn, it is the desperation of war that makes them mad. Curse the gods that pit we mortals against one another so that this spectacle called Evernight is played out with our blood and tears! Where is the chorus which is due to sing of the tragedy of this war, of the lessons to be learned, of the players who suffered and now may be blessed with the wisdom that can only be revealed through grief…” The leader of the clans pauses a moment and grips the pommel of his claymore tightly showing white knuckles.

“My laird,” the soldier looks on questioningly. “Is this not a battle for supremacy?”

The Scot looks hard at his young aide, then nods. “Indeed, Glynn it is a battle for the brief moment of feeling supreme as you say. Why we seek it is still beyond me, but perhaps that too is a form of madness. I did not wish this fight, and sent words of peace to Wolfgang, but he would not have it and so here is the end of that path of sorrow. What news of the king?”

“He is nowhere to be found, but there is a good sense of where he may have retreated.”

Again the Scot nods. “Yes, it has become clear to me that he kept the company of others whose kingdoms are nearby. We have laid low the defenses of Denmark and today may claim victory, but there is one close by that has gained much due to our attention being divided. His name is too grave to mention, but I know him and it is high time I moved to meet his hellish servants. Our time grows short Glynn and though I would rest and meditate, I must not. I would wish for moments of joy at seeing this end, sit and appreciate the taste of victory, or take my measure of satisfaction at the completion of a successful campaign, but as I look north and west I must content myself with the knowledge that for now, there is killing to be done.”

The two men turn together and begin to ascend the staircase leading up into the castle proper. At the top of the steps The Mad Scot looks down into the darkness and speaks.

“Oh noble Dane, and servant of Charlemagne why did you not counsel peace to your children? Go now and take the roads that only the dead may walk and whisper into the ear of him who marches on me now. Tell Lord Tomb to turn back from his unholy quest. Tell him that win or lose, there is only pain waiting for him.”