Alrick Ironhorn

[newspike]

Alrick Ironhorn
Warrior of the South

Biography~
A man who has travelled from the Spine to the Blight to the coast of Mayene in search of battle, drinking, money and women. He is a man of many words; he is loud and rude and tends to react without taking into account his actions. While he may be unpredictable whatever cause he allies himself with he holds true until the task is done, yet that may be stealing a pig from a farmer to fighting the trollocs’ in the North, it simply depends on his frame of mind at the time. With his own code of honour and duty he fights for what he believes in, not what the society around him believes he should fight for.

Alrick has many flaws and traits, gambling away ridiculous amounts of money, drinking excessively to the point of losing consciousness and weakness for the opposite sex. Though they may not find him in the same light. He is rather brutish and unromantic. He holds no love for the Children of the Light to the same degree he is cautious of the White Tower due his past relations with them. He once fought alongside them and was tangled in a web of situations that caused him to seemingly lose his life. With those years behind him he moves forward never recounting what had occurred those days gone.

The red headed warrior is known in battle in the south mainly for his brute strength and ability to take hits over and over without flaunting. He holds his ground against any foe for as long as he can. However he may come across he is no wet behind the ear fool who knows his limits and how to fight tactically with the best chance of victory. If he knows there is no place for victory he will retreat but he lacks any mercy for those who flee from him. All in all he is a good man to have side by side in battle yet a dangerous man to come across in a pub. You’ll either end up taking all his money or losing all of yours, or a scrap will be in order.

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"Damn horse, stop your rustlin'!" Alrick yelled out as he gripped the reins ans held the steed on course. He rode alone through the woods near the old stedding, known for it's foulness and shadow. Pady had grown restless in the advance but the large man on his back did not let him whimper away from their destination. The red headed warrior had been sent to investigate the odd happenings, being known to handle himself well enough in these situations. Only lately however had he been skilled enough to ride there into battle. Alrick had rarely used his steed when it came to combat but after speaking with Hundredman Shara about her cavalry detachment he had grown interested. Now graced with a long cloak with a dragon upon it, and a chest piece with a dragon, showing his alligence, he entered the wood cautiously.

~A week or so before~
"ARGH!" Alrick roared out as he tumbled from his steed and landed in a heap of mud. His face, clothes and hair had been soaked. He groaned as he rubbed his back while the taunting chuckling of another man caught his ear. "It ain't as easy as you make out!" He yelled out before remembering himself. "Sir." The other man shook his head, dawned with the symbols of a higher rank than Alrick.
"You ride a horse, you have before, but using that skill in combat is another matter. No it is not easy, it is indeed a challenge. However a skilled man of cavalry carves through his foes like butter and rams them from his path. That is why it is difficult to become a true member of the Legion Cavalry." Alrick pushed himself up to his feet and mutter under his breath. He wiped away some of the mud and flicked it aside before he snatched Pady's reins and returned to the saddle.
"Again, then." Said with determination. The other man nodded and leapt back up onto his steed.
"Let us go then, Alrick Ironhorn!"

~Back to the present~
He was a fast learner. Had always been. Alrick charged through trollocs in the stedding, avoiding arrows and deflecting blades. He fought through various numbers, killing each other as quickly as he could. His hammer slammed down onto their skulls, turning them into mush. Pady had become stern and brave, able to stand against the large beasts unlike before. Upon a steed Alrick felt empowered, stronger and a better fighter.
"Come on your sheep faced buggers!" He roared as he slammed his hammer to the animal like face with eyes too human for its' features. He would return to the fort with this information. He had grown fond of the legion, and their colours. One day he would lead his own cavalry unit, he had never been a true leader in all his years fighting yet now seeing Hundredman Shara, and seeing the way the White Towers men lead their war, he had realised that he had more to often the world then drink, violence and gambling his money and life away.

[newspike]

Defender of the Gap

They had arrived alongside the Asha’man to take part in this borderland war. Not many of them, just Alrick and Charley alongside twenty more Legionnaires and a collection of Asha’man. Their job was to keep the Asha’man from harm they did not expect or when they had strained themselves too far and needed a sword to protect them. The red haired warrior spoke briefly with Charley, Shan the M’hael until an Aes Sedai arrived. They began to discuss tactics as the entire group formed. There were thousands and thousands of men in the camp. He had not seen this many soldiers together since the Aiel war. The leaders of the different armies began to discuss their plan of battle with Lord Agelmar, a man of legend in his own right. Alrick stood behind the M’hael listening in. He did not feel it was his place to throw in too much into the strategic performance but was prepared to if they needed anymore information. He spoke up a few times but for the most part he kept to himself.
‘Aes Sedai, loads of them. Do chat long…’ He thought to himself as he ran his blue eyes over the ladies present. They all seemed as prepared as the Shienar soldiers to be fair, even if some were still in dresses. He smirked to himself.
‘Gotta look dazzlin’ even in a bloody war, bloody Sedai’ He did make himself laugh. It was time to move out once the discussion was over. Since their squad was lacking a leader he took it upon himself to lead them. They were all familiar with him anyway from back at the fort, he had no trouble speaking with new people and making friends. He was a chatty fellow after all.
“A’ite! All Legionnaires keep together and compact. We’re the smallest unit, so lets stay together, we’ll fight better that way. Stay with me!” He yelled out to the men. They did not complain. They seemed to like the idea. As the army waited to march he lowered his gaze to Charley from the back on his large armoured steed. “Ever fought a war in the Blight border before?” He asked, assuming she had not. She was a tough fighter; on foot she could even best him. The girl looked up, nervous yet those nerves were restrained by discipline.
“No, have you?” She replied. He smirked and nodded to her.
“Aye I ‘ave. A few times. Just stick with me and you’ll be fine. If we all stay together we’ll take down many of these blasted trolloc beasts. Support the Asha’man as best we can.” After those few comforting words the army began its’ advance.


It was not long before the cries of men began to fill the air along with the guttural snarls of trollocs, the sound of steel clashing and the one power filling the skies. It was just like that time, not long ago, the one power slaughtered so many. Putting those thoughts aside Alrick charged upon his steed with the Legion close in tail around the main section of Asha’man. Trollocs launched themselves up at him and tried to frighten his steed into throwing him from the saddle but the mighty beast was not green to the sightings of trollocs. His large bastard sword swung around him like a whirlwind of death, it sliced down trolloc after trolloc as he smashed through the enemy squads.
“Orra! Come on you mangy monsters, keep tryin’ it!” He roared out as he slammed his blade down the throat of a large trolloc trying to take a bite out of his side. Blood shot across the snow, stained him and his blade. He did not care. All he could see was the blade, as he focused upon what Shara had shown him, Ko’di. He had not nearly mastered such a skill but for the moment it made him a better soldier, a better leader. As the borderland forces pushed the trollocs back up the slope, victory seemingly close in their sights a group of men appeared on the ridge. Thirty if one had time to count. It was by Shans’ reaction that Alrick figured they were channelers, darkfriends. As the M’hael pulled his men together and began their attack the red headed legionnaire swung his blade around his head to gather the surviving legion soldiers.
“Defend the Asha’man now! Kill any animal that throws itself down ‘ere. Skewer the bastards!” He commanded. The Asha’man continued their assault as the soldiers looked on. The entire army waited for their moment to strike. Alrick could not help but feel the intensity of the battlefield. Both the large forces stared each other down, each wanting to charge at the other while the channelers battled it out. At that moment the M’hael Shan seemed to suddenly collapse. The battled hardened horseman shuffled his large steed in front of the exhausted channeler.
“Can he fight still?” He asked back as he kept his attention ahead. Another Asha’man, a slightly lower rank was tending to his comrade.
“No” He started “I need to tend to him, take charge!” That was all the old warrior needed. He smirked a toothful smirk and pointed his sword towards the slope. Their channelers were dead, it was a fight of blade, tooth and claw.
“’Ite! Charge with the borderlanders, kill every last one of ‘em, none escape!” He bellowed out. The forces charged.

The battle on the slope was not long. Alrich had lost count of ho many trollocs he had killed and how many men he had seen slain around him. He had kept the Legionnaires together as much as he could to fight as a compact unit while he circled on horseback. Those who had accidently strayed off had been slain. Out of the twenty men who had joined him and Charley, twelve remained while eight lay bloodied in the snow. Alrick cleaned some blood from his sword and tossed the rag to the ground before he ventured over to a lone tent at the top of the slope. The other M’hael, Mont was there, seemingly retrieving a small man. The body was old, and had been there for some time. It was hard to make out but even he could see it.
“Is that?” He asked, only to be given a nod.
‘Those bastards… to do this to such a great man... to Gareth Bryne.’ Is what went through his head as the body was helped up onto the back of his horse. He took the body down the slope to Lord Agelmar who soon realised as well. The Lord made arrangements to take the body, preserve it and return it to Andor in good time. No longer being under the burden of being body carrier he moved to leave with the Asha’man. The man known as Shan seemed fragile and weak. By appearance right now you would not pin him as a M’hael simply by his demeanour. The Legionnaires left the blight and returned home, after a long days battle. Many had not experienced such a thing before, some had. For Charley this would be an experience. For Alrick however this would be the beginning of his new journey. A journey of war, responsibility and for once, position. He was no longer just a sword to be used on the front as he had always been. He now had men that relied on him. The large red headed man sat at his desk in his new tent.
“To think, not only did I live this long… I’m fightin’ for the Dragon, and I’m doin’ a good job. You surprise yourself, Alrick.” He mumbled to himself. Tomorrow was another day, another mission.

Alrick Ironhorn, he would serve the Dragon Reborn until his last breath. Any way he could.

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The History of Ironhorn

The large red haired man trotted along the streets of Tar Valon. After bumping into Shan, Nelle and his new acquaintance Kaira he was soon to prepare to head to Whitebridge of the Lady of Words performance. He had unfortunately missed it in Illian for the duels but this time he promised he would be present. Upon introducing himself to the lovely woman named Kaira he had given his nickname that had been given to him for countless years, Ironhorn. He used it so much he no longer used his own name, not that his old name was relevant anymore. That was a life he had long drifted from to become a simple warrior. Though Nelle had assumed his nickname Ironhorn had been born in a manner that he would not have disagreed with. It made him think about that time, the time he had actually been given that name by the leader of his company. Years and years ago, he had only been a young man at the time, very young. Yet he still held a weapon like the rest of them, still stood in the ranks like the rest of them…

“Hold your lines maggots; we’re in front of royalty everywhere!” A tall man yelled. He was broad, stern with short slicked back silver hair and with a long scar from his forehead, down the side of his face and his neck, and down over his chest. Over his shoulder sat a large great axe that one would think only an Ogier could wield. None the less this man gripped the weapon firmly and watched the hills and woods far ahead. The Shining walls lay to their west, but before them stood an army. A massive army, over 170,000 men. The largest army the Westlands had seen since the War of a Hundred Years. Armies from all over the Westlands had joined together in the Great Coalition and now waited for the arrival of the Aiel host who had come for the head of a certain Cairhien King. Among the many, many soldiers who had joined this massive army a young man with sharp red hair slicked back stood in the ranks. He did not stand with the forces from Tear considering that was his initial home. Now he stood with one of the many mercenary bands that had also joined the Great Coalition. He had left his life in Tear behind long ago to serve as a regular soldier, he did not want what the world of Tear had to offer him, he was immature, fool hardy and ambitious for battle. Not gold, luxuries and people of a pompous nature.
“Everyone fight as best you can, don’t let these savages pull you down, not without staining your sword with blood!” The silver haired man commanded. He walked along his own lines, stopping in front of Alrick. The huge an sniffed and slapped the red haired boy around the head, messing up his slicked strands.
“Ow, what was that for ya bloody goat kissin’ bugger!?” The young man snapped. The commander of the mercenary group snorted and reached onto his belt.
“That’s Uncle boody goat kissing bugger. Your father would never forgive me if I let you get yourself killed in this battle. So take this.” He held out a horn. It was large, strong and firm. Metal trimmed around the end of the horn and the mouth piece.
“A horn? What for, Uncle Siras?” The young man asked, looking it over with a confused gaze.
“Pfft, what for, you twit! Clean out your ears boy because I won’t say this again. It’s the Horn of the Sea of Storms. Came from the lasts to the east, past the Aiel waste. Said to give the warrior who blows it strength to fight, stronger than any other man. If you’re in trouble, blow this horn, you got it?” Siras explained. Alrick blinked, being the gullible man he was at the time and believed it all. He nodded furiously and wrapped his arms around the horn protectively. Siras flashed a toothy smirk and return to inspecting the rest of his men. They did not have much longer left to prepare.

The ground rumbled. The land ahead of them moved as if a swallowing wave of earth was going to engulf them. They had come. The Aiel. They had invaded half the Westlands already and now the gate of the land would be decided on this battle, a battle that would stretch three days long. Alrick stood in a cluster of soldiers. He was not at the front line but luckily he stood at a position that allowed him to view the lines ahead. Just extra bit of height gave him the opportunity to see what was coming their way. His dark coloured eyes widen in sheer disarray at the sight. It was not like anything else he had seen before. Thousands and thousands of them came forth. An army so fearsome and formidable that it caused many men to quiver in fear, to shuffle uneasily, men stepped back against others behind them, realising there was no where to flee. They did have the numbers but at the sight of that force it did not seem to matter.
“Blood and Ashes…” Alrick mutered to himself as he gripped the horn tightly. He had placed his shield over his back and only held an axe in one hand, the horn in the other. This was moment he would become a man, he knew that. Either die on the battlefield or emerge alive as a true man. As much as his body tingled he held his mettle. Today he would prove he was a warrior. Orders began sounding over the forces but it was hard to hear, he heard raised voices everywhere but being clustered in the middle of the army made it difficult to understand what he was supposed to do. Just then soldiers started marching forwards, men behind him began to push in their march so he followed suit. Making his way forward, he had lost that vantage point and could no longer see over the ranks. Now he was in the thick of them doing his best to peer past the soldiers ahead trying to figure out how long until the armies clashed. He was not the only one he noticed doing so, all the soldiers around him were doing the same trying to see ahead, not knowing how long until they would need to fight. A loud roar echoed at that moment, one word that quickly found its way through the ranks.
“ARROWS!” In the sky the sun was lost as black filled the sky. Arrows flung over their heads as well as came spearing down from the enemy lines. Alrick quickly placed the horn on his belt and scrambled for his shield. He barely made it in time to raise it, which caused him to stumble backwards. He heard the whistling of arrows and the plunk of them hitting armour and shields as well as the squelch of them hitting flesh. Blood splattered onto his shield and arm as the man beside him fell, arrows pinning his body to the floor.
‘This is a battle… not like any battle I’ve been in. I can’t die here.’ He thought. Arrows continued to fly and the men continued to hold, arrows from both sides covering the heavens. They could not stand the onslaught much longer. A commander realised this. A tall man in the distance upon his steed rallied the men, he was glorious. His armour was magnificent and his crown sat upon head, his long hair hung down his back. The order to advance had been given and men wasted no time in rising to their feet and making their way forward. It was to counter the sudden advancement of the Aiel.
Alrick jogged at a slow pace cramped in between hundreds and hundreds of soldiers. The sounds of battle exploded from the front but he could not see. That was until the Aiel began their dance. He saw the occasional veiled man tumbling through the air in a form that no man in armour could perform. It would not be long before they reached him. His moment of truth would soon be in his hands. Without any warning a spear thrust it’s way through the man in front of him and the fellow fell dead. Alrick almost yelled in surprise as he swiftly raised his shield to block another spear from the foe he had yet to see. From over the trim of his shield he peeked. An Aielman. Many Aiel. Eveywhere. Soldiers had dispersed from holding lines and within a matter of seconds it began become a full clustered battle. Aiel and Westland man fought each other, men falling all around him. He wasted no more time and swung his axe with deadly purpose only to find it deflected by the Aiel before him with unattainable skill. His first battle would be with this one. The Aiel was taller than he was which he found surprising. He did not meet many who could match his height back home. Thoughts aside the Aiel thrust again, nipping Alrick on the arm causing him to stumble back. Thrust, swing, drive, all these attacks coming at him over and over giving him time to only deflect with his large shield or axe if his defence had been deflected away. Wasting no more time he charged forward ramming his large shield into the Aiel who was forced to grab it to defend himself only to find an axe repeatedly smacking him in the head over the top of the shield. The Aiel fell with his head in mush. This was not a graceful war. No, war was never graceful. He would tear them to pieces if it meant saving his life. More soldiers from behind him suddenly burst through a line of Aiel and he was once again in the midst of his own lines pushing back the savage foes.

The battle raged for hours. Blood covered all those who had killed yet more of the enemy arrived. For every Aiel killed he seemed to dance his way through a dozen men in armour. Those numbers were not exact but that is how Alrick felt watching the battle around him. The different armies were all mixed at this point, men from Tear fought alongside men from Illian, men from Tar Valon fought alongside Children of the Light. It was on longer nations fighting against the invaders, it was the Men of the Westlands, the single army who fought. Alrick roared as he slashed over and over again as the enemy, cutting down some, most deflecting his weapon only to be engaged by another. There were no duels in his scenario anymore, simply kill anyone you could. Cut them across the chest or stab them in the back it did not matter. Out of the blue a thump collided with Alricks head as he found himself tumbling to the ground in a heap. Blood trickled down his face as the hit did considerable damage. He turned onto his back to find an Aielman had clonked him in the back of the head with his spear.
“Bloody… savage..” He groanred, dazed by the strike. That Aiel, no, four Aiel now it seemed had noticed him on the floor and turned to finish him off. He did not hesitate; he remembered what his uncle had said. His shield was lost in the battlefield around him; his axe now badly chipped was all he had left. With his spare hand he ripped forth the large horn and blew upon it. It made a odd noise, like a charging bull. Some turned to the horn but none had time to think about what it meant as the Aiel did not care, they simply pushed forward through the ranks. The four Aiel that had decided to finish him only hesitated for a moment but seemingly decided to kill the horn blower quickly. A spear came thrusting downwards yet it was blocked, Alrick had swung the horn in black of his shield to deflect the weapon and it had worked. Another spear came his way which he smashed aside with the horn. The horn did not break. Again the enemy came, this time he caught the blade inside the horn and used his faithful axe to smash into the collar bone of his enemy.
‘Did it give me strength, it did!’ Went through his mind as he battled the three Aiel. Killing one had been a lucky stroke; the other three were not so reckless as the one before. Alricks breath was heavy; blood ran down his form, his legs felt weak. Though he ignored it, believing he had been given strength by the sound of his horn. They came again, dancing together. He used the horn and axe together to deflect every weapon he could that came his way, yet still the axe did not break. It held firm against their weapons. As if the light itself was shining upon him, as the three closed in on a joint attack a large silver haired man followed by a band of warriors pushed past them him trampled the trio as quickly as they could. Alrick watched wide eyed as the huge man swung his massive axe like a beast. Once the enemy near them had been downed and several of the bands warriors with them, Siras turned to his nephew with a stern expression.
“Never seen a man fight with a horn before. Like it was made of iron!” Alrick could not form any facial expression apart from exhaustion. “Come on you maggots, Alrick rallied us, lets move up to the Shienar forces!” With that the soldiers pushed on in the battlefield, forming up to what they presumed was the best chance of surviving. The red haired warrior followed his commander and continued the war.
The war lasted two more days; at the end the King of Cairhien was dead. Upon their journey home, the name Ironhorn had stuck. Alrick used it in replacement of his true name. Alrick Ironhorn.

“Siras you bloody fool, tellin’ a boy fool tales about horns givin’ you strength.” By now he had figured out his uncle had fed him a false tale to improve his moral, but in a way that lie had given him the strength he needed. Alrick trotted out of Tar Valon upon his mighty steed, his destination being Whitebridge for the woman Nelle. The war long in his past.