This guy is known in Icelandic lore as a Berzerker, a
warrior so fierce, dauntless, kick-ass, he chomps his own shield. Today, there
are heavy metal bands named after him. Back then, he could go toe-to-tusk with
a walrus, and if you think walruses are quaint or funny think again; their
hides were close to impenetrable, and they were known to kill whales.
The Berzerker in his prime was the most powerful piece on
the board, a very walrus of a piece.
The queen had been born but was new to the fray and far from
claiming all her powers. At first, she looks a bit confused on the battlefield.
Soon she becomes the warrior-in-chief, a combo of a rook, a bishop, and a pawn.
She assimilates the mad rage of the Berserker, assuaging it with subtle diagonal
moves. Pawns, all eight of them, devote their lives to queening, to becoming a
queen.
The king, she protects him. He only displays his limited
mettle in battle when she is gone. Then he steps out, devoting much of his
activity to getting her — a younger version — back, defending a pawn until it
reaches that sweet spot where the lowliest piece on the board is transformed
into a mighty queen.
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