Return of the Freysons

[Brawms 741]

        [!] It was a clear, calm night when the two clans of Eirksson and Freysson met around the Ashtree of Morsgrad. Although they were all kin under Thoromir, most had never met each other before, and for a while cheers were made and greetings were exchanged- a happy occasion for the men who had not seen family in many years, or even decades. As the hour grew late, and the tankards drew empty, the men took to the Eiriksson homestead to discuss the future of their respective clans. Arguments were had, fists were flown, and decisions were made, but as their discussion drew to a close the men involved were now in agreement.

 

By disgrace were we casted down; by flames were our sins erased.

 

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The meeting between the Eirikssons and Freyssons in the Eiriksson home, 16th of the Deep Cold, 1764

 

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The Return of the Freyssons

A missive from the Clan Freysson

 

 

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King Alvar “The Restorer” Freysson

 

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        By what right were we given the fate we had, of what crime did you, O Father above!, seek to punish us? Were we not your faithful, your triumphant, your pride? Still we weep for Alvar the First, slain by the treacherous Volaren; still we weep for Alvar the Second, a boy taken from us by a cruel malady. Such times are easy to lament, for it was our guiding hand that led our people to prosperity and peace. When Josef brought war to the Empire, we stayed loyal to our liege lords, the Pertinaxi, despite the desperate pleas from the Marnans for us to turncoat. At Helena, we proved our worth a thousand times over- we slayed masses of the Marnans and held to the very last. Why then, would we suffer the most? As Alvar’s body burned, as Godric gasped his last breath, as our people died and fled from the blights, raids, and diseases, we asked ourselves that very question time and time again.

We traveled the world at length in order to find our answer, O’ Father above!

        It was not our faith that angered you, but our lack of resolve. It was not our triumphs that made you turn your back on us, it was that they were not for our sake, but for the sake of the Pertinaxi. It was not our loyalty that led to our downfall, it was our submission and refusal to fight to be free. The Nordish are not a people to slave for the whims of pompous Imperial overlords, sitting atop flowery seats in their rosen capitals- we are warriors, we are farmers, we are craftsmen. When we knelt before the Empire, we abandoned you and our pride as free men unbound to the lords of the heartlands. We saw our centuries-old fight for independence as a needless display of cruelty and bloodshed, the very malice responsible for our collapse a thousand times before, but now we know that it is the only life we may live.

        Caedric did not, and has not, submitted to any other but the will of yourself, O’ Father above! By his hand he has given us peace, but not at the cost of our freedom. By his hand he has allowed our realm to prosper, but not at the expense of meddling in foreign affairs. By his hand will he guide us from this day forward; we know the duty of the Nordish and carry it in our hearts evermore. We shall never fail your charge again, O’ Father above!, for to fail you is to fail our people. Too many years have we strayed from Norland, but now, for the first time in our lives, we have truly returned home.

 

With the light of the Father may we emerge from the darkness.

 

A Chieftain Arises

 

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Vangel Freysson and Toke Freysson preparing to brawl for the title of Chief of Freysson, 16th of the Deep Cold, 174.

 

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        It is an ancient tradition that the chieftains of the various Ruric clans take their place not through primogeniture succession, but by the consent of the other members of their clan. Typically the eldest son does inherit his father’s position, for he is the most prepared, but it is not uncommon to see others vy for the title. Upon the death of a chieftain, those who wish to succeed him will put their names forward and argue among each other, and the wider clan itself, as to who should become chieftain. If an agreement cannot be reached, as is usually the case, then a brawl to submission or knockout will occur. Such things rarely result in death, and the brawls draw a great deal of spectators eager to see who will prevail and rule as their clan’s chieftain.

        At midnight of the 16th of the Deep Cold, 1764, the meeting between the Freyssons and the Eirikssons ground to a halt. Much had been discussed, argumentatively or otherwise, but the men in the room realized that the Freyssons lacked a chief, a man whose say was final. It had not been since the days of Alvar that the Clan Freysson had, or even needed, a chief, but their recent return to Norland made it a matter of great importance.

        Vangel, son of Donovan, cast his name first. “By right of my father, I am chieftain. Any who wish to oppose me, say so now.”

Toke, backed by his kinsmen, obliged. “I am the man who has led us here. I have the support of most of the rest of the Freyssons, and I am more trusted by the people of Morsgrad. Relinquish your claim and recognize me as your chief!”

        The Freyssons bitterly argued back and forth for several minutes, each man making a case for either Toke or Vangel. The Eirikssons watched intensely, anxious to see who would arise as the leader of their brother-clan, but only a scant few of them dared raise their voice. Although it was a matter that concerned them greatly, the right and responsibility to name a chieftain lay with that clan alone. However, as the night drew even longer, it became clear that no agreement would be reached. A duel it would be.

In the arena underneath the Ashwood tree a crowd gathered to see the brawl between Vangel and Toke. The two men, although youthful, were built powerfully and carried themselves as true Nordish men. This would be no easy fight for either of them, and not even the wisest among the crowd had any clue as to who would win. Leif, son of Hakon, stepped into the arena and gave a quick prayer to the Father. With a nod of the head, he gave his assent for the fight to begin and stepped out of the ring to allow the two men to brawl.

Toke wasted not a second of time and charged straight for Vangel. Stunned, Vangel suffered a bout of consecutive blows, but he still held firm in the face of the onslaught. When Toke had tired himself, and his throws began to become more sluggish, Vangel sprung forward and delivered a flurry of punches to his fatigued opponent. Toke quickly recovered, meeting might with might, but the writing was on the wall. The fight continued for a few more moments, but a swift uppercut to Toke’s stomach caused him to keel over, ending his hopes to ascend as chieftain.

Now, Vangel stands at the head of the Freyssons, finally filling a role that has been vacated for years. The blood of kings runs through his veins, but the challenges ahead are more daunting than a single brawl. Only the Father knows what kind of man the future will make of him, but no matter what, he will have his kin at his back to guide him along the way.

 

[TheNunnery 1853]

Wate eats his potato, while having a smile, knowing his kin are coming.